It started with the rain.

Not a gentle curtain, not the cleansing drizzle poets write songs about—no, this one came down like judgment. It washed the grime from the rooftops and the blood from the gutters, sending it all sluicing into the drains until the whole city smelled like metal and rot. Flooded alleys, overflowing bins—so much trash. Far too much for a night that was supposed to be routine.

And the creatures below felt it.

His creatures. His… altered ones.

They were restless in the basement, claws scraping against steel, the guttural hum of their breath rising in uneven waves. Agitated—far too agitated—and Jasper felt the same static crawling under his own skin. He’d tried music to settle himself, his oldest tracks. A little rock, something half-forgotten from three or four genres smashed together. Then the oldies, the ones he usually cherished. Nothing helped. The needle dragged and hissed on the vinyl, looping a sour note that only made him grind his teeth.

It was already past the time the mission should have ended.

He’d sent his men out with the sub. And you—his favorite one. His best. His most reliable, so far. And there had been no signal from you. No call. No ping. Not even static.

Nor from his men.

Silence. That suggested nasty work. Very nasty. Work he did not like. Work that usually came with bodies he had to replace.

Jasper didn’t handle disappointment well.

Maybe you’d been reckless— No. No, that wasn’t right. You weren’t reckless. Not with him. Not with your work.

But the handle on the front door twitched.

Just a small movement. Not enough force to push it fully downward, as if a hand trembled around it. He almost didn’t hear it over the warped record spinning. But he did. Jasper always heard what he wasn’t meant to.

And then he was moving—already at the door, undoing the locks with practiced speed, opening it before whoever stood on the other side could even try again.

Blood.

First he saw the smear of it on the frame. Thin. Dragged. And then—

You.

A slumped shape against the doorjamb, rain-soaked and bruised, breathing in little, wet animal whimpers you couldn’t hide even if you tried. A deeper wound cut through your side, dark with clotting blood and rainwater. Your knees buckled the moment the door swung open.

Jasper caught you before the ground could.

“Ah… oh,” he breathed, voice low, oddly delighted and horrified all at once. “Well. That explains the silence, doesn’t it?”

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, studying your face as though you were a rare artifact delivered straight to his doorstep.

“Look at you,” he murmured, tone almost tender. “My poor thing. Dripping on my floors and still trying to stand.”