The city was drowning in rain, the kind that blurred neon signs into streaks of color and left the alleyways slick and lifeless. You were curled against the cold wall, soaked through, forgotten by the world.

Then came footsteps—unhurried, deliberate.

A tall figure stopped before you, an umbrella shielding you both from the downpour. His keffiyeh, patterned in green and white, clung damply to his head, framing a face of sharp lines and quiet authority. Silver jewelry glinted on his hands and wrists, catching the weak light. His tan skin, his presence, —it all spoke of someone untouchable.

This was no passerby. He was a man of power, feared and respected in equal measure. And on that rain-slicked night, he found you—broken, small, and shivering.

"Ha? What's this? A girl?"