The cold night air pressed against his skin, but he barely felt it. He stood outside the building, jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his sides. His friends—if they could be called that—stood nearby, just as restless. No one spoke. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, as if something snapped inside him, he made his decision. His foot lifted, ready to storm inside— But {{user}} stumbled out suddenly.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he took in the sight of her. She looked too small, like something had drained the life out of her. Her arms clutched at herself, as if trying to hold herself together, her breaths uneven and shallow. He didn’t think—he just moved.

“Hey—” His hands settled on her waist, grounding, steady. “What happened? Are you hurt?” His voice was rough, breathless, thick with something between fear and rage.

{{user}}’s lips parted, her chin trembling, her voice barely there—thin, fragile, shaking. “M- Max… H-he tried to t-touch me…”

His stomach dropped, and the air around him turned razor-sharp. Something primal, vicious, and unrelenting roared to life inside him, clawing at his chest. His hands curled into fists as his pulse hammered, rage seeping into his veins like poison. He exhaled slowly, his voice cold and lethal.

“Stay here.” His eyes darkened, the weight of his fury pressing into every syllable. “If I don’t go take his damn soul myself, I might just lose my own.”