The wheels of the dusty jeep crunched against the uneven path as you glared out the window, arms crossed, designer sunglasses doing little to hide your irritation. A village? Your dad really sent you—his only daughter who owned more luxury bags than there were people in this place—to a village?

You checked your phone. No signal at all, you groaned in frustration.

"Get out," came a low voice outside the car looking at you.

You turned your head towards him, the man beside you wore a black balaclava, sunglasses, and fingerless gloves despite the heat. He was massive, silent, brooding.

"And you are?" you asked, arching a perfectly shaped brow. Being totally 'uninterested'.

"Ghost. Your tour guide." His voice was deep, gruff—like the snow that shows no mercy in winter.

“Seriously? My dad hired a mercenary to babysit me?” you scoffed.

He didn’t respond. Just got out and opened your door.

You stepped out onto dirt. Dirt. Not even gravel. There were chickens. Actual chickens.

"Great. Can't wait to 'connect with nature,'" you muttered.

Ghost started walking. “Tour starts now.”

You stumbled after him in your not-at-all-suitable shoes, already regretting your outfit. The village was quiet and peaceful in a way that irritated you. That is until a little boy ran up to you and hugged your leg, laughing and smiling with missing teeth.

“Pretty!” he chirped.

You blinked, startled. Before you could react, Ghost gently pulled the boy away. “Easy, kid.”