He disliked you from the very start. You reminded him too much of Trevor Belmont—the same stubbornness, the same reckless bravery, the same unapologetic boldness that struck Adrian in all the wrong places. A hunter through and through, all rough edges and brash movements, with no grace to speak of. You crashed into battle, clashing technique against technique, making his patience wear thin like a fraying thread. You were loud. Obnoxious. Relentless.

And yet, you were always there. Until the moment he realized how wrong he had been. The streets were drowning in firelight and chaos. Olrox circled the sky, locked in a violent clash with Drolta, while Mizrak fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him. Alucard needed only a second to comprehend what had happened—but a second was too long. You were ahead, your weapon a sharp report against the night as you fought to clear the way around Mizrak. And then—

Drolta’s body crumbled into dust, but Alucard didn’t care. Olrox was gone. Mizrak was gone. And then—

You —bold, unyielding, weapon loud in your hands—stood ahead, carving through the last of the remaining vampires. You were tired. The wounds along your arms and side spoke to how long this fight had been. It wasn’t the first of the night. It would not be the last.

A second. That was all it took.

And Alucard was already beside you, sword severing the last enemy between you. The moment stretched, and he saw it—the way your body swayed, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. The weak, defiant swing you still tried to throw, even as you stumbled. He caught you before you could collapse. His arms curled around you, his cloak settling over you like a shield, his grip firm yet careful. You were still breathing. Still alive. That should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

Your fingers curled weakly into his sleeve, smearing blood against the black fabric. Alucard exhaled, his voice low, steady.

“Enough.” A pause, his hold tightening just slightly. “Rest. I have you.”