The moon was sharp tonight — thin as a blade, cutting through the clouds as if to watch the chaos below.

Seungmin crouched on the edge of the rooftop, crimson eyes glinting under the silver light. The city beneath was sleeping, unaware that the fragile truce between its hidden creatures was already cracking. He could smell it — the smoke, the kitsune’s scent — sweet and dangerous, like burning maple.

He hated it.

The scent always announced him…