Adrian leaned against the street vendor's cart, the sizzle of meat sharp against the night's humidity. The smoke curled upwards, mixing with the city's permanent haze of exhaust and neon. Shanghai's lights painted everything in sickly green and electric blue, reflecting off the puddles and the sharp planes of Mei's face beside him.
She watched the crowd, but Adrian could tell her focus was on him. Always calculating. He could almost taste the tension in the air—like copper on his tongue.
"So I'm an anomaly now?" Adrian repeated, rolling the word in his mouth, making it sound like a joke. "That's polite."
Mei's shoulders lifted, barely a shrug under her dark leather. "Would you prefer 'potential threat'? 'Variable'? It's just classification."
He flicked a glance at her, then paid the vendor, snatching two skewers. "Call me Adrian. Fewer syllables. Easier to yell if something tries to eat me."
She almost smiled, but her eyes narrowed instead. "You've made a mess tonight. Two rogue outcasts put down in one evening? Most people don't walk away from that."
He took a bite. The meat was dry, but it filled the gnawing pit in his stomach. "Is that what we're calling them? Outcasts?"
"Supernatural ones. The kind who used to keep to themselves, but now they're making noise. Forming packs. Running rackets. Killing too much, drawing eyes."
He chewed, then tossed his empty skewer into the trash. "Sounds like something out of a B-movie. Monster mafia."
Her gaze flicked to his hands, then back to his face. "They're not jokes, Adrian. You survived. That means you're on their radar. And ours."
He could feel the shadows at his feet—restless, curling with every spike of irritation or adrenaline. Sometimes he thought they had their own agenda. "You seem to know a lot for someone who's just watching from the sidelines."
Mei shifted, letting the crowd stream around them like water around rocks. "I don't have the luxury of being on the sidelines. I'm here because people are getting killed. Regular people, and not-so-regular ones. Something's pushing the outcasts into open war."
Adrian shot her a sidelong glance, forcing bravado into his voice. "What, you want me to join your Scooby Gang? Thanks, but I don't really do group projects."
Her lips thinned. "That's not really up to you."
He snorted, but there was no real laughter in it. "There's always a choice. Pretty sure I read that somewhere."
Mei looked away, frustration simmering behind her eyes. "You think you're the only one who's lost something? The only kid who's been thrown to the wolves?" She stepped closer, her tone dropping. "You could make things worse by running. Or you could help keep things from getting bloodier."
Adrian looked down at the puddles, catching a warped reflection. The shadows twisted, reaching for his shoes. He didn't move.
He wanted to say something scathing, but the truth was, she looked tired. Not weak—just worn out, the way he felt most days.
She went on, softer now. "We're not talking about saving the world. We're talking about keeping these things from turning Shanghai into a warzone."
He hesitated, then nodded once. "One meeting. You get that. Then I walk."
Relief flickered in her eyes. "Fair enough."
She led him into the city's maze—down alleys where the neon barely reached, past crumbling doorways and backlit shrines. Adrian trailed, senses jangling, every shadow a possible threat or ally. The city's heart beat beneath his feet, steady as a drum.
Mei finally stopped at an unmarked door in a quiet courtyard, where a single lantern glowed like a tired firefly. She pressed her hand to the wood; old runes flared, then faded as the door swung open.
"VIP access?" he muttered.
She shot him a quick look. "Perks."
Inside, it was all soft light and glass and screens, a stark contrast to the city outside. People moved with the quiet urgency of a crew on a sinking ship. a wall-sized digital map, red pulses dotting cities across continents. The hum of foreign voices and the flicker of distant time zones glowed on a bank of screens—London, Lagos, São Paulo, Tokyo. Adrian felt suddenly very small.
A tall man approached, hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp as broken glass. "Director Shen," he said, voice low. "And you must be Adrian."
Adrian kept his hands in his pockets. "I didn't realize there'd be an audience."
Mei shrugged. "Only those who need to know."
Shen spoke quietly, "We track supernatural threats worldwide. What's happening here isn't unique. London, Istanbul, Joburg—every week, more incidents. The outcasts are getting organized, trading across borders, acting with intent."
