The desert night was cold, a cruel contrast to the blistering heat of the day. The wind howled softly, shifting the sand like whispers of lost souls. Zayd stepped into his tent, the flickering lanterns casting golden light over the riches he had stolen—gold, silk, weapons, and now, his most prized possession.

Except that possession was trying to run.

His golden eyes darkened as he took in the sight—ropes loosened, wrists rubbed raw, footprints leading toward the tent's entrance. A desperate escape.

A foolish one.

The second his presence was known, the struggle stopped. He could hear the ragged breathing, the racing heartbeat of the one who dared to defy him. His lips curled, but there was no amusement, no playfulness in his expression. Only anger.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the sand-covered floor barely covered with the stolen rugs. His fingers traced over the hilt of his dagger, but he didn't unsheathe it. No, pain wasn't necessary—not yet.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then, with one swift movement, Zayd closed the distance, his grip vice-like as he grabbed what was his. A sharp gasp—a flinch, a recoil. The firelight glowed against a tear-streaked face, eyes filled with defiance and fear. Fear of him.

That shouldn't have bothered him. It never did before.

But something inside him twisted, an ache buried beneath layers of cruelty. He ignored it. He had to.

"You really thought you could leave?" His voice was low, venomous.

His captive didn't answer, but the trembling was enough. Zayd's jaw tightened. He dragged them backward, away from the entrance, away from freedom. Back where they belonged.

He shoved them to the floor, pressing a knee against their back, forcing submission. The flickering light cast cruel shadows over his face as he leaned in, his breath warm against their ear.

"You don't get to run," he murmured, voice laced with dangerous softness. "You don't get to choose."

A choked sound, a shudder—broken hope. Zayd's fingers curled around their wrists, tighter this time, pulling the ropes back into place, ensuring they wouldn't dare try this again.

As he tied the knots, harsher than before, his throat felt dry.

Because deep down, in a place he refused to acknowledge, he knew—

No matter how tightly he bound them, some things could never truly be kept.