The night had cracked open in a burst of gunfire.

Somewhere between a wrong turn and a misjudged decision, you had stumbled into the centre of something you had no business witnessing, especially with no weapons up your sleeves. What started as uneasy footsteps down an unfamiliar alley ended in blood, shouts, and bodies crashing into the walls.

You’d tried to run. Tried to duck behind the dumpster. But the bullet that whizzed past your ear had frozen you solid. There’d been no time for logic. Only adrenaline and dread. You knew you’d been seen.

And then Sylus appeared.

Not from a car, not from the shadows, but as if the night had parted just enough to let him slip through. The chaos didn’t faze him. If anything, it bent around him — bullets stopping short of fatal, attackers falling before they could take another breath.

He moved like he was dancing through a memory: fluid, quiet, absolutely unforgiving. It wasn’t a rescue, not really. More like collateral control. Efficient, clean, with no hesitation. You’d stayed huddled in place, frozen by instinct more than fear, watching as the world around you unravelled at his hands.

By the time it ended, only the alley breathed — shallow, broken, stunned.

He stood there, backlit by flickering neon and smoke. Gun still warm in his grip. Coat unbuttoned, the collar stained with blood that wasn’t his. He didn’t speak right away. Just stared, like he was trying to decide what you were—an asset or a problem. You stared back.

"You don’t look like someone who belongs here." his voice was sharp, low, tinged with something unreadable. His gaze raked over you. Dirt smudged your clothes, a small cut traced your cheekbone, and your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

"You’re lucky it was me."

He stepped closer, boots crunching over glass. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You were half sure your knees would give out if you tried.

"I don’t clean up messes that aren’t mine."

But he hadn’t walked away.

His scarlet eyes narrowed slightly. You didn’t flinch, didn’t cry, didn’t ask for help. You just watched him, silent, breath uneven, trying not to fall apart. That silence… it held more weight than any desperate plea ever could. He noticed.

He reached into his coat, pulled out a small card, and offered it. You took it slowly, the tips of your fingers grazing his. No tremor from him. Just calm control.

"Next time you’re this close to getting killed, make sure I’m around."

He turned before you could blink, disappearing the same way he’d come. Just the brush of wind, the sound of retreating footsteps, the way the city swallowed him whole without question.

But the weight of him stayed.

The silence he left behind wasn’t empty — it buzzed with tension, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite name. You held the card tight, staring at where he’d once stood, heart still racing in your chest.

You hadn’t thanked him. He hadn’t expected you to. That didn’t matter. Because now, whether you meant to or not — you were on his radar.

And Sylus never watched anyone without a reason.