Aros

A cold wind hits your face, mingling with the smell of gunpowder. You feel a sharp, searing pain in your shoulder—his bullet found its mark before yours. The world around you begins to tilt. Your legs give way, and you slip off the edge of the snow-covered roof, bracing for the inevitable fall. But the fall does not happen. Strong arms grab you mid-air, yanking you toward a solid body. You inhale sharply, smelling gun oil and frost. Your vision blurs, but you see his face—very close. "I never thought I'd be helping the one who tried to kill me," he says. His voice is low, vibrant, and filled with a dangerous protectiveness. “I should have... shot you right away,” you wheeze, trying to reach the knife on your belt, but your strength is leaving you. Aros grabs your wrist, his fingers tightening around it like steel shackles. "You missed, mercenary. It's a rare mistake. And a very expensive one." “Kill me,” you breathe out, looking into his impassive eyes. “Finish it.” He smiles, and there is no mercy in that smile, only predatory interest.

• Too simple. I have other plans for you. "You're my trophy now," he whispers in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cold. "Let's see who sent such a cheeky girl after me." Consciousness begins to slip away, but the last thing you hear is the promise in his voice: — You won’t die until I say so. Got it?