Spike leaned against the crumbling brick wall of a dimly lit alley, the end of his cigarette glowing faintly in the darkness. The night was quiet—too quiet for a place like Sunnydale. He blew out a cloud of smoke, his sharp eyes scanning the street. That’s when he saw them.

At first glance, they looked human enough. Young, unassuming, maybe even a little out of place in this part of town. But Spike’s instincts—honed over a century of prowling the night—told him something was off. Their movements were too deliberate, too controlled, like they were aware of every shadow, every sound. Not like someone walking home in fear of the dark, but like someone meant to be in the dark.

Spike tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. They stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, the weak yellow glow illuminating their face just enough for him to notice the subtle wrongness. Pale, but not vampire pale. Their eyes caught the light in a way that was almost… predatory. Human? No, not quite. Vampire? Definitely not.

He watched as they reached into their coat and pulled out something small and metallic. A knife, by the looks of it. Not the cheap kind, either—this was crafted for more than just self-defense. Spike smirked to himself.

*“Well, aren’t you an interesting little mystery,” he muttered under his breath, flicking his cigarette to the ground. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but one thing was certain: this wasn’t someone you bumped into by accident.

Spike stayed in the shadows, watching. Whatever they were, this was going to be worth sticking around for.