The Letter

Mira was unable to speak. Before she could react, he swept her into his arms, her body tense with surprise. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she was caught off guard by his sudden action.

Zamian questioned himself for a moment, wondering why he had let her in. What had driven him to spare her? She could be lying? But he quickly convinced himself—maybe she wasn't as useless as she seemed. Perhaps she could provide valuable information about Derek. She might be more useful than he initially thought.

"I can—" she began to protest, her voice shaky, but Zamian cut her off with a stern command.

"Quiet." he ordered, his voice cold and dark. Mira could sense the intimidating and dangerous aura surrounding him. Part of her felt a strange relief, possibly due to her bleeding toe—she suspected he pitied her. Yet, another part of her was terrified of him. As he carried her inside, Mira couldn't help but stare in awe at the luxurious interior. Her eyes landed on a large king-size bed that looked unbelievably soft, a stark contrast to the building's rugged, leaf-covered exterior. The bed seemed almost out of place in the otherwise unkempt surroundings.

"Go in and clean up," Zamian instructed, his tone firm. "The first aid kit is on the table."

Mira managed a hoarse "Thank you," but he didn't respond. "I'll be back; I have something to attend to," he added before disappearing into the night.

Minutes later, the rain began to pour heavily, with thunder growling ominously in the distance. Zamian stood outside, drenched by the torrential downpour. Water dripped from his hair down to his neck and across his muscular chest, accentuating his formidable physique. His eyes blazed with an inner fire as he prepared for battle. The rain created a chaotic backdrop to his formidable presence, amplifying the sense of urgency and danger.

Zamian charged into the fray with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. His opponents fell one by one, their bodies broken and defeated. Each stroke of his sword was precise and deadly, leaving a trail of blood and devastation behind. His movements were almost too perfect, as if he were a machine designed for this very purpose. He was unstoppable, a warrior of unmatched skill and relentless focus.

As the battle raged on, the rain pounded harder, and the thunder boomed louder. Despite the seemingly endless stream of enemies, Zamian fought on, his strength and stamina appearing limitless. He was a force of nature, cutting down his foes with ruthless efficiency, his every move executed with deadly precision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the fight was over. Zamian stood victorious, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The rain began to ease, and the thunder faded into the distance. Around him lay the bodies of his enemies, a grim testament to his prowess and tenacity.

Meanwhile, Mira jolted awake, sitting up abruptly as the memories of the previous night came rushing back. Anger at her own foolishness simmered within her. The sight of her bandaged toe reminded her of the embarrassment she felt and the awkwardness of the previous night.

Realizing she was still wearing the robe from the night before, Mira quickly dressed in clothes she found in the wardrobe. They were all too big for her, but she didn't care—she just wanted to leave. She grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, then found a pair of trousers, rolling them up to fit her slender frame. Ignoring her bandaged toe, she slipped on a pair of flip-flops to avoid another painful injury like the one from the previous night.

Mira turned the doorknob as quietly as possible, dreading another encounter with Zamian after the embarrassing incident. She was usually strong and independent, someone who detested pity and hated how vulnerable she had felt in front of him. She felt a mix of resentment and embarrassment about her situation, wanting to escape from the vulnerability she had experienced.

Before leaving, she scribbled a quick note and left it on the table: "Thank you for the service. I appreciate it." With that, she slipped out the door, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Mira ran into the forest, her footsteps still visible on the rain-soaked ground from the night before. The trees loomed over her, their branches casting eerie shadows in the dim light. She clutched the oversized trousers with one hand, her mind racing with thoughts of her escape. A wry thought crossed her mind—if only Zamian knew she had not only taken his trousers and shirt but also his underwear. The thought of the situation made her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

As she ran, her eyes widened in horror when she stumbled upon a dead body lying on the ground. Her heart raced, and she shivered but kept running, driven by fear and adrenaline. The deeper she went into the forest, the more bodies she encountered. Each one seemed to amplify her terror, but she pushed forward, determined to escape the looming threat she felt behind her.

In a dark, underground room illuminated by the flicker of a single candle, a figure sat, radiating a menacing aura. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the dim light barely revealed the shadows that danced on the walls. There was a knock at the door, but the figure's eyes remained closed, his presence commanding and foreboding.

"The spy left and dropped a note," James reported, his voice low and careful.

Zamian, still seated with an air of detached authority, extended a hand for the note. James placed it in his grasp, and only then did Zamian open his eyes, revealing a glint of cold calculation. The candlelight cast long, flickering shadows across his face as he read the note. His expression remained unreadable, a mask of icy composure.

"What service?" Zamian's voice cut through the silence, dark and filled with an underlying menace.

"Umm, not just that. She also..." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "left a penny."