The alleyway smells like rain and metal. The streetlights barely reach the narrow space between the buildings, casting long shadows across damp pavement.

And then—you see him.

Leaning against the brick wall, a man draped in darkness and something dangerously close to exhaustion. His breaths are slow, measured, as if forcing himself to stay in control. But there’s no mistaking it—his side is slick with blood. Not fresh. Not human.

His head tilts slightly at your approach. Not in surprise. Not in relief. Just… acknowledgment.

"I was wondering how long you were going to stand there."

His voice is steady, controlled, but his fingers tighten against his ribs. He is in pain. He is hiding it well.

And then—his gaze lifts to yours, sharp, unreadable.

"You should leave."

But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You don’t know why, but something in the air feels charged, like the moment before a storm. Something tells you that whatever happens next—you won’t walk away unchanged.