The frantic dash from the bamboo forest was a blur of fear and adrenaline. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig had sent Leena's heart into her throat. But no one had leaped from the shadows. They had reached the safety of the abandoned barn on the edge of the estate unseen, or so she desperately hoped.

The place smelled faintly of hay and damp wood.
Leena and Maya laid the unconscious man gently on a makeshift bed of straw, his long frame almost too large for the small corner they cleared.

"Careful… his shoulder might reopen," Leena whispered, her voice tight with worry.

Maya nodded, exhausted, and sank down on a pile of cloths nearby.

Leena built a small fire, the soft crackle breaking the silence.
She boiled water, crushed herbs, and stirred them into a medicinal broth.
The scent of ginger and bitter roots filled the barn as she brought a spoon to the man's lips.

"Just a little…" she murmured.
He didn't respond, but a few drops slid past his lips, and some color returned to his face.

Later, Leena took out the Arabic medical book her father had given her.
By the dim firelight, she compared the ink drawings to the wound, double-checking her treatment.
Then she dipped a cloth in cool water and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Her hands lingered for a moment. He was burning, but alive.
A soft breath escaped her lips.

When sleep finally claimed her, Leena's head rested on her folded arms beside him.
Her veil slipped slightly, revealing the soft curve of her cheek in the firelight.

Hours passed.
The man's lashes fluttered.

The Seventh Prince of the Tang Empire opened his eyes to a hazy world—
and the first thing he saw was her.

An unfamiliar woman, asleep by his side, face serene, hands resting near his chest.
The firelight flickered over her, giving her an otherworldly glow.

An angel… The word echoed in his mind.
Had he died in the bamboo and ascended to some celestial place?

He turned his head slightly, careful not to wake her.
His gaze softened. The warmth in his chest was strange, unfamiliar.

But then—

Crrrk.

A faint noise outside.
The soft crunch of leaves under cautious feet.

The prince's body tensed.
His hand instinctively reached for where a sword should be—
but found nothing.

Another sound.
Closer.

His eyes darkened, and his voice, hoarse but commanding, whispered into the night:

"...Who's there?"