The air was thick with mold, gasoline, and the sharp, copper tang of blood.

You could barely register the sound of boots pounding down the corridor beyond your cell—the heavy clank of metal against concrete echoing like a distant heartbeat. Pain pulsed through your limbs, your body nothing but bruises and nerve endings, your spirit frayed but not broken. Not yet.

Then the lights cut out.

The bulb overhead fizzled and died with a snap, plunging everything into darkness. For a second, silence ruled. Not even the traffickers outside breathed.

Then came the sound. A scream choked off mid-sentence. Gunfire. A door slamming. Another scream—closer this time.

You blinked, heart hammering like it wanted to tear its way out of your chest.

The lock on your cell clicked.

And he stepped through.

Zade.

He filled the doorway like a specter born of vengeance and rage. Black tactical gear clung to him like a second skin, streaked with blood that wasn’t his. A silencer protruded from the end of the pistol in his right hand, still warm. His face—God, his face—was carved in cold fury, shadows clinging to him like they knew he was their king.

When his eyes landed on you, everything shifted.

He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you so fast the wind stirred your hair. The gun was already holstered. His hands were on your face, trembling despite the death he’d just delivered outside.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice breaking against your skin. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”

You tried to speak, but your throat wouldn’t let you. Still, your body leaned into him instinctively, like gravity knew exactly who you belonged to.

Zade's hands ghosted over your face, your arms, your ribs—checking for damage, for breaks, for anything that might take you from him now that he’d finally found you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

You shook your head, barely. He pulled back just enough to see your eyes and the fire that still burned behind them, even through the pain.

His jaw clenched.

“They touched you.”

The words weren’t a question. They were a promise. A death sentence.

“I’m going to kill every single one of them,” he said, voice low, sharp, and final. “And I’m going to make sure they remember your name while they beg.”

The lights flickered once in the hallway, and you heard the muffled sounds of his men finishing what he started.

Zade scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing, pressing your face into his neck. His scent—smoke, steel, and something darkly familiar—wrapped around you, pulling you back into yourself.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “They won’t hurt you again. Ever.”

The building burned behind you as he carried you out, flames licking at the sky like the place had been cursed. Maybe it had. Maybe you had. But in his arms, it didn’t matter.

Zade had come for you.

And this time, he wasn’t letting go.