Adrian's eyes lingered on the shifting red lights. "So it's not just Shanghai's problem. It's… everywhere."
"Everywhere there are shadows," Mei said softly. "And everywhere people try to pretend they don't see them."
Shen nodded. "You're not the only one, Adrian. And you're not alone—unless you want to be."
Adrian chewed his lip, trying to process the scope. "So what? You want to send me all over the world to hunt monsters for you?"
Shen's eyes were serious but not unkind. "Sometimes, it's not about hunting. Sometimes it's about talking. Or saving someone before they turn. We've got agents in every major city—but people with your abilities are rare. You're not a soldier. We're asking you to help keep the peace, however you can."
Mei stepped in. "The world's getting smaller, Adrian. These things cross oceans now. Hiding isn't an option—not for them, and not for you."
Adrian swallowed, feeling the map's glow on his face. "Great. Nothing like a little pressure."
Mei almost smiled. "Welcome to the club."
Adrian stared at him, letting the silence draw out. "So you want to use me."
"We want to help you survive," Mei broke in. "And maybe help us, too."
He considered, jaw working. "What's in it for me?"
"Knowledge," Shen said. "Resources. Answers about what you are—about what you could be."
Adrian let his sarcasm falter, just for a heartbeat. "You think you can explain this?" He flexed his hand; the shadows in the corners stretched, hungrily, before sliding back.
Shen didn't flinch. "We have records. Cases. Maybe even people who survived it."
Adrian's composure cracked, just a little. "Yeah, well. That's new."
Shen stepped back. "You don't have to decide now. But the outcasts—if they get bolder, nobody wins."
Mei's eyes softened as she approached. "At least let me show you what we've found." She led him to a smaller, cluttered side room. Shelves groaned under the weight of ancient books, binders, things that hummed with old magic.
"These are all cases like yours," she said, laying a folder on the table.
He didn't want to look, but he did anyway. The folder's papers smelled of dust and metal. Photographs, yellowed notes. And then—
A symbol. Inked in black, looping, spiraling inward. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.
He'd seen it before. Not just once—every night for years, hanging from his mother's neck. Her thumb running over it at bedtime, her voice low with secrets. She used to tell him it was a family heirloom, something old and meaningless. He'd believed her, because he wanted to.
But she'd lied. She'd always known.
Adrian stared, knuckles white. The world went distant—buzzing lights, the murmur of voices, all fading away. Just the symbol, and his mother's hands. The weight of the pendant against his chest. Cold. Heavy. Permanent.
His fingers shook as he closed the folder. "No. No, I'm not—whatever this is, I'm not it." He backed up, bumping into a shelf. The shadows flickered, crowding in close, feeding off his panic.
Mei didn't move. Her voice was gentle, but not weak. "You don't have to be anything right now. But these outcasts—they're hunting you. That's not an accident."
He tried to steady his breathing, but it came ragged, half-choked. "You want me to hunt them? Like… like some kind of—" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, fists clenching. "I'm not your weapon."
She shook her head. "No. But you can help us keep things from getting worse. You can help the ones who aren't lost yet."
He squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of his mother's laughter sharp as broken glass. He wanted to ask her a thousand questions. Too late for that now.
"I'm not a hero," he said, the words barely more than a whisper.
Mei didn't argue. "Neither am I."
He looked at her, really looked. Saw the exhaustion, the stubborn hope. Maybe she wasn't lying. Maybe for once, someone wasn't lying.
He shook his head, rubbing his eyes, suddenly just a kid in a city way too big for him. "What do I even do?"
Mei smiled, small but real. "You start by seeing. The outcasts—most people pretend they aren't real. You don't get that luxury. You see them. Maybe that's enough for now."
He snorted, but it sounded weak. "Lucky me."
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you're just the one who can do something different."
Adrian let the silence settle, the hum of the city bleeding through the walls. He looked at the symbol again, the spiral digging into his thoughts. He could leave. Run. Hide like he always did.
But the shadows pressed closer, expectant. Hungry for his choice.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll help. For now."
Mei's relief was so quiet it was almost invisible.
The lights flickered, Adrian felt the shadows shift under his skin—restless, almost eager.