A bullet sliced the air so close it sang past my ear. Before the adrenaline even had time to spike, I was already colliding with someone—trouble wrapped in elegance, danger wearing perfume. We met in a breathless tangle of limbs and tension, two strangers standing at the edge of death’s doorstep.

No time for pleasantries. No names, no questions. Just a flash of narrowed eyes—sharp, assessing—and then I was shoving away, my boots scraping the dirt as another shot cracked through the air. Sticking around felt like begging fate to take a cleaner aim.

And yet, something lingered. Maybe it was the heat of that gaze, burning hotter than the gunfire. Or maybe it was the feeling that this moment didn’t belong to chance at all, but to a story refusing to end in death. I wasn’t fool enough to believe in fate, but if survival meant crossing paths again with that kind of fire… I might not mind the scars.

Just don’t mistake it for softness. My heart was still armoured steel, and the only thing I offered anyone was distance.

I glanced over my shoulder, a smirk tugging at my mouth as I called out, my voice rough but laced with charm.

“Next time you decide to waltz into a sniper’s playground, try doing it solo. No need to drag me into the dance, darling.”