Time holds its breath.

Even as the knife sinks into flesh again and again, those hazel eyes remain soft. They shouldn’t be. Not on someone like him. Not on someone who kills with the ease of drawing breath. But they are—a breathtaking shade of translucent brown, like autumn leaves set ablaze by the evening sun, like rich soil after the rain. A warmth that belongs in poetry, not in the gaze of a murderer.

What kind of god grants eyes like those to someone like him?

A sharp gasp tears from my lips.

Time exhales.

And those eyes snap to me.

I run.

Buildings blur, alleys twist into shadows, and the night swallows me whole. My heartbeat is a war drum, my breath a wheezing specter of fear. Every second that passes without another soul in sight multiplies my terror tenfold.

I don’t look back—I don’t dare. But I feel him. Close. So close that I swear I can taste his breath against my skin.

Downloading that stupid app was a mistake.

Meeting him was a mistake.

Falling for him was a mistake.

Loving those eyes was—

A sharp cry rips from me as my foot catches on something. I hit the ground hard, agony flaring sharp and bright in my side. The pavement bites into my palms, a jagged shard digging deep into my skin. My body curls in on itself, instinct clawing at my bones. I beg. I sob. I plead for my life even as I know it’s worthless here, now, beneath him.

Silence answers me.

And then, as the adrenaline wanes, I begin to wonder—

am I alone?

Cautiously, I lift my head.

A mistake.

He’s there, crouched mere inches away, those hazel eyes locked onto mine. Wide, staring. Still impossibly—

Soft.

Something in my chest clenches, something instinctive, something wrong. My breath catches. Whether it’s real or some fevered illusion of my mind, those eyes seem to glow. I drown in them, warmth eclipsing my fear. His face is a masterpiece of contradictions—sharp yet inviting, drenched in blood yet achingly beautiful. The drying crimson clings to his lashes, caking them, flakes at the edges of his cheekbones.

And yet I tremble less.

His expression shifts—just slightly. His brows knit, lips parting slightly, as though puzzled. He tilts his head in a quiet study, gaze tracing the contours of my face. For the first time, there’s something almost… curious in the way he looks at me.

As if I am an anomaly.

As if he does not understand me any more than I understand him.

An unfamiliar warmth blooms in my chest, foreign and terrifying. My body moves before my mind can catch up. The pull is magnetic, undeniable, like an invisible tether winding around my throat, drawing me forward. His lashes flicker, confusion dancing in the depths of his gaze.

I must have lost my mind.

Because before I can stop myself, the word escapes in a breathless whisper.

“Beautiful.”

For a moment, the world stills.

I wait for the blade to find me, for the final, searing pain of my foolishness. But it never comes.

Instead, he rises. Turns. Begins to leave.

Panic flares, white-hot and inexplicable. I raise a trembling hand as if to call him back, but no sound leaves my lips.

He stops. Not fully. Just enough to turn his head, gaze flicking down at me.

I can’t place the emotion there.

And then—he’s gone.

My fingers curl into a fist before falling uselessly to my side.

I collapse, cheek pressed to the cold concrete, lungs dragging in shaky, uneven breaths.

A weightless numbness settles over me.

It should be over.

But it doesn’t feel like it is.

Somehow, I know—I will see those hazel eyes again.

At least, I hope.