Caelus Draconis tore open his coat, holding an oil lamp close to inspect his wounds. Eleanor Ashcroft gasped in horror. His waist was pierced by a sharp weapon, still bleeding profusely. His left shoulder bore three deep gashes, the flesh torn open to the bone. His right leg had been crushed by something heavy, the flesh mangled—it was a miracle the bone hadn’t snapped in two. His chest was marred by several gruesome, gaping wounds, pale and swollen from the rain. When she turned him over, Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a sharp breath. If the front was severe, the back was fatal.

  Five triangular shurikens were embedded in his back at different angles, only their tips visible. The skin around the wounds had turned a faint purple, and the discoloration was spreading. The weapons were poisoned…

  How was he still alive? It was unbelievable! But if the poison wasn’t removed, he would surely die. Yet pulling out these deadly projectiles could kill him instantly. Eleanor bit her lower lip, refusing to hesitate any longer. Summoning what little courage she had, she decided to save him. She rinsed her mouth with water from a bucket, her trembling hands gripping the first shuriken. With a forceful tug, she pulled it out, a stream of black blood following. She squeezed the wound, then pressed her lips to it, sucking out the remaining poison. The foul, metallic taste nearly made her vomit, but she continued until the blood ran red. After each shuriken, she checked his breathing—shallow and unsteady, but he clung to life. Eleanor felt a surge of relief. If he died halfway through, all her efforts would be for nothing.

  Her cheeks ached from the exertion, and her mouth was numb from the poison. After rinsing her mouth and cleaning the other wounds, she marveled at his will to survive. The rest was up to him—she had done all she could.

  She hastily stripped off his soaked clothes, tore strips from the bedsheet, and bandaged his wounds. From a chest under the bed, she pulled out a set of coarse clothes and dressed him in the largest ones she could find. Dragging him onto the bed, she thanked the gods it was low enough—otherwise, she’d have had to leave him on the floor.

  Eleanor peeled off her own cold, wet clothes and tossed them into the corner with the bloodied ones. She slipped into the rough garments and collapsed by the bed, exhausted. Thank heavens it was a double bed. She checked his breathing again—slow but steady. Good. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a restless sleep.

  Her dreams were chaotic, faces flashing like scenes from a film. Thunder and lightning jolted her awake, the unfamiliar surroundings closing in on her. A wave of sorrow rose in her chest, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. A thought crystallized in her mind: she had died, only to be reborn in another place. She might never return… Drowsiness overtook her again.

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  When she woke next, she stared into the darkness for a long time, exhaling deeply. She told herself firmly: Since I’m here, I must adapt. If I can’t die, then I must live. Her hand reached out to check his breathing, and she felt a surge of relief. In that moment, she truly hoped he would survive—she didn’t want to be left alone in this darkness. The feeling was unbearable.

  She wasn’t sure if it was dawn yet. Just as she reached for the flint, she heard voices outside the shed. Her heart raced.

  “He escaped?” A cold, sinister voice.

  “We’ve checked the bodies—he’s not among them,” another voice, deliberately hushed.

  Footsteps circled the room, drawing closer to the haystack where they hid. Eleanor’s heart leapt into her throat. She muttered a silent prayer.

  “We found something,” the hushed voice said.

  “His sword?” The cold voice replied. “He took five of my Soul-Chasing Nails. The poison should have taken effect by now. He can’t have gone far. Send men in every direction.” A dark chuckle followed. “This time, he won’t escape.” The voice lowered further. “If he lives to return, neither of us will keep our heads. And we’ll never get another chance like this. Understood?”

  “Understood. What about the bodies here?”

  A pause. “No survivors. Bury the corpses and burn the place. Leave no evidence. Then spread the word that it was… You know what to do.”

  “A brilliant plan. I’ll see to it at once.”

  “Good…”

  The footsteps faded, and Eleanor let out a shaky breath. The man they were hunting—could it be him? Logically speaking, someone pursued by murderous scoundrels was likely… a good man.

  Outside, the fire grew. If the smoke seeped in, they’d be in trouble. After a moment of observation, she was relieved to find the hidden compartment well-sealed. She silently thanked the lovers who had built this secret space—and her own luck in discovering it. The thought of what could have happened sent a chill down her spine.

  She lit the oil lamp and searched for ventilation holes. On the right wall, she found three small stone openings, damp with condensation. Eleanor pressed her face to them, inhaling fresh air. The holes must lead outside—otherwise, smoke would have filled the space. Returning to the bed, she set the lamp down and checked his breathing. It was stronger now. She pulled the blanket over him, pausing when she noticed his hand. It was… beautiful. Long, elegant fingers, perfectly proportioned, with smooth, rounded nails. The pale skin only accentuated their grace. She couldn’t help but take his hand in hers, marveling at its strength and refinement. It was a hand that could be both gentle and deadly—she remembered how it had gripped her throat earlier. Moving the lamp closer, she suddenly wanted to see his face. Before, it had been covered in blood.

  Brushing the tangled hair from his face, Eleanor froze. He wasn’t just handsome—he was the kind of man whose looks grew on you. The kind that, once noticed, became impossible to forget. A second-glance killer, with a charm that lingered long after.

  Shaking her head, she decisively blew out the lamp and climbed into bed. The crackling of the fire above filled the silence. What else could she do but sleep? Her mind replayed the image of his face, and she groaned, covering her eyes. That face was going to haunt her.