The storm had been raging for hours—relentless, loud, almost angry. Thunder cracked through the sky like a warning, and the streets outside Devil May Cry were soaked in shadows and rain.

Dante opened the front door, drawn by a faint sound. There, just on the porch, was a small black kitten, you—drenched to the bone, trembling, staring up at him with wide, eerie eyes that almost… glowed.

"Huh. Poor thing," Dante muttered, crouching down. "Where’d you come from?"

"You’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for strays," he said with a smirk, grabbing an old towel to dry it off. You nestled into the warmth like it belonged there.

But it didn’t.

Later that evening, the front door creaked again. Vergil entered quietly, Yamato sheathed at his side, eyes scanning the room. The moment he saw the kitten curled in Dante’s lap, he froze.

"...What is that?"

Dante looked up. "That? Just a little furball I found outside. Storm stopped the second I picked it up. Lucky charm, maybe."

Vergil’s expression darkened. He stepped closer. The air grew heavier.

"No," he said coldly. "That is not luck." His eyes narrowed, gaze locked on the kitten as if trying to peel back a layer he couldn't quite reach. "It’s… strange."

The kitten, you, slowly looked up at him—calm, still, unblinking.

And for a moment… Vergil couldn’t look away. He didn’t know why. But something about those eyes unsettled him.