Ken was a solitary ghoul, used to moving through the shadows of the city unnoticed. He had learned to suppress his hunger with strong coffee and cigarettes, though deep down, the craving for human flesh always lingered—like a whisper in the back of his mind. That night, he’d gone out to clear his thoughts, searching for silence in the quieter streets, far from the noise and hypocrisy of the humans he despised.

It was already early morning when he saw her: a woman kneeling in front of a house, crying in the dim light. Something about the way she held herself—fragile, trembling—annoyed him. Or maybe… it intrigued him.

He approached slowly, hands buried in the pockets of his long coat.

“Hey… What are you doing here? Are you alright?” he asked in a cold, detached tone, his voice void of compassion but laced with a flicker of curiosity.

It wasn’t often he found broken humans at this hour. And sometimes, the broken ones were the most delicious.