Deep into the night, a frosty breeze howls beyond the walls
Neva lies wide-eyed, staring at the grey ceiling of the dingy but warm room.
Lovesick and restless, she tosses and turns, her mind hazy—haywire.
Sleep evades her.
Every word Ishmael said spins in her head like venomous echoes.
They had talked.
He told her about the island.
Their childhood.
But everything he said was unclear. Disjointed.
To her, he is a madman.
After she calmed down, she realized—if she was to survive until dawn, she had to pull herself together.
So she promised him she wouldn't try to run again.
She said they'd talk more tomorrow. Deeper.
More honestly.
But that's tomorrow.
Thud… Thud…
Her ears perk up. A knock?
No—it must be just her imagination.
She squeezes her eyes shut, willing to calm herself. Too much has happened.
All she craves is a moment of peace.
A nap.
Knock.
Sharper this time. The sound jolts her halfway upright, her pulse hammering.
Her gaze darts across the room. No—she isn't imagining it.
Knock. Knock.
The sound grows louder.
It isn't the door.
It's coming from the glass barrier that leads to the balcony—
To Ishmael's room.
Neva slips on her indoor sandals in a rush.
She switches off the white crystal lamp, yanks the cord free, and clutches its base like a weapon.
Slowly, cautiously, she approaches the curtain, keeping a careful distance from the glass. With trembling fingers, she peels the drape just enough to see.
A tall figure looms outside. His face is hidden in shadow.
But his hand—steady, deliberate—works at the lock.
A chill seizes her spine.
Her breath fogs in the air before her lips.
She steadies herself.
Click. The door unlatches.
The figure steps inside.
She swings—
—but his hand shoots up, catching the lamp mid-air.
Her heart plummets.
The weapon is gone, useless in his grip.
"Neva?" the man breathes.
Her brows knit together. That voice—
Familiar.
Desperate.
"Neva—my God," he breathes, pulling her into a tight embrace.
He kisses her hair, shaking with relief.
And she stands there—frozen, disoriented.
"Rhett?" she whispers.
"Is it really you?"
"I'm here, Angel."
He draws back just enough to cup her cheek, peppering her face with frantic, desperate kisses.
---
Rhett had teamed up with Agent Sky—the genius hacker.
Through surveillance feeds scattered across the city, they traced the Rolls Royce Raka had used to force Neva in.
The trail ended at Swallow Mountain, just beyond Vernella.
That was where she'd been taken.
Sky jammed the mansion's security. Overwrote the feeds.
And Rhett—
he carved his way through Raka's guards in cold silence.
His fury was quiet. Deadly.
---
"I'm so sorry," Rhett whispers, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
He has never known fear like this—not once in his life.
"Are you hurt?" He cups her face in his hands, searching her tear-filled eyes.
Then his gaze hardens, voice quivering with rage. "Did he touch you?"
Tears well in Neva's eyes and slip down along her neck.
She gives a small, trembling shake of her head.
A sob breaks from her lips as she flings her arms around him.
He gathers her close, his fingers tender as they stroke through her hair.
He presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
"We have to go, Angel," he says, pulling away gently.
Shrugging out of his drenched jacket, he wraps it around her trembling shoulders.
"You're freezing too," she whispers, her voice trembling.
"I'm fine. Let's move."
He seizes her hand and draws her out onto the balcony.
Below them, the forest lies buried under a shroud of white.
Neva shivers as the wind lashes their skin like blades.
"Climb on my back," he murmurs, crouching low.
She obeys, arms looping around his neck, legs clinging to his waist
His hand grips a sturdy branch jutting past the glass railing. With a swift motion, he hoists them up.
The grappling hook, anchored firm against the trunk, takes their weight as he begins the descent.
As they glide down into the frozen dark, Neva casts one last glance at the mansion—carved into the mountain like a brooding shrine.
In her ears echoes Ishmael's voice: "I built it like you wished."
She shudders and clings tighter to Rhett.
They land safely.
Rhett slips into the forest's darkened maze, moving silent as smoke.
Branches claw at the night, but he weaves through them with sure steps until the trees break open onto a paved road.
At the edge waits his Ducati Monster.
He slips a helmet onto her head, buckling it with careful hands, then pulls his own into place.
Neva climbs on behind him, her arms locking tight around his torso.
The engine roars to life, tearing apart the hush of the forest.
---
Meanwhile, chaos erupts within Ishmael's mansion at the news of Neva's disappearance.
Gunfire rattles through the soundproofed halls like a suppressed storm.
He lowers his pistol with trembling fingers.
His chest heaves, breath rasping in uneven bursts.
His eyes—wild, glassy—flicker across the carnage.
Blood spreads across the marble floor, glistening beneath the pale chandeliers.
His guards lie motionless.
Once-wounded. Now gone.
Bullet holes bloom like bleeding blackholes on their foreheads—precise. Merciless.
Then his expression shifts.
Grief tightens his face.
His voice cracks, barely more than a breath:
"You promised… Yet you left anyway."
---
As they speed through the wind, she turns once—just once—at the hidden mansion buried among the trees.
A faint bark pierces the gale, echoing behind them.
Then she lowers her head, pressing her cheek against Rhett's back, closing her eyes... Sangfroid and tranquil. Finally home and warm.
The storm thrashes against them.
But inside her—
A warmth blazes alive.
For she is the ember—of a love—a fire that her lover consumed her in.
And together, they burn through the storm.