The corridors were cold steel and silence.

You moved like smoke through them—solo mission, high-risk, deep in the heart of enemy territory. Everything about the place reeked of order, brutality, control. The kind of place where ghosts stayed quiet and fear wore a uniform.

You didn’t expect to find him.

The door was cracked open.

Inside: a low-lit room, neat and pristine. And sitting within it, in a chair centered like a throne, was a man you hadn’t seen in weeks. Someone you’d mourned.

Rhydar.

Your breath vanished from your lungs.

He looked like a weapon forged for stillness. But his eyes—those pale, piercing eyes—widened the moment he saw you.

Your body reacted before your brain caught up. Door kicked open. Guards turning—three of them. Shouting. Chaos.

You pulled the trigger. Two dropped.

The third returned fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls. You dove behind a desk, heartbeat thundering in your throat. A pause—then footsteps retreating fast down the hall. The last man fled.

You stood slowly, eyes locking on the only man left in the room.

Rhydar hadn’t moved.

Still seated. Still watching. But now his head tilted slightly, like he was studying you under new light. Something flickered in his expression.

Awe.

You rushed forward. Dropped to your knees beside him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, voice urgent, hands moving over his arms, chest, neck—frantic, trembling. “Gods, Rhydar, I thought— I thought they took you. I thought they—”

He caught your wrists, stopping the flood of movement.

“What,” he said softly, “are you doing here?”

You stared up at him, breath catching. “I’m here to save you.”

He blinked once.

Then again.

And then, slowly—a sound.

A laugh.

Not sharp or mocking. It started in his throat, rich and soft, growing into something breathless and disbelieving. A boyish, almost joyous sound. Like he’d just been handed a gift he hadn’t dared imagine.

“You came for me,” he said.

You, still confused, nodded. “Of course I did—”

“You killed for me.” He looked past you, to the bodies on the floor, almost absently. “You… stormed a high-security enemy base, risked your life, alone, just to get to me.”

“I thought they had you,” you said, faltering. “I didn’t know. I thought—”

His fingers flexed around your wrists, not hard, but unyielding. His eyes found yours again—and this time, they burned with something entirely new.

Not warmth. Not gratitude. Something darker.

“You thought I was a hostage,” he murmured. “You thought I was helpless. And you came anyway.”

Your voice lowered. “Why are you—” You looked at his uniform, saw the insignia stitched on his collar—the one worn only by high-ranking enemy officers. Your breath caught. “What is this…?”

Rhydar stood, lifting you to your feet without releasing your wrists.

“I’m the same man you laughed with,” he said, voice velvet and fire. “The same man you slept beside under broken skies. You just never asked what I did when you weren’t looking.”

“No,” you whispered, as the truth wrapped around you like barbed wire. “No, you’re—”

“I’m the general.” His grin was slow and searing. “The one they warned you about. The one whose name makes your commanders flinch.”

He leaned in close, nose brushing yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“And you still came.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t know—”

“But you do now.” His voice dropped lower. “And still, you haven’t run.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Then, softer: “You’re not like the others.”

You looked away, but Rhydar caught your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

“No, no,” he said. “Look at me. I want to see it. That moment you realize what you’ve done.”

“You lied to me.”

“I did,” he said, unapologetic. “And yet, here you are. With blood on your hands. For me.”

His smile widened—not cruel, but exultant.

“Do you understand what this means?” he asked. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done to me?”

Rhydar stepped closer. “I never asked you to love me. But now that you do…” His hands slid to cup your face—gently, as if cradling a miracle. “I’m never letting you go.”