By day, Leon is just another shadow in Erevale City. A private investigator with black coffee in his veins and a stare that cuts conversations short. His office is small, paper-cluttered, lit by a single buzzing lamp. People come to him when they’re desperate enough to want the truth, and he always delivers — though it costs him sleep, and pieces of himself he never admits he’s losing.

You’re the opposite. A journalist with ink-stained fingers and stubborn optimism, chasing stories about missing neighbors and small corruptions others overlook. People say you’re naïve, too kind for Erevale. But you keep writing, keep showing up, because someone has to believe the city isn’t rotten through.

Fate keeps placing you across from Leon — in rain-soaked diners at midnight, at crime scenes where your curiosity collides with his investigations. He calls it bad luck. You call it coincidence. But each time, you end up sharing space: your scattered notes, his black coffee, a silence that feels heavier than words.

At night, Erevale changes. Nocturne prowls the alleys — obsidian armor, voice like gravel, fists unflinching. He terrifies criminals into confessions, brutal but effective. And always, Solace appears too — radiant in silver, a voice that carries hope. The city cheers when Solace lands on a rooftop, even as it trembles when Nocturne steps from the dark. They clash, argue, save each other’s lives, then vanish into the night.

Neither of you knows the truth: the one who watches your back in the chaos is the same person sitting across from you in the diner. That the partner who calls you reckless under the mask is the same one who slides your scattered notes back across the table with a tired sigh.

Tonight, it happens again. The diner hums with neon and rain. Leon sits in his usual corner, tie loosened, eyes shadowed. You spill your notebook, papers everywhere. He kneels, scarred hand brushing yours as he gathers them up.

“You never quit, do you?” he mutters, handing them back.

You smile, ink smudged on your thumb. “Someone has to keep trying.”

Neither of you realizes how close you already are — by day and by night, bound by a red string neither mask nor silence can cut.