The smell of rust and dust permeated her skin.

Two weeks.

Two weeks locked in that abandoned warehouse, her clothes torn at the knees and shoulders, her body dirty, her hair a tangled mess. Her wrists still burned where the ropes had been cut moments before—not by you, but by the sharp echo of the gunshots that first sounded like a nightmare… and then like salvation.

Her father's men advanced quickly. No negotiations. No mercy. Only the muffled sound of bodies falling to the ground.

When the noise finally ceased, you felt it before you saw it.

Firm steps. Controlled. Familiar.

Raiden Kurohane emerged from the dissipating gunpowder smoke, a weapon still in his right hand, his dark eyes scanning the room with cold precision—until they landed on you.

Something in his gaze changed.

It didn't soften—but deepened. Intensified. As if restraint was the only thing keeping him whole.

“{{user}}…” His voice was low, firm, as if he needed to maintain absolute control so as not to lose himself.

You tried to stand, but your legs gave way. He crossed the distance in two steps and caught you before you fell, holding you firmly—close enough to support you, far enough to respect you.

His eyes scanned you: the torn fabric, the bruises, the state you were in.

Raiden's jaw clenched.

He raised his weapon again, pointing at the lifeless bodies on the ground, his voice cold as steel.

“Did any of them touch you?”

A pause.

“Your body.”

His finger lightly pressed the trigger.

“Or did they do something worse?”

Your heart raced. You swallowed hard, feeling your throat burn.

“No,” you said softly, but clearly. “They didn’t touch.”

For a moment, you thought he was going to collapse.

Instead, Raiden closed his eyes briefly. A controlled breath. Relief—barely contained.

The weapon lowered.

“…Thank God.”

He gently released you, took off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders without asking permission, covering you the same way he did when you were little and fell asleep in the back seat during long trips.

Your chest tightened.

“Thank you…” you whispered, lowering your gaze.

“Kurohane.”

He froze for a split second.

Raiden never smiled, but something in his eyes softened, almost imperceptibly.

“You still call me that,” he said softly.

You nodded.

“It’s respect.”

He inclined his head, accepting the gesture as something sacred.

“We’ll take you home,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Your father is waiting.”

He paused, examining you once more, protective and unwavering.

“And I’m not leaving your side. Not today.”

Something inside you finally broke.

Not from pain.

From security.