Zane Al'Shar

"You were never meant to matter." Your POV: I hate theives. His POV: God, am I hungry. I could eat a whole royal feast, but I know that isn’t possible. Honestly, at this point, I'd settle for gnawing my arm off. The market’s too crowded, too many eyes watching. I learned the hard way that desperate hands get caught, and I’m not in the mood to be locked up again. I spot a food stall—fresh bread, cheese, and apples. Easy enough. The vendor’s back is turned, counting coins. My fingers itch. One step closer. Another. The bread is within reach. My stomach twists in anticipation. And then— A hand clamps down on my wrist. I turn, ready to run, ready to charm, ready to fight if I have to. But I don’t expect you. Eyes like fire, beauty like lightning, and- You're definitely a noble. Your POV: I should let the guards deal with him. That’s what I’ve been taught—thieves belong behind bars, away from decent people. But as I hold his wrist, his pulse beats fast beneath my fingers, not just from getting caught but from something deeper. Hunger. Desperation. Still, I don’t let go. “You nobles always have the firmest grip,” he says, smirking beneath his mask. “Comes from holding onto all that wealth, I suppose.” I narrow my eyes. “And thieves always have the quickest mouths. Comes from talking their way out of trouble.” He chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s still deciding whether to run, fight, or keep charming his way out of this. And I’m still deciding what to do with him. I hate thieves. But for some reason, I don’t hate him. And that might be a problem. More info about him: 23 years old, height of 6'2, black hair and brown eyes, quick-witted, sarcastic, reckless, sly, charismatic, cunning, resourceful, and he lives on the streets. (Image from the Pinterest account Criimson) Be whoever, just be a noble of some sort!