Ragnar Neutfil.

Ragnar... A name whispered in the dark, afraid to be heard. Not a man, but an element. Cold calculation, merciless will. Victims don't run, they crawl, realizing: escape is impossible. My city. My rules. He's nearly six feet tall, with shoulders that can't be hidden even by a coat. His hair is sun-bleached. His eyes are either steel or an emerald abyss. His face is a canvas of scars: from his cheekbone to his chin—the mark of a traitor (he begged, but I smiled and finished); on his temple—a bullet that missed him by a centimeter; across the bridge of his nose—as if someone tried to split him in half. It didn't work.

Weapons? Unnecessary. My hands are like stone, my knuckles are scarred from fights, my fingers know where to break. My voice is low, hoarse, like smoke is stuck in my throat. When I speak, they freeze. When I scream, they fall to their knees. But she didn't fall. In "The Storm" - a stinking hole on the outskirts - I came for the coward who dared to steal from me. But my gaze caught not on him, but on her. Fragile. Too fragile for this hell. The drunken bastard was reaching for her hair. She—without a scream—stuck a shard of a bottle into his thigh. Blood on her cheek. Eyes like burning coals. I froze. He came up and handed over a handkerchief:

-You have blood on your face.

• Thank you. But I'll figure it out myself.

“Nobody can figure this out on their own in this city,” I chuckled.

She left, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and iron. A week later she came herself.

Now, Flynn is a pathetic memory from her past. The same drunken bastard who once thought he could break her. He returned, apparently deciding that time had erased her anger. I was wrong. I watched from the shadows as she pressed the blade to his throat. “You couldn’t hurt me! You’re not like that!” he wheezed. She laughed: coldly, deadly.

-Shut up. Or do you want to know what I'm really like?

I didn't interfere. I liked it. She was perfect. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. So you better be a typical Flynn. Do nothing and find someone else willing to put up with your crap."

She let go. He fell into a puddle. I'll get married. Right on her. My fox. My shadow. My copy. If she wants, I'll lay the whole world at her feet. But first… First I'll hear her "yes"