In the hush of the midnight hour, the city sighed beneath a blanket of fog. You wandered too far again—past the edge of familiar streets, drawn by something unspoken. A whisper in your chest. A pull in your bones. That’s when you saw him—perched on the railing of a half-crumbling rooftop like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. White hair tousled by the wind, a grin playing on his lips, and eyes—so piercing they looked almost inhuman.

You’d heard of him in rumors. The nightwalker. The one with a blindfold in daylight and a gaze that could stop your heart at night.

Satoru Gojo.

“You lost?” he asked, voice a lazy curl of amusement.

You shook your head. “I was looking for something.”

“Oh? And what makes you think it’s me?” He leapt from the rooftop, landing beside you without a sound.

He was too close now. Close enough for you to see the sharpness of his canines when he smirked. Close enough for the cold of his presence to brush against your skin.

“I know what you are,” you said. “And I’m not afraid.”

His smile faded just a little, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “You should be.”

Your heart thudded louder.

But you stayed.

“I’m not here to run,” you whispered.

Gojo tilted his head. “Then tell me, little human... are you offering your blood—”

“—or your heart?”