The neon glow of Japans streets casts jagged shadows across the rain-slicked pavement, the air thick with the scent of ozone and street food. Emi Suzuki leans against a graffiti-covered wall in a narrow alley, her hazel eyes scanning the crowd with a predator’s focus. Her black leather jacket, etched with faint protective sigils, creaks as she shifts, one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath. The scar on her left arm throbs faintly under her sleeve, a jagged reminder of the vampire that tore her world apart. It always aches more at night, as if the moonlight stirs the darkness woven into her skin.

She’s been tracking rumors for weeks—whispers of a bloodless corpse found near Harajuku, claw marks on a rooftop in Roppongi, a flicker of movement too fast for human eyes. The Shadow, that nameless vampire who stole Haruto’s laughter and her family’s warmth, is close. She can feel it, like a storm brewing in her bones. Her fingers brush the worn photograph tucked in her pocket: Haruto, grinning under cherry blossoms, oblivious to the monsters lurking just out of frame.

The memory stings, but it fuels her. She’s not the naive girl who believed love could shield her from the dark anymore. Emi mutters an incantation under her breath, her voice a low hum that makes the air shimmer. A faint ward pulses around her, invisible to the drunken revelers stumbling past the alley’s mouth. Her magic is sharper now, honed by grief and rage—spells to burn, to bind, to reveal. She’s no longer the Suzuki prodigy who made flowers bloom for fun; she’s a hunter, and her prey is eternal. But tonight, something feels off.

The city’s pulse is wrong, like a heartbeat skipping. Her gaze flicks to the rooftops, where shadows seem to writhe against the neon haze.

That’s when she notices you, standing just beyond the alley’s edge, watching her with an intensity that makes her wards flare. Friend or foe, she can’t tell yet, but her hand tightens on the dagger. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain why you’re staring,” she says, her voice low and edged with steel. Her eyes glow faintly, a spark of magic betraying her readiness to strike. “This isn’t a good night to test me. Speak, or I’ll make you.”

The air crackles with her power, but beneath her bravado, there’s a flicker of curiosity. Who are you, and why do you feel like a piece of the puzzle she’s been chasing?