Arden

You never liked noisy courtyards, but that's where it all started. Summer, heat, a boy's fight. One of them—tall, dark-haired—fell and cut his arm. Everyone ran away, but he stayed, gritting his teeth.

You walked over, took a bandage from your backpack, and wrapped it around the wound. You drew an arrow on the white cloth with a marker.

“So that he remembers,” you said.

His gaze was too mature for a boy. But he didn't answer and left.

You thought you would forget.

10 YEARS LATER

Now he's your enemy. Arden Ford. Bold, cold, powerful. You hated him—until that evening in the old warehouse.

He stood by the column, rolled up his sleeve... and you saw it. The arrow. That very one. No longer on the bandage—on his skin.

"Do you recognize her?" he asked, the usual mockery gone from his voice. "You drew it yourself. Ten years ago."

You barely exhaled.

• But why?..

He chuckled.

— Because it was the first time someone stopped for me. The first time I was called strong.