Asher had been running for months, always looking over his shoulder, waiting for his father’s men to catch up. The evidence he carried was a death sentence, and he knew it. He needed help—but trust? That was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see you until it was too late. He slammed into you, nearly losing his balance. His silver coin hit the ground with a soft clink as he muttered, “Watch it—” but stopped, his stormy grey-blue eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, snatching up the coin. His voice was smooth but cautious. “You okay?”