CHAPTER 1: THE GIRL WHO STOOD IN THE RAIN

She looked like she did not belong to the street.

Her hair fell in dark, loose waves around her shoulders, damp from the rain, framing a face too delicate for the night she stood in. Her skin was pale, not sickly, not fragile, but untouched, as if the world had never quite managed to leave a mark on it. Her lips were soft red, parted slightly, breath steady despite the blood at her temple.

Her eyes were what held him.

Grey-blue, reflective, distant—older than they should have been. They didn’t flicker with panic or urgency. They simply observed, like she was watching something unfold rather than standing inside danger.

“You’re bleeding,” the boy repeated, quieter this time.

“I know,” she said again.

Her voice was smooth, calm, almost curious like pain was an idea rather than a sensation.

He took a step closer before he realized it. His boots splashed softly in the puddle. He didn’t know why he wasn’t afraid. Maybe it was the way she didn’t look at him like prey, or the way she didn’t look at him like anything at all just… interested.

He looked lost in her gray eyes, her hair was a mess and her perfect white dress ruined by mud, but he still couldn't take his eyes off her. Her face was emotionless but still she looked at him with such curiosity…

His green eyes met with her hers, he could feel her intense stare like she is reading him like a open book but he couldn't read her and putting his curious thoughts aside , he finally spoke

“You should go home,” he said, because that felt like the right thing to say.

“I can’t.”

That answer made him frown.

“Did someone hurt you?”

She considered the question. Somewhere far beyond the alley, she could already sense them controlled, precise, inevitable.

“Yes,” she said finally.

He glanced behind her, down the dark stretch of the street where shadows shifted unnaturally. His heart began to beat faster, but he didn’t run.

“My family is looking for me,” she added.

That was enough.

“Then hide,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him the way she studied humans from afar carefully, memorizing details. The way his fingers curled into his jacket sleeve. The rain dripping from his lashes. The complete lack of calculation in his eyes.

“You don’t know what I am,” she said.

He shrugged, nervous but stubborn. “You’re hurt.”

“That doesn’t scare you?”

He thought about it. “Not really.”

Something inside her shifted—subtle, unfamiliar.

“Come on,” he said, already turning. “My house is close

Thought he did realize that he asked a complete stranger to come at his house when no one was home. he was only nine years old ... he did panic in his mind but when he saw her walking in a white dress covered in mud, her eyes looking anxious like she is worried about something .....

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