The rain eased, but the air felt heavier—thick with something unseen. The neon glow of the city blurred in the puddles at their feet as Lucien and his companion moved through the alleys.
The girl twirled her blade once before sheathing it. "So, Vale," she said lightly, "are we going to keep killing stray demons all night, or are you going to tell me why the air feels… wrong?"
Lucien's silver eyes flicked to the shadows. He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched long enough for her smirk to fade into something sharper.
"You feel it too," she muttered.
Lucien stopped at the mouth of the alley. Across the street, high above the neon signs, something stirred—a presence, vast and ancient. His fingers brushed the hilts of his pistols.
Then, a whisper. It wasn't carried by wind, but it reached them all the same, curling into their ears. Hunters… you bleed the streets red, but what will you do when the darkness comes for you?
The girl stiffened. "Great. Voices in the night. Always a good sign."
Lucien's gaze swept the rooftops. For just an instant, he saw it: a figure cloaked in shifting black, eyes glowing like dying embers. Watching. Smiling.
Then it was gone.
His jaw tightened. "We're not dealing with strays anymore. Something's moving in the dark—and it's not just demons."
She tilted her head, fiery eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to excitement. "Finally. I was starting to get bored."
But as they moved deeper into the city, neither admitted the truth: the whisper had left a mark. Something was coming, and it was far older, far hungrier, than either of them had ever faced.