Chapter 46 – The Hunt and the Heartbeat
The night stretched wide and restless over Cap-Haïtien.
Two figures walked along the edge of the old industrial district—where the streetlights flickered like dying fireflies, and stray dogs barked at shadows that didn't belong.
Afre walked ahead, his boots clicking softly against the cracked pavement. The moonlight glinted on the metal at his boots' tips and the buckle straps around his knees. His dark coat swayed with every step, and the faint smell of smoke and iron followed him. His white hair, cropped short on the sides and spiked at the top, gleamed under the moonlight.
Behind him, Ravena floated more than walked. Her long black feathers brushed against the air like inked paper. Her robe shimmered faintly with every movement, and the faint glint of the veve symbols tattooed along her collarbone pulsed like living script. She carried herself like a secret—beautiful, dangerous, and patient.
They had been walking for hours.
Afre finally stopped at a dead end, the wall covered in graffiti and old gang tags. "Nothing. No trail, no whispers, not even a name," he said, his voice edged with irritation. "It's like this 'Peterson' vanished."
Ravena perched herself on a broken fence, legs crossed. "You're too impatient. Humans don't keep power in open places. If he's special, someone's protecting him."
"Or he's hiding." Afre clenched his fist. "Foufina said her Galipot pack fought him, didn't she? We should've gotten more from her before she reported to Makandal."
Ravena smirked. "Foufina is prideful. Her failure was already a punishment. Still…" She traced a clawed finger through the air, drawing a faint sigil that glowed briefly violet. "If he really defeated her creatures, then we're not chasing some weakling."
Afre looked at the sigil fade. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Ravena's eyes flashed. "Dog Eat Dog?"
He grinned. "Exactly. Gangrats always talk."
---
The pair moved through the sleeping city with the ease of hunters on familiar ground. Every alley bent away from their presence; even the air seemed thinner where they passed. Afre walked like he owned the darkness, and Ravena moved like she whispered orders to it.
They found their way to Nan Bannan's broken blocks, where the Dog Eat Dog gang ran the night. The scent of alcohol and gun oil filled the air. A few gang members were hanging outside a bar, laughing too loud and not noticing death walking toward them.
Afre stepped into the light spilling from the doorway.
"Bonsoir," he greeted, his tone polite in a way that chilled more than it soothed.
The men froze. One of them, a tall guy with a scar under his left eye, stepped forward. "Yo, you lost, boss man? This ain't your block."
Afre smiled faintly. "You're right. But I'm looking for someone who's made a lot of noise on yours."
Ravena appeared beside him like a sudden gust, her feathers trembling in the dim light. "Peterson Joseph," she said simply.
The men exchanged nervous looks.
One of them snorted, trying to laugh it off. "Who the hell is that supposed to be?"
Afre didn't blink. "You know him."
The man laughed again, less sure this time. "Never heard that name."
Afre sighed, brushing invisible dust off his coat. "I dislike liars."
He moved so fast the man didn't even see the strike—just a blur, then the crack of metal meeting bone. The gang member hit the ground, clutching his jaw and coughing blood.
"Where. Is. He." Afre's voice echoed with a low growl that wasn't human anymore.
The others reached for their weapons, but before they could pull the triggers, Ravena waved her hand. Shadows surged from the walls, wrapping around their wrists like serpents. Guns clattered uselessly to the ground.
"Be polite," she said. "My friend has a short temper."
A door creaked open behind them, and two more figures stepped out. One of them was large, scarred, with a grin that carried more arrogance than sense—Bega. The other, a thinner man with gold teeth, hung back, eyes wide.
"Well, well," Bega said, stretching his neck. "You must be new around here. Nobody shakes down my boys."
Afre turned his head slowly, his expression amused. "And you must be the one who thinks size equals survival."
Ravena's lips curled. "Dog Eat Dog. Ironic name, considering how many of you will be eaten first."
Bega's smirk faltered. "You got jokes, lady. But unless you're buying, get out before I—"
Afre moved.
One moment he was standing still. The next, he was behind Bega, one hand gripping the back of his neck. The metal tips of Afre's boots scraped against the ground as he lifted him half an inch off the floor.
"You'll talk," Afre said softly, "because you've seen him."
Bega's voice cracked. "W-wait… I don't know where he lives!"
"Start with what you do know."
