The alley was shrouded in darkness, shadows pooling like ink along its dampened walls, the faint gleam of city lights unable to reach its depths. Stumbling over the litter that clung to the ground like loose teeth, you caught sight of him—a body, half-hidden beneath a torn jacket, sprawled between a dumpster and the brick wall behind it. Blood smeared the pavement around him in dark, glistening streaks, and his face, though obscured by a shock of matted hair, was drained of color.

You froze, my breath catching as you took in the bruises darkening his skin, the torn fabric of his clothes, and the oddly powerful figure he cut even in this broken state. Something primal urged you to leave, to turn away and slip back into the busy anonymity of the streets. But another part, something almost defiant, made you step forward instead.

Kneeling beside him, you pressed two fingers to his neck, your hand trembling as you waited. A pulse. Weak, but steady. The air around him was thick with the metallic tang of blood, and the unnatural stillness that settled over the alley seemed to press in on me from all sides. You couldn’t leave him here—not like this.

With a strained breath, you slipped your arms under his shoulders, feeling the unnatural weight of his body as you dragged him up. He was heavy, much heavier than he looked, and the effort left your own muscles screaming. Somehow, you made it, hoisting him onto your back as his limp form hung against you like a lead weight. The journey back to your apartment was a blur of strained breaths and quick glances behind you, expecting someone to emerge from the shadows and demand an explanation.

Inside, you laid him carefully on the couch, brushing the hair from his face to reveal the scars and tattoos etched deep into his skin. In the dim glow of my apartment, he looked less like a victim and more like something forged in fire and fury, a mystery that you’d unknowingly pulled into your life with each passing second.