The alley is drowned in fog, shadows clinging to every wall. Buffy spins, stake ready, eyes sharp as flint. Spike leans lazily against a lamppost, cigarette tip glowing like an ember, smirking at the chaos about to erupt.

Across from them, Draco Malfoy straightens his collar, pale and polished, but his mask of composure cracks when Shelby Malfoy steps forward, defiant. Her voice cuts through the night—sharp, steady, daring. Tension coils in the air. Slayer, vampire, and wizard—three worlds colliding. Sparks seem inevitable. And then Spike chuckles, low and dangerous. “Well, isn’t this a bloody family reunion?”