Her heartbeat is so loud it swallowed everything else around her. Thud-thud-thud. It filled her ears, louder than the crunch of leaves under her boots, louder than the frantic pull of her breath.
Branches whipped at her face as she ran, clawing at her skin and tangling in her torn scarf. Roots rose from the earth like traps, catching at her ankles, threatening to drag her down. Her lungs burned with every breath, each inhale a sharp stab, each exhale ragged and desperate.
She isn't running anymore, she's stumbling, flailing, forcing her body to keep moving when it wants to give up.
Behind her, the voices carried. Harsh laughter. Shouts sharp as knives. She doesn't understand the language, but that doesn't matter because she knew exactly what they wanted, exactly why they were chasing her.
Because she had said no to them. One word, the smallest, simplest word. And yet it had shattered everything. Maybe it ruined her. Maybe it saved her. She isn't sure anymore.
Her legs gave a final, failing lurch, and she crashed into a chest so solid she bounced back. The breath whooshed out of her as if she'd been punched.
But she doesn't feel the hard ground or anything that will break her body in pieces. There, she saw a man, he doesn't move an inch. The man stood rooted, as though the forest itself belonged to him. His body blocked her path like a solid wall.
He's tall, so tall she had to tilt her head back to take him in—shoulders wide and squared, wrapped in black from head to toe. Boots planted firmly in the dirt. A rifle slung across his back, the weight of it resting like an afterthought. He doesn't need to brandish himself to be dangerous, because his presence alone is enough to tell her that he's dangerous.
He wasn't standing in defense. He was standing in dominance. Calm. Steady. Like a wild predator before it strikes, silent, calculating, aware of its power.
She froze, her body trembling, half-ready to bolt again but caught by the intensity of his stillness. His face is carved in lines of shadow, the sharp edge of his jaw clenched, his brows drawn in focus. But it's his eyes that held her. Dark. Depthless. Quiet storms gathered inside them, unreadable, dangerous. The kind of eyes that could destroy without mercy or protect without reason.
For a split second, she thought she had run straight into a worse danger. Another predator. But then he stepped forward. Not towards her, around her.
He placed himself between her and the forest behind. Between her and the men. His shoulders squared wider, his body a shield she hadn't asked for but desperately needed. His arm lifted slowly and deliberately, palm open. The gesture wasn't a threat. It was a command.
The forest listened. Even the wind hushed, as if the trees themselves obeyed.
The men chasing her stumbled to a stop. They saw him—and something shifted. Their smugness vanished. Replaced by fear. Fear flickered in their eyes.
They didn't fight. They ran.
He didn't chase them. Didn't say a word. Just turned slightly, watching them disappear into the trees like cockroaches scattering from light. Then, slowly, he turned and looked at her. His eyes were unreadable, dark, and quiet like a storm before the rain.
His voice was low, deep, and unnervingly calm.
"You okay?"
She nodded slowly, still trying to catch her breath. Her scarf was half torn, hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her knees threatened to give out.
"Ben iyiyim ... Nerede olduğumu bilmiyorum," I whispered.
He didn't look surprised. "Amerika'dasın," he said. "Evden uzakta."
She blinked, trying to process what she had just heard. Wait, what?
She stared at him, her heart still racing. His Turkish wasn't perfect, but it was fluent enough to silence her. Who was this man?
"How do you...?" she began, but trailed off.
His gaze moved from her feet to her torn clothes and then back to her face. "You shouldn't be here alone. Not in this forest." He turned slightly, as if he expected her to follow. "Come on."
"Excuse me?" she replied, remaining perfectly still. "I did not come to this forest willingly. and I don't even know you."
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "And you think I know you? You ran into me, remember?"
Her spine stiffened at his arrogance. "I didn't exactly have a choice."
He halted, turned to face her, and crossed his arms. "You had the sense to say no, didn't you?" His tone was not mocking, more of a challenge. "So use that same sense now. Don't stay here; it's not safe. Do you really want them to come back?"I bit my lip. He had a point, but I hated the way he said it. Like he was always right. Like I was a problem that landed in his territory.
"I don't even know your name."
"Good," he muttered, already walking away. "Let's keep it that way."
Her mouth dropped open in shock. "Excuse me?"
He glanced back over his shoulder, completely unfazed by her tone. "Do you always talk this much when someone saves your life?"
Heat crept up her neck like a slow burn, rising from the pit of her stomach. She didn't owe him any gratitude, especially not after the cold way he had treated her earlier. Yet she couldn't ignore the stark reality—her options were limited. Her phone was gone; its absence was a gaping hole in her escape plan. Without it, she felt vulnerable and isolated, trapped in a situation she hadn't chosen. She was bleeding, and her legs were barely holding her up. Her clothes are torn to shreds by the branches of leaves.
With a reluctant sigh, she trailed behind him, her lips moving as she muttered softly in Turkish, a mix of complaints and exasperation. He walked ahead, seemingly indifferent to her murmurs. The two of them continued in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. The only sounds breaking the stillness were the crisp crunch of dried leaves underfoot and the distant, melodic call of a bird, its song echoing through the forest's silence. Sunlight filtered through the branches overhead, casting dappled patterns on the ground as they made their way deeper into the woods.