Bega coughed, struggling. "We—we fought him, all right? We were gonna mess him up—him and his friends. But the guy… he changed, man! He's not normal!"
Afre tilted his head. "Changed?"
"Eyes went white. Power everywhere. Like he was possessed or something. He wrecked us." Bega's voice lowered to a whisper. "Killed Bega's second-in-command with a single hit. We never went near him again."
Afre dropped him. "So he's strong."
Ravena's eyes glimmered violet. "And unpredictable. Interesting."
Bega rubbed his neck. "Y-you ain't gonna kill us, right?"
Afre smirked. "Not tonight. You've been helpful."
He turned away, but Ravena paused by the doorway, her feathers brushing the wood. "If you remember anything else," she said, "pray I don't have to ask twice."
They left the gang trembling in the shadows.
When they were gone, Bega spat on the ground. "That dude's crazy," he muttered. "If that's who's looking for Peterson, he's in deep trouble."
The night swallowed his words.
---
Meanwhile, back in the quiet safety of his small room, Peterson sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at his phone. The screen glowed in the dim light, and his notifications were stacked like an angry tower.
12 messages from Naëlle.
He swallowed hard. "Twelve? Oh no."
He opened the first one.
> Hey, Pete. Can we talk?
You looked kinda off at school the other day.
I just want to make sure you're okay.
You there?
Hellooo?
You're not ignoring me, right? 😅
By the twelfth message, she had gone quiet, and guilt hit him like a truck.
"Oh great. She probably thinks I'm dead or ghosting her."
He grabbed his phone and dialed before he could overthink it. The line rang once—twice—then clicked.
"Hello?" Her voice was soft, curious.
"H-hey! Naëlle, it's me, Peterson. Sorry, I didn't see your messages earlier, I've been uh… busy."
"With what?" she teased. "Secret superhero work?"
He froze. "What? No! I mean—uh, just helping my mom."
She giggled, the sound instantly softening his nerves. "Relax, I'm kidding. I just… wanted to talk. You seemed really strange lately. Like, spaced out."
"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "Been… a weird week."
A pause.
"Well," she said finally, "since it's Saturday and we don't have school, I was wondering if you'd like to—uh—meet up? You know, hang out. Maybe… eat somewhere?"
Peterson's brain short-circuited for a second. "You mean… like a date?"
"Y-you don't have to call it that!" she blurted, flustered. "Just two friends eating."
"Right, friends," he said quickly. "Totally. Friends. Eating. Together."
She laughed, and he could hear her smiling through the phone. "How about Lakay Restaurant? Around three?"
"Three sounds perfect," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I'll be there."
They said their goodbyes, and when the call ended, Peterson just stared at the phone, stunned.
Then ding.
> [System Notification]
New Quest: "Your Crush Has Invited You on a Date."
Objective: Make sure the date goes well.
Reward: +200 XP
Bonus: +5000 XP if you get a kiss.
Special: Instant Level-Up if you get laid.
Peterson's eyes nearly popped out. "Wait—WHAT!? No, no, no. The system's not spying on my love life now, is it?"
He flopped back on the bed, covering his face with both hands. "This is insane. How does it even know!?"
Then reality hit him like another truck.
"I have no money. And no outfit. I'm doomed."
He jumped up, opened his closet, and stared into the abyss—two shirts, a hoodie with a hole, and pants that had seen better days. "Yeah, I'm dead."
Then an idea hit him.
He grabbed his phone again and dialed Wilkens.
"Yo, what's up bro?" Wilkens answered, sounding half-asleep.
"Wilkens, I need a favor. A big one."
"Please tell me it's not another training accident."
"No, worse. I have a date with Naëlle."
Silence.
Then Wilkens snorted. "A what now?"
"A date! And I'm broke! And I have nothing decent to wear!"
Wilkens was laughing now. "Oh man, this is gold. The mighty Voodoo Clan Leader brought down by fashion."
"Stop laughing and help me!"
"Say no more," Wilkens said between chuckles. "I'll shadow teleport there in five minutes."
Peterson groaned. "Make it three!"
The line clicked, leaving him pacing like a man awaiting salvation—or a stylish death.
Outside, the city was calm. But somewhere far beneath that calm, dark forces were already moving, and Afre and Ravena's hunt had only just begun.