Ray's chest heaved as the realization hit her—she had done it. She had escaped. For the first time in her life, she was free.
She blinked against the soft glow of dawn—or was it the lingering embers of night? The stranger hadn't moved. He sat a short distance away, careful to keep the gap. That cautious distance… she found herself oddly grateful for it.
"Are you trying to burn a hole through my skull with that stare?" His voice cut through the stillness, teasing, as he rubbed sticks together with a scrap of rock.
"What… what are you doing?" Her voice wavered, a mixture of relief and lingering fear.
"Is it that hard to see? I'm trying to keep you warm," he replied, not looking at her. "You look like a ghost."
A dry, bitter laugh escaped her. "That's not the first time I've been called that."
He didn't answer, focused on the sparks that began to catch, until a small flame flickered to life between them. Warmth rolled over her like a fragile shield. He had saved her again. And she hated that. Hated the feeling of owing him, of needing him.
"Ray," she whispered, breaking the silence.
"Hm?" His voice was low, almost dangerous, carrying the soft crackle of firelight across the shadows of his face.
"My name… it's Ray." She hugged her knees closer, an unconscious act of protection.
He tilted his head, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Did you have a death wish, Ray? Or were you just intent on ruining my night?"
Gods, he was impossible. Not just in the way he looked—bronze skin glowing in the firelight, golden earrings catching every flicker—but in the way he seemed untouchable, untamed, a force of nature she couldn't comprehend.
"Yeah," she shot back, turning her gaze to the silent palm grove around them. "Because you're the one whose night got ruined."
Only the palms remained, standing tall and silent under the starlit sky. Their shadows stretched long and still, silent sentinels over a world that had almost swallowed her whole.
"You should come closer," he said, voice smooth, commanding, sending heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks.
She spun to him, eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"
"To the fire. I can hear your bones rattling. Very alarming." He ran a hand through his long black hair casually, golden eyes glinting in the firelight, unaffected by her glare.
Her fingers trembled. The fire was warm, the night cold, and the space between them crackled—not just with flame, but with something unsaid, unnameable.
She shuffled forward, heart hammering. Each step brought her closer to him, and each step felt like walking across a wire stretched taut over an abyss.
He watched silently, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement—or calculation. She couldn't tell.
Shadows of the flames twisted across his face, sometimes hiding him, sometimes revealing the sharp planes of his jaw, the tension in his forearms, faint scars that spoke of battles unknown. She hated herself for noticing, for the way her chest betrayed her with rapid, uneven breaths, for the shiver that ran along her spine.
And yet, when he tilted his head and regarded her with that unreadable gaze, she knew she could never truly turn away.
The desert stretched endless around them, but she felt trapped—not by walls, but by him. The freedom she had clawed for all her life seemed insignificant against the pull he exerted.
She sat closer to the fire, the warmth licking her skin, shadows dancing across her face. And as the wind whispered through the palms and the embers crackled like tiny secrets, she realized that freedom wasn't just about escaping the world. It was about facing it. And right now, that meant facing him.