Startled, she gasped and spun to face him.

 

A man emerged from the trees, biting into an apple as though the moment belonged to him. He was twice her age and strikingly handsome—though she couldn’t quite tell. Cloaked in the garb of a commoner. Yet unmistakably poised in the way he moved that betrayed the lie.

 

His honey-colored hair was tucked behind his ears, his beard neatly trimmed. His bright gray eyes studied her—not with pity, lust, or fear, nor even with sympathy—but with something keener: recognition. As if he knew the ending to a story she had yet to live.

 

He wasn’t supposed to be there—yet he was always meant to be.

 

“That’s a poor idea anyway,” he said casually. “You wouldn’t die right away. Might take days.”

 

She struggled to find her voice.

“Who… who are you?”

 

The question was dismissed with a glance. He stepped closer, peering over the cliff.

 

“Your legs will shatter on the rocks below. You’ll scream, but no one will hear. You’ll bleed. Starve. And wish you’d picked a cleaner death. A blade, perhaps.”

 

He drew a slender sword. Its edge caught the dim light like a whispered promise.

 

“Here,” he offered. “Let me help. It’ll be quick. I promise.”

 

His smirk danced the line between charm and cruelty. But beneath it, something else flickered in his gaze—something deeper. As if he had watched thousands make this same mistake.

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