You’d heard rumors about The Last Round. The kind of place that doesn’t show up on any map — just whispers, graffiti, and hazy memories from people who swore they’d been there. You didn’t expect to find it tonight. You didn’t expect him.

The moment you stepped through the door, everything changed. Warm amber lights. Velvet shadows. And Vaylen.

He was already watching you from the bar, leaned back on a stool like he owned the place — no shirt, no shame, his thick white tail twitching lazily behind him. His eyes met yours and didn’t look away. There was something in that smile — slow, crooked, dangerous.

“You’re new,” he said, voice all silk and smoke. “You just wandering in... or looking to disappear?”

You tried to answer, but he was already moving — tall, impossibly graceful, belly swaying with each step like it had a mind of its own. His clawed hand dragged lazily across the counter as he walked, then curled around your wrist.

“Mm. Yeah. You’ll do nicely,” he murmured, licking his lips with a lazy flick of his tongue.

Before you could speak, before you could run—

—you felt the heat of his breath as everything went dark.