Ep--- 4
The warehouse smelled of rain-soaked iron and cold concrete. Aria pressed a trembling hand to Raian's forehead — burning. Fever. The blood loss had taken its price.
"Stay still," she murmured, though she doubted he heard. Raian's eyes flickered open, storm-grey but unfocused. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Aria…" he rasped, voice rough and breaking.
She froze. Hearing her name in his mouth — softer than it had any right to be — sent a strange shiver through her chest.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "They'll come back… they always do."
"Hush," she ordered, forcing her voice to steady. "Let me help."
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As she checked his stitches, Aria's hands brushed old scars crisscrossing his chest and ribs — faded bullet wounds, blade slashes, and marks she couldn't name. Each scar felt like a story she dared not ask.
"You've been through hell," she whispered, more to herself.
His lips curved faintly, painfully. "Hell… still waiting." His gaze, fever-bright, locked on hers. "Get out, Aria. Before it finds you too."
"I'm not leaving," she whispered back, pulse racing. "You're my patient."
His eyelids fluttered, and in the haze of pain, something raw slipped through: "No, Aria… you're more than that now."
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Raian drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes murmuring words she couldn't catch — names, orders, curses in a language she didn't know. Each whisper felt like a glimpse into a world darker than she dared imagine.
Thunder rolled outside. Aria sat by him through the night, refusing to close her eyes. In the flickering lamplight, she studied his face — sharp jaw, shadows under his eyes, the way pain etched into every line.
She shouldn't care. He was dangerous, everything she swore to avoid.
Yet here she was, heart betraying her every time he whispered her name.
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By dawn, his fever broke. Sweat plastered black hair to his forehead. Raian stirred, breath steadier. His eyes opened — clearer, colder, walls rebuilt.
"You stayed," he murmured.
"I had to," Aria said, voice hoarse with exhaustion. "You'd have died."
He looked at her, something unreadable behind his gaze. "And now you're deeper in than before."
Aria swallowed. "Maybe. But I'm not sorry."
Raian's smirk barely touched his lips. "Foolish doctor," he murmured, voice softer than she expected.
Outside, morning light filtered through cracked windows — but inside, nothing felt safe. And Aria realized: she'd crossed a line that night, and there was no turning back.
Author's thought:
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Next: Raian gives Aria a choice — freedom, or a deeper descent into his shadowed world…
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