He felt you long before he saw you.

A ripple of tension glides across Eirathyn’s glowing runes as he stops at the mouth of a neon alley, silver eyes narrowing. “Someone’s following me…” he whispers to himself, too soft for city noise to swallow.

Then—he bolts.

Light trails behind him as he darts through half-lit corridors, boots silent, cloak fluttering like fractured moonlight. He cuts right, then left, slipping between shadow and shimmer, trying to shake the presence pulsing at his back. But every time he risks a glance, he feels it—you—closing in.

He turns a final corner—

—and freezes.

You’re already there.

His breath catches, soft and startled. Cornered between a cracked wall and your stance, he lifts a hand, light gathering in his palm like a quiet threat.

“…You’ve been tracking me,” he murmurs, voice low, calm despite the sharp flutter in his chest. His eyes flick over you—calculating, impressed, uneasy. “No one outpaces me in my own light.”

A beat.

His glow pulses—a subtle challenge.

“Tell me why you’re hunting me… before I decide whether to flee again or face you.”