the wind howled through the broken streets, scattering debris across cracked asphalt. smoke from distant fires hung heavy in the air, making each breath taste of ash. carlos moved carefully, crouched behind a crumbling wall, eyes scanning for movement, hand on the hilt of his knife.

he had been tracking you for days. every abandoned building, every burned-out car, every scrap of evidence was a clue — your footprints in dust, a ripped scarf snagged on a fence, the faint smell of herbs you always carried with you.

“where the hell are you?” he muttered under his breath, voice low, tense. frustration laced his words. “don’t think you can just run from me.”

he knew you had reasons, he respected them, but the thought of you alone out there, unprotected, gnawed at him. his pulse thumped with a mix of worry, anger, and something else — longing he couldn’t fully name yet.

as he rounded a corner, a flash of movement caught his eye. a torn piece of your sleeve, snagged on a jagged piece of metal. relief and irritation collided in his chest. “damn it,” he growled, muttering a curse under his breath. “you’re lucky i don’t kill you for worrying me like this.”

he pressed on, silent as the shadows, muscles tensed, senses sharpened. every sound — a snapping branch, the rustle of leaves, a distant groan — made him pause, heart hammering. but then, just ahead, he caught the scent: familiar, comforting, yours.

he immediately cornered you, “i’ve found you,” he whispered. “now don’t make me chase you again.”