The car tore through the narrow streets of Hwenton, its tires screeching as Nikolas swerved to avoid collisions. The spotlight from the helicopter above followed their every move, bathing the dark streets in harsh, glaring light. Behind them, the roar of engines and the blaring sirens of Imperial Guard vehicles grew louder, closing the distance.

Nikolas gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled focus, his jaw clenched as he pushed the car to its limits. Sweat trickled down his temple despite the cool night air. Every fiber of his being was dedicated to one task—outrun them. But the constant thrum of the helicopter overhead reminded him just how slim their chances were.

Elle leaned out of the passenger-side window, firing at the following guards with a steady aim. Her initial rounds skimmed the automobiles, sparking off metal. Finally, a tire blew, sending a guard's car flying out of control. It collided into the side of a building, bursting in flames.  

  

"Nice shot," Nikolas said quietly, his voice tense with concentration.  

  

Elle retreated back into the car as her gun went empty. "We need to take down that helicopter," she replied, throwing the worthless weapon on the floorboard.

Nikolas did not answer quickly. His gaze shifted between the road and the dazzling light above them. His breathing increased, and the ache in his shoulder from the last bullet nibbling at his concentration. After a time, he came to a decision.  

  

"Take the wheel," he stated abruptly.  

  

"What?" Elle jerked, shocked.  

  

Before she could argue more, Nikolas seized her wrist and slammed it forcefully on the driving wheel. "I said grab the wheel!"

Elle hardly had time to brace herself before Nikolas leaned out the window, conjuring a ball of fire in his palm. The bright ball illuminated his face, and perspiration glistened on his brow as he poured what little energy he had left into the fire. The light from the helicopter's spotlight briefly blinded him, but he pushed his eyes open to focus on his goal.  

  

With a groan, he tossed the scorching fireball into the heavens. The chopper tried to divert, but the flames struck its tail and engulfed it in an enormous conflagration. The aircraft lost control and crashed into the roadway behind them, taking down two of the guard cars who were chasing them.

Nikolas dropped into the driver's seat, his body trembling as he gripped the steering wheel. His heartbeat pounded fiercely in his ears, each pulse a terrible reminder of the bullet wound that had ripped through his side. His long hands clenched over the driving wheel, his knuckles white, as agony and fury emanated from every taut muscle. His furrowed brow and clinched jaw revealed the wordless war he fought against the agony.

Elle looked at him from the corner of her eye, her face unreadable. She observed everything—the way his breathing were short and irregular, the way his hold on the wheel slipped for a single second—but opted not to remark. Instead, she leaned back in the passenger seat, her voice quiet but forceful. "Take a left and then a right at the end. There's an abandoned junkyard there."  

  

Nikolas gave a stiff nod, pressing his lips into a narrow line as he followed her instructions. The silence that filled the car wasn’t awkward but heavy, laced with unspoken understanding. The only noises were the engine's hum and the occasional hiss from his strained breathing.

The junkyard loomed ahead, a gloomy maze of rusting metal and abandoned machinery. Nikolas steered the vehicle into an isolated corner, the tires crunching on gravel as the engine stuttered to a halt. His hands dropped off the steering wheel, and he leaned back in his seat, his chest rising and falling in jagged, uneven breaths. Each breath seemed to require more effort, and the low light of the junkyard formed deep shadows across his strained features.

Nikolas lay there, engulfed in a veil of conflicting emotions—numbness crept throughout his body, but every nerve felt like it was burning, especially the agonizing anguish from the gunshot wound on his shoulder. He focused on his breathing, each brief breath a reminder of how little time he had left. His body was losing blood, and he knew that oblivion would soon take control. Calling the Vacile would be pointless; he could already feel himself passing out even if they came.

But he couldn’t die. Not now. Not with her here. 

"Take your clothes off." The stillness in the car was suddenly broken by Elle’s voice, sharp and direct. Nikolas blinked, taken aback by her sudden order. The grin that pulled at the corner of his lips was unintentional, but it was laced with agony as he moved in his chair. 

"Damn, princess. Take me out to dinner first," he teased, his voice tinged with sarcastic laughter, despite the pain that threatened to consume him. His gaze shifted to her, but the irritating expression she gave him caused him to chuckle faintly.  

  

Elle was not amused. She shook her head in frustration, her eyes steadfast as she repeated herself, her tone becoming increasingly irritated. "Just take your damn clothes off."

"Alright, alright..." Nikolas mumbled under his breath, his circumstances weighing heavily on him. He followed her order, his motions sluggish and strained as he shrugged off his coat and slipped his turtleneck sweater over his head. The cloth held briefly to his flesh before slipping away, leaving him bare in the car, blood flowing from the gunshot wound on his shoulder.  

  

Elle did not waste a second. Without saying anything, she slid closer to him, her actions fast but intentional. Nikolas tensed in surprise, but before he could object, Elle gently put her palm over the gaping hole on his shoulder. A peculiar green glow emitted from her palm, throwing an unsettling light on the gloomy inside of the car. The aroma of pleasant herbs filled the air, in sharp contrast to the antiseptic and metallic odor of his own blood.  

