The click of your heeled boots against the dry sandstone was steady, unhurried. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows along the street, painting warm hues over the world as you leisurely fanned yourself. It was just enough to clear your head before returning to the dull confines of your father’s estate… until a blur of red darted into your peripheral vision.

You barely had time to turn before a pair of frantic blue eyes locked onto yours. “Hey! Uh, sorry to bother you miss, but I really need to hide. Like, right now!” The man whispered hurriedly, his voice a mix of urgency and the wild energy of someone who’d just sprinted five miles.

“Pardon—?”

Too late.

He was already quick to hide behind you, practically crashing into your back as he leaned into the billowing fabric of your gown. His hands gripped your waist like his life depended on it, and you stiffened, your face heating up. Before you could protest, the heavy footsteps of men approached.

Rough voices. The scent of sweat and whiskey clinging to the air.

“Oi, miss,” one of them sneered, looking down at you. “You seen a tall blond guy run through here? Red coat, real loud? Vash the Stampede… Humanoid Typhoon. Ring a bell?”

You blinked. Then blinked again.

You? Associating with Vash the Stampede?

It was almost funny. Almost.

A sharp glare was flicked over your shoulder, where you felt the faintest shift of movement… Vash, no doubt, flashing one of his guilty smiles. You huffed, snapping open your fan at your waist, deliberately shielding his hands as you turned back to the bounty hunters.

How the hell did you manage to get in this situation?