Night draped the city in gaslight and shadow, the streets alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the distant echo of carriage wheels against cobblestone. Paris never truly slept—it only learned how to whisper.

You moved through the crowd like a ghost, the warmth of human bodies brushing past you doing nothing to ease the chill settling deep beneath your skin. Conversations blurred together—idle gossip, drunken joy, and, here and there, hushed rumors spoken too softly to be coincidence. Vampires. The word carried fear, fascination… and hunger.

Your throat burned. The craving was sharp tonight—worse than usual—an ache that pulsed in time with every heartbeat around you. Blood sang in the air, metallic and intoxicating, tugging at your senses until the world felt just a little too bright, too loud, too close. Control slipped through your fingers like smoke.

You didn’t see him until it was too late.

Your shoulder collided solidly with someone taller, broader—warm. The impact jolted you back a step, the scent of sandalwood, smoke, and fresh bread cutting through the haze like a knife. A hand shot out instinctively, gripping your arm to steady you before you could stumble further.

“Hey—watch it.”

The voice was rough, edged with irritation. When you looked up, you found yourself staring into sharp crimson eyes narrowed in annoyance, their owner clearly unimpressed. He was tall and broad-shouldered, red-brown hair a mess like he hadn’t bothered taming it, black suit wrinkled as if he’d been dragged through half the city tonight. The faint smell of sandalwood and smoke clung to him… with something sweeter beneath it.

Dante clicked his tongue softly, releasing your arm but not stepping back. “You run into people like that often, or am I just lucky tonight?” His tone was gruff, impatient, though his gaze lingered longer than necessary, scanning you with an almost uncomfortable precision.

Something shifted in his expression—not concern, not exactly—but recognition. His jaw tightened slightly.

“…You don’t look drunk,” he muttered, more to himself than you. His eyes flicked briefly to the crowd around you, then back, lowering his voice. “But you do look like you’re about two seconds from causing a problem.”

Above them, hidden in the dark, a small bat adjusted its perch, watching. Dante didn’t acknowledge it. He just sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, irritation clear as he looked at you again.

“Tch. Great,” he said flatly. “Whatever’s got you this wound up, don’t make it my mess.”