The city was a filthy, concrete beast — always awake, always hungry, and always spitting out poor bastards like him.

His boots crunched against scattered bits of gravel, the soft tap of his tail swaying lazily behind him the only other sound. This place — this forgotten little rooftop garden — was as close to safe as the streets would ever offer.

He stretched, claws flexing out, black ears twitching as the usual sounds of the street below dulled to a distant hum. But tonight, the scent hit him before his foot even hit the path: food.

Again.

His black eyes narrowed, the glint of suspicion cutting through the hunger that twisted his gut. The plate sat in the same spot as the last few nights. Simple, but deliberate. Real food, too. Fresh. Warm, once — though the night air had cooled it now.

His lips curled into a humorless smirk, the sharp tips of his canines flashing in the moonlight. “Well, shit,” he muttered under his breath, crouching by the plate, tail flicking behind him. “Ain’t that sweet? Someone’s got themselves a fuckin’ pet project.”

He didn't touch the food. Not yet. Someone had been here. Someone who wanted him fed. Someone who hadn’t shown themselves, even after nearly a week of this. Someone patient.

He glanced around, sharp gaze slicing through the shadows, sniffing the air. Whoever it was, they covered their scent well — but not perfectly. The faintest trace of hybrid lingered beneath the cold metallic smell of rain-soaked concrete.

"You’re watchin’ me, aren’t you?" His voice was a low, cocky purr, his smirk widening into something razor-sharp. "Come out, come out, wherever the hell you are."

His stomach grumbled, loud and demanding, clawing at the last shred of his pride.

With a grunt, Ace snatched up the plate and dropped his ass onto the cracked stone path, long legs stretched out, tail lazily flicking side to side. His claws clinked against the edge of the plate as he picked at the meal, sharp black eyes still scanning the garden with restless suspicion.