  

Nikolas expected to feel something, perhaps a burst of warmth or comfort, but all he felt was the coolness of her touch against his naked flesh. His pulse increased, but not due to the discomfort. Instead, his attention turned to the woman in front of him.

He found himself examining her with calm intensity. The seriousness imprinted on her face, the faint lines of tiredness under her eyes. Her skin was incredibly flawless, and her long light brown eyelashes created delicate shadows on her stunning blue eyes. Despite the tiredness in her eyes, there was a calm power in the way she carried herself.  

  

Nikolas lost himself in her, the world outside fading into the background as he became enthralled by her presence.

Nikolas's hand trembled with a frantic want to touch her—to softly lay his hand over hers, trace the curve of her wrist or to feel the gentle warmth of her cheek resting on his palm. The thought lingered in his mind, clouding his senses, but before he could act on it, Elle glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Their gazes connected for a time, and a wordless conversation occurred between them. 

Elle gently withdrew without saying anything, moving her hand away from his shoulder. In her palm, she revealed something—a bullet.  

The sight of it seemed to jolt Nikolas back to reality, the weight of what had just occurred settling over him like a frigid wave. His eyes darted to his shoulder, and his breath caught in his throat. The wound was gone. What had previously been a gaping and gushing wound was now nothing but smooth, healed flesh, bathed in the remnants of his blood.  

His mind raced, and incredulity clouded his thoughts. Nikolas, not trusting his senses, tentatively placed his palm on his shoulder, feeling just the hard, pristine flesh. It was completely healed. The anguish, the pounding aching, was all gone. His gaze returned to the bullet in her palm, the object that had brought him so much pain  

Nikolas grabbed for the bullet, his fingers quivering slightly as he took it from her, a look of wonder and perplexity on his face. "You have healing abilities," he muttered, his voice low and full of realization.

Elle did not answer. She breathed quietly, her face inscrutable. Without meeting his eyes, she leaned back in her seat, peering up at the car's headliner, as if looking for answers in the faded fabric. Her eyelids drifted closed, the day's events weighing heavily on her thoughts. She relived the decisions she had made that had brought her here, the blunders that lingered like ghosts. A bitter curse escaped her lips as she cursed herself and the deumb decisions she had made in the past.

"What the hell was all that freezing back there earlier?" Nikolas said, his voice quiet and full of curiosity and uncertainty.

Elle didn't bother looking at him. She was too exhausted— drained from whatever happened earlier. Her body sank in the seat, her gaze set someplace far away, as if the weight of her past and present clashed in that single quiet instant.

"Something from my childhood," she said, her voice flat, as if the words were laden with unfathomable history.  

Nikolas said nothing while his mind processed what she said. He knew he shouldn't push her further. There were stuff from a person's past that had a tight grasp on controlling someone's present. Whatever Elle had been through, whatever remained in her memory, he knew it was not something she wanted to revisit. Some lines were best kept uncrossed.

Elle, for her part, remained still, her brows pushed together in a slight yet persistent scowl. The frigid air that remained in the car made her breath visible, clouding in front of her face as she exhaled gradually. Her thoughts raced, calculating her next move, but then the revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. She couldn't just leave the car and disappear in Hwenton.

Her chest clenched as the weight of the situation struck her. She had swapped one type of imprisonment for another, her brief independence ruined in an instant, all because she had chosen to follow a stray cat into an alleyway

Elle's frustration bubbled over, and a white-hot rage rose within her. She wanted nothing more than to hit herself in the face, pull out her hair, and peel the flesh from her body in a frantic attempt to relieve herself of the crushing rage. Years of hard-earned independence that she had battled so hard for were gone in an instant. A single decision, a moment of weakness, and everything had passed through her fingers like sand.

The chilling sensation returned, crawling up her spine, chilling her to the core. Her chest burned with the sting of her growing irritation, and the pressure increased as the cold feeling returned. She could feel the tips of her fingers becoming cold, and the flesh hardening as ice crawled up her arms and onto her face. Even the seat underneath her seemed to ice, as if the automobile itself was mirroring her chilly wrath.

Nikolas noticed right away. Without hesitation, he reached out and firmly grasped her wrist. The warmth from his palm surged her flesh, dissolving the ice that had threatened to engulf her. Elle felt the contrast between the heat of his touch and the increasing cold of her flesh. Her gaze strayed down to where he gripped her wrist, and she felt the frost melt away gradually, her body responding to his warmth, the chill dissipating with each steady breath.

Her breathing became more regular, and the rage within her gradually faded as her body temperature returned to normal. Once the cold feeling subsided, so did her resolve. She yanked her wrist away from his grip, the abrupt separation stinging. Without saying anything, she averted her attention to the window, her mind withdrawing behind the barrier of silence.

Nikolas, his hand still floating in the gap between them, carefully pulled it back to his side. The car was quieter now, and the tension between them was thick and unsaid.

"Join the Vacile"