THE QUEEN RISES

I felt him before I saw him.

Not a sound. Not a movement. Not even a shadow.

A shift.

Something in the air tightened, like the world was drawing a slow, deliberate breath and holding it. Waiting. Watching.

And I knew.

He was here.

My heart stuttered, then slammed against my ribs, too fast, too loud. My fingers curled around my coat, forcing me to walk, to keep my pace even, measured, normal. Just a girl, crossing a street. Just another face in the blur of people rushing past.

But my gut screamed at me.

Run.

Don't look back.

Don't confirm it.

Because if I turned around-if I saw him-then it would be real. And if it was real...

I would be too late.

The street buzzed with life. Laughter, arguments, hurried footsteps, and the constant drone of traffic. Music, a distant thumping bass, drifted from an open shop door. Everything looked normal.

But I couldn't breathe.

Underneath it all, I felt it.

His presence.

Cold. Precise. Unyielding.

Like a blade against the back of my neck.

I crossed against the light, ignoring a furious honk and a string of shouted insults from a driver I refused to acknowledge. My boots hit the pavement with more force now, my pace quickening. I veered down a narrow side street, disappearing between the looming brick buildings where the noise faded and the crowds thinned.

A mistake.

I knew it the instant I stepped into the quieter alleyway.

Too empty. Too exposed.

My breath grew shallower as I pushed forward, my senses on high alert, every sound amplified. The scuff of my boots on concrete. The distant, echoing tap-tap-tap of... footsteps.

Footsteps.

Behind me.

Steady. Unhurried.

Certain.

My stomach plunged.

No.

No, no, no-

I forced myself not to look. Not yet. My fingers clenched into fists, my walk morphing into a full-blown sprint.

The footsteps didn't change.

They didn't rush.

They didn't falter.

They simply followed.

As if he knew that no matter how fast I ran, no matter where I turned, I wouldn't escape.

My chest tightened with pain, my vision sharpening until every crack in the pavement, every dying ember of a street lamp, every invisible drip from a leaky pipe was crystal clear and piercing.

I reached the end of the alley, taking a sharp corner, merging back onto another street, this one just as busy, just as loud. People jostled me, their voices a cacophony, their bodies a warm, moving shield.

Safety. Or at least the illusion of it.

I dared to look then.

My world tilted on its axis.

He stood across the street.

Still.

Watching.

Torren.

The name struck me like a bullet, though no one had spoken it. My body tensed, every nerve screaming in protest.

He hadn't changed.

Not at all. Years of running, hiding, surviving, and he was exactly as I remembered. Tall. Composed. Clad in impeccably tailored dark clothes, a creature of control in this chaotic city.

And his eyes...

They were