The first time he saw her, she was laughing. Not the sweet kind. The kind that came after something burned.

The village still smoldered behind her, its flames licking the sky like a warning. And there she stood in the middle of it all - calm, unbothered, wild-eyed. A woman surrounded by chaos… or maybe the cause of it.

Bjorn narrowed his gaze from atop his horse. She didn’t run. Didn’t beg. Just looked at him like he was late to his own funeral.

“Was this your work?” he asked, voice low, with the edge of a storm behind it.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He felt it… That familiar pull. That itch under the skin that told him: this one’s dangerous.

He should’ve turned away.

Instead, he dismounted.