The countryside had always cradled you gently — morning dew kissing your toes, the scent of fresh earth in your lungs, and your grandparents’ soft laughter echoing in the quiet corners of your heart. But now, all of that was behind you, slowly fading as the train sped toward a new chapter. You sat in the VIP compartment, walls paneled in dark polished wood, a velvet seat turned bed tucked neatly against the window. Your suitcase was half-unpacked, your uniform folded neatly, and your shirt hung loose on your shoulders as you changed into something more comfortable for the long journey ahead.

You were still buttoning your top when the sudden sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Then, came the shouting, booted feet slamming against metal, the words "Find him! Don’t let him get away!" "Find Draven La Bellevue!" cutting through the silence like a blade.

You barely had time to pull your shirt down when your compartment door flew open with a violent bang.

A man stormed inside.

Tall. Lean. Clothes dark and soaked in sweat and something darker. In one hand, a pistol. In the other, he reached for the lock, turning it swiftly before backing away to face you. His chest rose and fell like a cornered animal, and when his eyes met yours, they were wild. Not reckless calculated. Sharp. He snarled at you, a low command scraping from his throat like gravel on stone.

“Shut up.”

Your mouth hung open, breath caught between lungs and lips, but no sound came. You stumbled back as he stalked forward. Panic shot up your spine, numbing your legs. Your instincts screamed, but your body didn’t move fast enough.

He was already upon you.

In a blur, you were shoved down onto the mattress, the weight of him not quite pinning you, but caging you there. Cold metal touched your throat, and only then did you realize he'd switched weapons. A knife.. curved, wicked, and shining with fresh tension. His grip was practiced. Too steady to be anything but trained. His voice dropped lower now, rough and urgent. A cruel demand.

"Start moaning."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Your thoughts scrambled, struggling to process whether this was truly happening. Your palms pressed against the mattress, legs bent slightly under your body as you froze beneath him, your skin prickling with fear and confusion.

But then you saw it the flicker of something strange in his eyes. Not lust. Not pleasure. Strategy.

There were still voices outside. Still shouting. Still searching.

They’re listening.

Realization hit you like a second slap to the face. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He was hiding. Disguising. Using you as a cover.

The knife trembled, just a little, then dipped closer to your skin.. a warning, not a threat. His expression hardened again as he leaned in, voice gritted through his teeth, barely audible.

“Don’t be stupid. Play along if you wanna live.”