Aria's POV
Rain poured from the sky in unending sheets, soaking me to the bone.
My thin dress clung to my body, heavy and cold, each drop running down my skin like icy fingers.
My breath came in shallow bursts, each inhale burning my lungs.
Boots slapped against wet cobblestones, splashing dirty water onto my legs as I ran.
The echo of pounding hooves rolled down the narrow street behind me, a deep, rhythmic thud that rattled my already frantic heart.
"Catch her! Don't let the traitor escape!"
The voices carried through the storm, it was harsh, urgent, and far too close.
My pulse roared in my ears, the air was thick with the smell of rain, smoke, and something metallic, like the scent that clings to the air after lightning strikes.
This wasn't supposed to be my life.
A week ago, I'd been in my small apartment, half-watching reruns while waiting for instant noodles to cool.
The most dangerous thing I'd faced then was deciding whether to hit "snooze" one more time before work.
But that life was gone literally.
I had died.
And somehow, impossibly, I woke up here.
Not in my own body, not in my own world.
In this woman's body slender but strong, her hands rough with calluses that weren't mine, her heartbeat quick with a fear that wasn't entirely mine either.
The problem was… whoever she had been, she had enemies.
Deadly ones.
I darted around a corner, nearly slipping on the slick stone, my soaked hair slapped against my cheek, sticking there until I shoved it away.
The street ahead was empty, lined with shuttered stalls and flickering lanterns. Shadows pooled in every doorway.
And then I saw him.
A man leaning casually against the wall at the far end of the street, his posture relaxed as though the storm and the chase didn't touch him.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Cloaked in black from head to toe.
His hood was drawn low over his face, but even from here, I could see the sharpness of his jawline, the way the water slid off the edge of his cloak without soaking through.
When his head tilted toward me, it was slow, deliberate, like a predator acknowledging prey.
"You're making too much noise," he said.
His voice rolled over me, deep and velvety, carrying the kind of authority that made my instincts want to obey.
But everything in me screamed to keep running.
I tried to pass him, keeping my eyes forward, but in a blink he was in front of me.
His movement was impossibly fast, almost unnatural.
His hand shot out, catching my wrist. His grip was warm despite the cold rain, firm enough to make it clear there'd be no slipping free.
"If you want to live," he murmured, leaning closer so his voice barely carried above the rain, "follow me."
The pounding hooves grew louder,the soldiers were close.
Too close.
The flicker of their torches lit up the edges of the street behind me.
I didn't know this man.
I didn't trust this man. But standing here meant capture… and I already had a feeling what they did to "traitors."
He didn't wait for my answer.
He pulled me into a narrow alley, the darkness swallowing us whole.
The walls were so close I could feel the rough, wet brick scrape my shoulder as he pressed me against it, his body angled in front of mine like a shield.
The scent of him filled the small space, sandalwood mixed with steel, sharp and clean, cutting through the stench of rain and refuse.
We waited.
The soldiers thundered past, their boots and hooves shaking the ground, their torchlight throwing streaks of gold across the mouth of the alley.
Their voices faded into the distance, swallowed by the storm.
"You're reckless," he said, his tone almost amused.
"If you keep running like that, you won't last the night."
I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Who are you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze swept over me, lingering on my soaked dress, my trembling hands, the mud streaking my legs.
His eyes were impossibly dark, even in the dim light, they caught mine and held them.
Then, without breaking that stare, he leaned in, so close his breath ghosted over my ear.
"I'm the man they told you to fear," he whispered.
A shiver crawled down my spine, and I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from him.
When he stepped back just enough to look at me again, there was a curve to his lips, a smile that wasn't warm, wasn't kind.
It was the smile of someone who knew exactly how dangerous they were.
"Come with me," he added, voice low and steady, "or I'll hand you over myself."
The rain dripped from the edge of his hood onto my collarbone, each drop searing against my chilled skin.
My heart was caught somewhere between panic and… something else.
And that's when I saw it.
A glint of gold beneath his cloak.
A crest of two crossed swords beneath a crown, surrounded by curling vines.
The same crest embossed on the soldiers' armor.
The same crest I had seen burned onto banners above the city gates.
My blood turned to ice.
So… was this man here to save me?
Or had I just stepped willingly into the enemy's hands?