RAGNA POV...
.
.
.
I stood there alone on the dirt road, hands hanging stiffly by my sides, pretending I was simply waiting for someone who would never come, even though every instinct in my body was already counting the seconds until they arrived.
The sound of hooves tore through the quiet first.
Out of the darkness emerged a group of riders, and the one at the front immediately caught my attention—not because he was loud, but because he felt dangerous. He had a large, solid build, the kind that came from years of violence rather than training, with rough black hair patting unevenly against the side of his forehead and a fresh scar carved almost through the middle of his lips, as if someone had once tried—and failed—to silence him forever.
He rode straight toward me and raised his voice, sharp and performative.
"Hey! It's dangerous to be outside at this hour!"
