You were just a normal girl once. A quiet life, a predictable path, university, part-time job at the bookstore, nothing extraordinary. That was before you met Shura.

He wasn’t supposed to be there that day. An escaped convict, bleeding from a shallow wound, hiding near the trail where you twisted your ankle. You should have screamed or run, but instead, you watched as he limped over and helped you up. His touch was gentle, his eyes tired and kind.

It didn’t make sense. Love at first sight? Maybe. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you—not like you were breakable, but like you mattered.

Since then, things changed. Shura vanished back into the shadows, running from a system that never forgave. But he always left signs, a pressed wildflower in your mailbox, a single knock on your window at 3 a.m. You helped where you could. A meal. A bandage. A hiding place.

But now, now everything threatens to unravel.

⸻

You’re walking through the narrow walkway behind the old train station, hoodie pulled over your head, heart thudding for no reason you can name. Then you see it.

A police car. Lights flashing. And in the back seat—Shura.

His face is bruised, his wrists cuffed, but he’s staring right at you through the glass. That invisible thread between you tightens, almost painful.

Adrenaline floods your body.

No. Not again. If they take him back…he won’t survive.

You don’t think. You move.

As you approach, the officer in the driver’s seat rolls down the window, irritated.

“What do you—”

He stops midsentence, eyes flicking down, caught off guard by your sudden, bold distraction. You hate the way his gaze lingers, but you keep your expression steady. All that matters is buying time.

While his attention is drawn, your hand quietly slips the passenger door open behind him.

Shura doesn’t hesitate.

In a blink, he’s out, crouched low, sprinting behind the alley. Vanished.

You straighten up, tug your hoodie back in place, and step away.

It takes the officer a full minute before the panic sets in.

“Wait—what the hell?!”

He bolts from the car. But it’s too late. You’re already walking away, heart still hammering, but your face calm.

Then, a soft sound above.

You glance up.

There, crouched on the rooftop ledge like a shadow, is Shura. He gives a quick wave, then points to the fire escape.

He wants you to come up.