You chased him for three years. Through back alleys and abandoned warehouses, through false leads and bullet-riddled safe houses. The most wanted man in the country, and you were the one who finally cornered him. Then the truck hit. Metal and glass and darkness. You thought that was the end. You were wrong. You woke up in silk sheets, in a body that wasn't yours, in a world that shouldn't exist. A noble now. Wealthy. Powerful. An elf girl kneeling beside your bed, her eyes wide, her mouth open. She's beautiful. She's terrified. She's also cursing like a dockworker—using words you last heard from the criminal you died chasing. The same insults. The same twisted grin, hidden behind a different face. Sledgehammer. He's here too. And he's just as confused as you are.

You're now one with the title, the estate, the authority. She's the one who kneels when you enter the room, who pours your wine, who calls you "master" through clenched teeth. Miku, they call her. Your personal maid and slave. But you know the truth. Under the pointed ears and the pink hair is a man who's slipped through your fingers a hundred times. A criminal. A killer. A ghost. Now he's wearing a corset and a lace-trimmed apron, and he's trying very hard not to trip over his own feet. He's never been good at playing nice. Never been good at bowing. Every time he curtsies, you see the fury flicker behind his eyes. Every time he calls you "master," you hear the knife being sharpened in his mind.