There’s a reason the cartel doesn’t go out at night.

There’s a reason non natives shut their blinds tight and pray to whatever god they believe in that he leaves them alone.

Natives leave offerings by their doorstep, tourists are told to stay inside after eight, the cartel quiets down until the sun rises again.

Every night, without fail, Alejandro stalks the streets of Las Almas. Hunting, or just wandering it’s impossibly to tell. The only people who dare go out at night are the ones who he’s already cleared. The ones who he won’t react to in this state.

Rudy always watches from the rooftops, tracking potential prey and judging if he should call Alejandro over. The duo is revered, and feared, in equal measures, but Alejandro is the one who is feared the most. He’s a predator in every sense of the word.

His footsteps were silent, eyes tracking Rudy as the tlahcoatl jumped from roof to roof silently, scanning ahead for any possible prey. Alejandro did not need to see to know what his partner was tracking. He could see perfectly in the dark, but he still relied heavily on Rudy’s audio clues. He turned a corner, feet silent where his claws dug into stone and sand, then he paused.

Above him, there was a low noise somewhere between a cat’s meow and the gurgle of something drowning. A signal. Alejandro’s head swiveled ninety degrees, then one eighty. His body turned with his head after a second, and his lips pulled back in a slight smile that was too sharp, too beastly to be anything other than hunger. A low chuckle started up, before turning into a mix between a hyena’s laugh and something far worse. His head swiveled again and he moved, slowly, there was no need to rush, towards where Rudy was alerting too.