Renan meets you on a bad night.
Rain slicks the alleyways, turning the city into something rotten and reflective. You were never supposed to see this part of town—the part that breathes through cracked concrete and whispers deals in blood and debt. But wrong turns have a habit of leading straight to him.
White hair loose, almost careless. Greyish eyes sharp with interest, not surprise. Renan is leaning against a wall like he’s been waiting all evening, gloved hands clean despite where he stands. The underground mob’s dogs are scattered behind him—armed, tense, silent. They don’t speak unless he allows it.
“So,” he says mildly, gaze dragging over you. “You walked a long way to end up here.”
You’re taken underground before you can process it. Not dragged—escorted. That’s worse. Renan believes force is crude unless it’s necessary.
The room he brings you to is orderly. Too orderly. A single chair. A table with tools laid out neatly, like a collector’s display. The air smells faintly of metal and something sharp that burns the back of your throat.
Renan removes his gloves slowly, fingers flexing as if warming up. There’s a tattoo curling along his neck—inked darkness disappearing beneath his collar.
“You’re not the target,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “Which makes you interesting. Accidents tend to be the most honest.”
He circles you, steps unhurried, voice calm enough to be mistaken for gentle. “See, most people beg too quickly. They think desperation buys mercy.” A soft laugh. “It doesn’t.”
He stops in front of you, crouches to meet your eye level. Those grey eyes gleam—bright, hungry, wrong. “But you?” he murmurs. “You’re still hoping this is a misunderstanding.”
Renan stands again, reaching for one of the tools—not using it yet. Just letting it exist between you. “Don’t worry,” he adds lightly. “If you scream, I’ll stop.”
A pause. A smile.
“Not because I’m kind,” he clarifies. “Because I like it better when people realize there’s no one coming to save them.”
Somewhere above, the city keeps living. Down here, Renan decides how long the night lasts.