When she woke, she didn't know how long she had slept. Her head throbbed faintly, and the desert sand pressed uncomfortably into her back.
Leaning against the rough trunk of a palm tree, she found herself wrapped in a cloak—the same one she had noticed lying in the sand the night before.
The fire had burned down to smoldering ashes, and he was nowhere to be seen.
Her pulse quickened. Her chance. She could run.
She rose slowly, gathering strength in her legs. Her pale skin, silver hair, and the cloak she now draped over herself made her feel both invisible and painfully exposed.
She couldn't linger here; she had to move, had to survive. Without a second thought, she began hurrying toward the faint, dying lights of a nearby village.
The dawn was breaking, painting the horizon in a soft wash of pink and gold, but she didn't have the luxury of admiring it.
Her lungs filled with crisp, cold morning air as she ran, every step pounding urgency into her chest. She glanced back once, a fleeting pang of guilt striking her. She hadn't thanked him properly. Not that she had the chance.
Then she collided with something—or someone.
"Ugh!" The cold sand hit her knees as she fell forward.
"Where do you think you're going?" The voice was there, dark and smooth, sharper than the warmth of last night. Her eyes shot up. It wasn't a wall—it was him.
He stood in the morning light, almost statuesque, the beige fabric draped loosely around his waist clinging to his lean, muscled frame.
The firelight from last night had made him look like a shadow of danger; now, in the daylight, he looked even more impossibly real. Golden earrings caught the first rays of sun, and his bronze skin glowed, alive with the warmth of the rising day.
"You again," she muttered, frustration and disbelief mingling with something else she couldn't name. She swore he appeared out of thin air.
He said nothing, simply studied her, eyes narrowing in quiet intensity, as if weighing her courage, her fear, her worth.
She forced herself to her feet, brushing sand from her cloak. She always had to rise, no matter what.
"Listen…" Her throat was tight. She realized she hadn't even asked his name.
"Thank you," she began, voice trembling slightly but firm. "For saving me last night. I… I owe you, but I have to go. I cannot linger here or I will be found. I need somewhere safe."
His golden gaze held her in place, burning through the fabric of her borrowed cloak and the flimsy defenses she'd tried to erect.
The morning light revealed the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scars along his skin, the subtle movements of muscles even in stillness. For a moment, their silence was a tangible weight.
"So," she said, breaking it, "I just… need to borrow this. Thank you again, and I promise I'll pay you back." She lied, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
He didn't move, didn't speak. He just watched her, silent and patient, like a predator deciding whether to let his prey go… or draw it closer.