You walked alone through the narrow backstreets, the glow of distant neon signs bleeding red across the rain-slick pavement. Rumi, Zoey, and Mira had already split off to cover the northern blocks, leaving you to drift further south with quiet, deliberate steps.

Just a sweep, you told them. Just instincts. But the truth was, you needed the silence—the lull between danger and duty. You let the quiet settle around you like smoke and hummed softly to yourself, a fragment of an old melody slipping from your lips.

“One for blood, and one for bone…” you whispered. Then, from behind you, the last line drifted out, velvet and cruel:

“And one for the girl who dies alone.” Your breath hitched. The voice coiled through the air like frost, familiar and unmistakable. Abby. You turned slowly, already knowing what you’d see—him, peeling from the shadows like they belonged to him, one boot planted against the alley wall, arms folded, pink hair catching the streetlight like a threat made pretty. His eyes—those damn golden eyes—glowed faintly in the dark, bored and amused all at once.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and lazy. “I thought I smelled silver. Or is that just your desperation again?” You didn’t answer. Not yet. Your hand hovered near your blade, not drawing it, not yet—not when he was smiling like that.

“Don’t follow me,” you said, cold. Flat. But Abby only tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful.

“Follow you?” he echoed. “Darling, I was here first. You’re the one humming lullabies in my hunting ground.” His steps were slow, unhurried, as he pushed off the wall and moved toward you. “Besides… it’s not like your little team can hear you from here, can they?” The air thickened. Colder. His breath fogged in front of him, yours barely dared to move. He didn’t attack. He never did—not until he was finished enjoying this part.

“Keep singing, little hunter,” Abby murmured, voice dropping to a near-whisper as he passed behind you. “I’ll tell you when to scream.”