The Louvre had never felt so alive—or so dangerous.

The first gunshot cracked through the silence, echoing across the marble floors like a death knell. Nayra’s heart slammed against her ribs, but she didn’t panic—not yet. She was the Crimson Queen. Panic wasn’t in her vocabulary.

Arjunveer moved like liquid, his body bending and twisting with precision. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind a marble column just as another volley of bullets shattered a nearby display. Glass exploded in glittering shards.

“Stay close. Move when I say,” he commanded, his voice low but unwavering.

Nayra blinked at him, surprised. This man—this stranger—wasn’t just a skilled fighter; he was a ghost. A predator who could predict every move, every strike, every fatal mistake. Her pulse quickened—not from fear, but from intrigue.

The attackers were fast, professional, and ruthless. But so were they. Arjunveer’s movements were fluid, almost artistic, dodging gunfire with uncanny grace. Nayra couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes never left hers, even in the chaos—calculating, assessing, measuring.

A guard lunged from behind a sculpture, gun raised, ready to fire. Arjunveer disarmed him with a single flick, spinning him away and sending him crashing to the floor. Nayra’s breath caught—not just at the violence, but at the effortless control he wielded.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, her voice a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

“Because right now,” he said, dragging her through a narrow hallway, “our survival depends on it.”

They ran, their footsteps echoing, hearts pounding. The air smelled of gunpowder, marble polish, and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe. Nayra’s adrenaline surged. She had faced killers, assassins, and betrayals, but this… this was different. This was a collision of worlds she hadn’t anticipated.

At a narrow staircase, they were forced into proximity. Nayra could feel the warmth of his body, the strength in his grip, the quiet certainty that whatever happened next, he would not falter. Their eyes met for a split second—an unspoken acknowledgment, a fleeting brush of electricity that neither could deny.

They reached a service door and slipped into the shadowed corridors behind the galleries. The gunfire continued, distant but relentless. For the first time in years, Nayra felt vulnerable. And yet, in that vulnerability, something strange stirred—a sense of trust, a flicker of connection, a dangerous curiosity.

Outside the Louvre, sirens screamed. Inside, two worlds collided: a queen of shadows and a man of secrets, forced together by fate, danger, and necessity.

And as they paused to catch their breath in the darkness, neither could shake the sense that this encounter wasn’t random. That this—this chaos, this violence, this inexplicable attraction-was-was—was only the beginning of something far larger. Something that would shape not just their survival, but their destiny.

The game had escalated. And the rules were about to change.