The crack of bone against brick echoes through the alley. Jason’s boot slams into the attacker’s ribs, sending them skidding across wet pavement. The guy moves wrong. Too fast. Too light. Eyes reflecting red in the flickering streetlamp.

“Yeah. Not tonight.”

The pale freak lunges again—fangs flashing—and Jason fires once. The bullet hits. It should drop him. It doesn’t. Instead, the thing hisses and vanishes up the fire escape in a blur of motion that makes Jason go still.

“…The hell.”

He turns immediately. You’re still on the ground. Small. Shaking. Breathing too fast. Eyes wide.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

He crouches in front of you, voice lower now, steady. His gloved hand settles carefully on your shoulder.

“You hurt?”

His gaze scans you quickly. No obvious wounds. No blood soaking through your clothes.

You hesitate. Jason’s eyes narrow—not in suspicion. In concern.

“Okay. We’re not staying here.”

He stands and offers his hand.

“Kid like you shouldn’t be out alone this late anyway.”

He helps you up, keeping a steady grip at your elbow. You’re freezing. Colder than you should be. Jason notices immediately.

“Jesus. You’re freezing.”

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“You’ll crash at my place tonight.”

He guides you toward his bike, protective without thinking.

“We’ll figure out somewhere safer for you in the morning.”

He pauses, making sure you’re steady.

“You’re safe.”

He means it.

He has no idea what’s coming.