I'm cradled in the grip of a nightmare—the embrace of a man drenched in blood, a man who moments before tried to end my life.

We plunge through the air with reckless velocity. The biting wind tears at every inch of exposed skin, each gust a sting that reminds me how fragile I am against the force he's wielding.

My arms hook tightly around him, fingers clawing the fabric of his shirt in desperate refuge. My cheek presses against his chest—a cold, unyielding surface devoid of warmth, and absent of any heartbeat's rhythm.

Against my better judgment, I blink open my eyes, stealing a glance downward. Hair whipping wildly, lips parted as the concrete sidewalk hurtles toward us like a merciless predator.

Blindfolded, I brace for the inevitable—to be released, to fall, to die.

Suddenly, a deafening crash shatters the moment—like stones breaking beneath tremendous weight. Instinctively, my grip tightens, and his arm constricts around me with equal ferocity. The wind falls away; I force my eyelids apart once more.

Below, he lands on his feet — each step fracturing the cement beneath him, the ground splintering outward, the damage stretching far beyond what the eye can see. Neither of us bears a scratch.

I wrench myself free from his hold; he relinquishes me without protest. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline roaring through my veins.

Feet scrambling on shattered concrete, I scan my body with trembling hands. No cuts, no bruises. My breath eases, steadying.

I rise before him, lifting my gaze to meet his dark, haunted eyes. The sinister veins that had shadowed his skin recede; now, only the drying blood marks him. The world around his footprints bears the scars of his power — vast cracks jaggedly etched into the earth.

"That... that didn't hurt you?" I ask, awe threading through my voice.

His black eyes bore into mine, emotionless, hollow.

"Pain is a stranger to me," he says, the wail of distant sirens weaving through his words. Blood soaked into his clothing darkens under the waning light. "I don't feel a thing."

My heart clenches as the sirens grow nearer. If they find me here—if they find him—everything is lost. My license, my career, the fragile thread I've held onto in this fractured world.

"Come on," I urge, urgency lacing my tone. Turning sharply, I sprint toward my car, trusting him to follow without a backward glance.

As we run, I glimpse the fallen security camera pole, toppled by the force of his landing, sprawled across a cluster of parked cars — but my vehicle remains untouched.

Reaching the driver's side, I fling the door open. Atlantic pauses at the passenger door, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Get in!" I snap, narrowing my gaze.

He slides inside silently. The engine roars to life, and I tear out of the parking lot, reckless speed propelling us away from danger.

The city blurs past; tension hangs thick in the air as I navigate the winding road leading to my solitary home. Thirty minutes from the chaos, nestled among whispering trees and isolation.

My sanctuary now feels more like a trap, a risk. I’m harboring a monster — someone I should fear, someone I should run from.

He sits quietly beside me, a shadow bleeding into the night.

Glancing sideways, I catch his bloodied profile illuminated faintly by streetlights. The stranger beside me, both dangerous and enigmatic.

"I won't have any clothes for you to change into," I murmur, breaking the silence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn toward me, curiosity flickering in eyes that are no longer entirely black.

"Can’t you lend me some of your boyfriend’s clothes?" he asks, voice low.

A laugh escapes me, bitter and hollow. The thought of a boyfriend feels absurd — my life has never left room for such distractions.

"I don’t have a boyfriend," I say, the humor draining from my tone. I return my gaze to the road, but I sense his unblinking scrutiny.

"Really?" he challenges, skepticism threading his words.

Frowning, I lift my hands briefly off the wheel. "Yes, really. Why is that so hard to believe?"

He resumes staring ahead. "Not sure. Just... expected you to have one."

Arriving at my driveway, I slow, careful not to attract attention. The car hums quietly as I kill the engine, lingering in the stillness.

Atlantic turns, watching me.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Thinking," I answer sharply, running my hands through my hair. "What the hell are we doing, Atlantic?"

All the weight of my choices crashes down. Helping him escape, hiding him in my home — I’m risking everything I stand for.

He meets my gaze, unflinching. "I’m getting even with those who kept me captive," he says simply. "And you’re chasing your dream of becoming the most heroic doctor on Earth."

Moonlight slants through the window, casting long shadows between us. The man before me is both a fallen angel and a demon unleashed.

"You're going to kill them all," I whisper, dread curling in my chest.

His head tilts slightly; the stone mask of his expression never wavers.

"Yes," he confirms. "Every last one."

Morning arrives, breaking the fragile calm. My routine fractures under the weight of his presence.

Entering the kitchen, I find him standing silently by the window, gazing skyward. His silhouette is bathed in sunlight, but he remains still, silent.

"Do you want some coffee?" I ask cautiously, moving toward the coffeemaker.

He doesn't respond immediately—just watches me. When I glance back, confusion threads his features.

"Coffee?" he repeats, voice rough and uncertain.

"Yes, coffee," I say, surprised by his lack of understanding. "You don’t know what coffee is?"

He steps closer, eyes dark and searching. "I don’t know anything," he admits. "That’s why I need you, little lamb."

His confession chills me. "I was caught because I had nowhere to go," he continues. "No refuge. You need to keep me hidden. You know this world better than I ever will."

I watch the amber liquid drip into my cup, nails tapping a nervous rhythm on the counter.

"I want to know everything about you," I say at last, meeting his gaze. "Everything."