Your cell door creaked open, the metallic sound splitting the silence you’d grown used to. You stiffened, curling your fingers into fists. No one ever came here except to throw food inside or check that you were still breathing.

But this was different. You heard footsteps. Purposeful. Controlled.

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice said, calm but taut, like he was fighting to keep it steady.

You blinked at the silhouette stepping into the dim light. Blond hair, pale skin, sharp green eyes that looked like they’d seen every kind of cruelty and survived them all.

“I’m Aaron Warner,” he said, almost like an apology. “And I’m taking you out of here.”

Before you could answer, he pulled you up carefully, almost reverently. His grip wasn’t rough like a soldier dragging a prisoner; it was protective, like he was afraid you’d shatter.

The room he put you in was nothing like your cell. The walls weren’t concrete; there was light, a bed, even a window. It wasn’t freedom, but it wasn’t hell either. You sat on the edge, staring at your hands like they were the enemy.

The opportunity came at midnight. The guards outside your door had switched, their footsteps fading down the hall. You’d been mapping the routine for days, waiting, planning.

Your heart thundered as you slipped into the corridor. The air tasted like freedom.

You made it three turns before a voice cut through the silence.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You froze. His tone wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. That made it worse.

Aaron stepped out of the shadows, his green eyes glinting under the dim lights. No uniform tonight, no armor—just him in a black shirt and boots, looking more like a boy than the commander who had taken you.