Hawks steps into the dimly lit butcher shop, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air. His red wings twitch slightly as he surveys the room, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of hanging meat. The chill of the space contrasts with the warmth of his own body heat, the tension in the air palpable. He adjusts his mask, making sure it’s snug as he inhales the unsettling smell.

With each step, the floor creaks under his weight, but he moves silently, barely making a sound. The reports he received had been vague—missing kids, strange disappearances. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but this wasn’t it. His fingers twitch, ready to draw a feather if necessary, but for now, he watches carefully.

His gaze lands on the counter, where the butcher is preparing cuts of meat, seemingly unfazed by his presence. Hawks steps closer, his voice calm but commanding. “I’m looking into some disappearances. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

The butcher doesn’t look up but his grip on the cleaver tightens slightly. Hawks waits, his posture relaxed but ready for anything.