The first warmth of morning crept across the desert, pale light spilling over the horizon. Ray stirred, uncertain how long she had slept. Her head throbbed faintly, and the coarse desert sand pressed uncomfortably against her back.
She opened her eyes and found herself wrapped in the 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. This was her chance. She could run.
Slowly, she pushed herself up against the rough trunk of the palm tree, gathering strength in her legs. Her pale skin and silver hair glinted in the soft morning light, the cloak draped around her making her feel both invisible and painfully exposed.
She didn't linger. Survival demanded motion. Without a second thought, she hurried toward the faint, dying lights of a nearby village. Dawn painted the horizon in soft pinks and golds, but she didn't spare the view. Every step was urgency, lungs filling with crisp, cold air, heart hammering with the rhythm of her flight.
A fleeting pang of guilt struck her. She hadn't thanked him properly. Not that she'd had the chance.
And then-BAM- she collided with something solid. A wall maybe.
"Ugh!" She fell, mostly from the surprise.
"Where do you think you're going so early in the morning?" The voice was dark and smooth, sharper than the warmth of last night. Her eyes shot up—it wasn't a wall. It was him.
He stood there, the morning light casting his bronze skin in a warm glow, the beige fabric draped loosely around his waist, muscles taut even in stillness.
Golden earrings caught the first rays of the sun, glinting like molten metal. He looked impossibly real—more dangerous than the shadowed figure of the firelight, more alive, more untouchable.
"You again," she muttered, frustration and disbelief mixing with a new, unnamed sensation curling in her chest. "How the hell did you manage to appear out of thin air?" She talked mostly to herself.
He said nothing, merely studying her. His gaze was steady, intense, quiet, assessing her courage, her fear, her resolve. The morning revealed details the firelight had hidden—the sharp lines of his jaw, faint scars across his forearms, subtle movements of lean muscles under bronze skin.
Ray forced herself to her feet, brushing sand from her cloak. She always had to rise, no matter what.
"Listen…" Her throat tightened, words tangling with urgency and lingering fear. She realized she hadn't even asked his name.
"Thank you," she began, voice trembling 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 fragile defenses she'd tried to build. Silence stretched between them, thick, almost tangible, until she forced herself to break it.
"So," she said, voice quivering, "I just… need to borrow this. Thank you again, and I promise I'll pay you back." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched, silent and patient, predator-like, weighing whether to let her go—or draw her closer.
Ray swallowed, heart racing. She knew, deep down, that her choice was no longer entirely her own. Freedom had led her here, but survival had a price, and for now, that price was following him.
"Then I'll lead the way." He simply said, arms crossed.
"I appreciate it but I should probably be on my own."
"Do you know how to get out of here?"
She looked around, the vast desert greeted her.