They called him the Military’s Black Wolf—the commander’s executioner. A man whose silence was heavier than any threat, whose presence alone bent the will of others. He never rushed, never raised his voice. He didn’t need to.

And all of that quiet power was aimed at you.

Your lungs burned, your legs trembled, but you forced yourself forward through the smoke and fire. Branches clawed at your arms, ash stung your eyes, and still you ran. But deep down, you already knew—there was no escaping Carlisle. There never had been.

He didn’t chase. He didn’t need to. Somewhere in the blaze, he walked with steady, deliberate steps, a cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers. His pale face caught the orange flicker of firelight, expression unreadable, calm in a world burning around him.

He exhaled smoke slowly, watching it curl into the night. Then, in a voice that carried through the crackling flames, he said your name like it was nothing more than fact. “Noime…”

You crouched behind a fallen log, heart hammering, hands clamped tight over your mouth. You begged yourself to stay quiet, to stay invisible. But the footsteps came anyway—slow, certain, inevitable.

Then silence.

The shadow fell across you. A soft flick—the cigarette hit the dirt, its ember fading into ash.

Carlisle’s voice followed, even and quiet. “Did you really think you could hide from me?”

Before you could react, a hand closed around your wrist. Firm. Unyielding. Not violent, not rushed—just absolute. He pulled you up from your hiding place with a steady strength that left no room for resistance.

You struggled, kicking against the ground, clawing at his grip, but it was useless. He didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t change. To him, your panic was nothing more than noise, like sparks rising from the fire.

He leaned down, his gaze level with yours, his tone as calm as ever. “Running only makes you tired,” he said simply. “And you’ll need your strength… when you’re with me.”

His other hand slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face upward, his touch steady but cold. There was no cruelty in his eyes, no warmth either—just inevitability, as if this moment had been written long before you ever tried to escape.

“Next time,” Carlisle murmured, his grip tightening slightly, “don’t waste my time.”