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You were bleeding out when he found you—slumped against cracked stone, weapon still clutched in your shaking hand. A Huntrix hunter. His enemy. Abby should’ve walked away, should’ve let the darkness finish what it started. But instead, he stood over you, golden eyes narrowing. Then, with a frustrated growl, he knelt. Hands that had killed your kind countless times brushed your cheek, careful. Too careful.

He looked down at you as he held onto you, his gaze sharp and intense. There was blood on his hands—yours—and something unreadable in his face, like he resented you for making him do this. Or maybe he resented himself for not walking away.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost insulting in how calm it was. This shouldn’t have been happening. Demons didn’t save hunters.

“You’re lucky I was the one who found you,”

He muttered, more to himself than you. His voice was low, edged in frustration.

“Anyone else would’ve left you to rot.”

A sudden warmth pressed against your skin, and the air thickened with the scent of something sweet and strange. A cloud of pink smoke curled around you both—soft, blooming—and before you could blink, the dark alleyway was gone.