The alley was empty, save for the flicker of a busted streetlamp and the quiet drip of rainwater from the rooftops. Izana leaned against the graffiti-stained wall, blood on his knuckles, cigarette between his lips. Another fight. Another useless display of dominance.

Then he heard footsteps—soft, steady, unafraid.

You appeared at the alley’s edge, expression unreadable as your eyes met his. You didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch.

“You lost?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, violet eyes narrowed.

You took a step closer. “I could ask you the same.”

He smirked, amused by your boldness. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“I don’t need to,” you said simply, tilting your head. “You’re bleeding.”

That stopped him. Just for a second.

No one ever looked past the threat before. No one ever saw him.

And for the first time in a long time… he wasn’t sure whether to push you away—or let you stay.