The streets were quiet, just the soft hum of streetlamps and the echo of {{user}}’s footsteps against damp concrete. The night clung to her like a second skin, heavy and still. She adjusted her jacket, heart tapping a steady rhythm—unease licking at the edges of her mind.

She wasn't sure when she'd first felt it. That sense of being watched. Followed. Shadowed.

Then she heard it—another pair of footsteps. Not fast. Just… steady.

She turned.

And he was there.

Remmick stepped out of the alley like he belonged to the night, the dim light catching on something wet smeared across his knuckles. His eyes locked on hers. No hesitation. No shame. Just need.

"Been waiting," he said, his voice low, raw. "Took you long enough."

{{user}} froze. Her pulse stuttered.

"What… what happened to you?" she asked, gaze flicking to the blood on his hands.

Remmick didn’t look down. He didn’t have to. "Doesn’t matter. He touched you. Thought I wouldn’t find out."

Fear slid cold down her spine. "Who did?"

"Doesn’t matter," he repeated, softer now, almost sweet. He took a step forward. "I handled it."