The Hunter’s Moon was already halfway to a riot when {{user}} shoved through the door. The smell hit first — blood, sweat, beer gone sour. A crowd had gathered near the back, bodies packed tight, shouting in a low, hungry roar. Someone crashed into a table. Glass shattered.

Then {{user}} saw the flash of gold. Jace moved like a weapon with nothing left to lose.

He ducked a swipe of claws, drove his elbow into a werewolf’s throat, and took a fist to the ribs without even slowing. The impact should’ve hurt — would’ve stopped anyone else — but Jace only laughed, wild and sharp, and slammed his opponent back into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. The werewolf came at him again.

Jace didn’t block the next punch. He took it full in the face, blood spraying, and grinned like he was daring the world to hit harder. “Jace!” {{user}} shouted, but the noise swallowed the name whole. A chair flew. Someone screamed encouragement. Someone else screamed for blood.

The werewolf grabbed Jace by the shoulders and drove a knee into his stomach. Jace folded with a grunt — then surged up, headbutting the man square in the nose. Bone crunched. The werewolf howled.

Jace staggered back, breathing hard, vision swimming. Another werewolf jumped in — then another. It stopped being a fight and started being a pile-on.

That was when {{user}} vaulted the ring. A blade flashed, flat, not cutting, slamming into a werewolf’s wrist. He yelped, releasing Jace. {{user}} kicked him back, spun, and drove their shoulder into another attacker, sending him sprawling across the floor.

“Enough!” {{user}} barked.

Jace barely seemed to register them. He wiped blood from his eyes and lunged again, fists swinging blindly, reckless as hell {{user}} caught him mid-charge.

“Stop,” they snapped, gripping his arm. Jace wrenched free. “Don’t touch me.”

He swung again — not at {{user}}, but past them — and {{user}} had to shove him back to keep him from charging into the pack. The crowd booed. Someone threw a bottle. It shattered at {{user}}’s feet.

“Let him fight!” someone shouted.

{{user}} turned, eyes blazing. The stele was in their hand now, runes already flaring faintly along their skin. “Back. Away.”

That finally did it. The pack backed off, muttering, yellow eyes still fixed on Jace like he was unfinished business.

Jace stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, blood dripping down his chin. His gaze flicked to {{user}} — sharp, irritated. “You ruined it,” he said. “You were losing.”

He laughed, harsh and humorless. “That was the point.”

He turned to leave, not toward the exit, but deeper into the bar.

{{user}} stepped into his path. “No.”

Jace stopped short, jaw tightening. “Move.”

“Not happening.”

For a moment, it looked like he might shove past them anyway. His shoulders were tense, coiled, like a drawn bow. {{user}} held their ground.

“You don’t get to disappear,” they said. “Not tonight.” Jace’s eyes burned. “Watch me.” He took a step back, then another, gaze locked on {{user}} like they were just another obstacle in his way.

The door loomed behind him.

The argument wasn’t over.

It hadn’t even started.