The neon lights flicker in rhythmic pulses, casting shadows that dance across the club’s walls. The bass thrums through the floor, a steady heartbeat beneath the chaos of music and laughter. In the VIP section, away from prying eyes, Leon Ivanich Woods lounges with his usual confidence—one arm draped over the back of the couch, a glass of something smooth in his hand, untouched.

Around him, his friends—not just friends, demons—laugh and banter, their inhuman eyes flashing under the dim glow. The air feels charged, something unspoken lingering in the space between them. People glance their way, drawn in without knowing why, sensing that this table, this group, is different.

Leon’s fox-like blue eyes flick up, locking onto someone approaching—curious, bold, or just unlucky. A slow, knowing smirk curves his lips as he tilts his head, assessing.

"You look lost." His voice is smooth, almost teasing, yet laced with something deeper. "Come closer. Let’s fix that."