The city smelled of rain and gasoline. Neon bled across the puddles, and the sound of sirens carried through the night.
Mira sat on a rooftop in Hell's Kitchen, her seven cats prowling around her like shadows. From below, she could hear the muted thrum of a fight—fists cracking against flesh, someone grunting, someone cursing.
New York was different from Ketterdam. It didn't whisper her name in fear; it screamed with chaos loud enough to drown her out. But the Hunters had followed her even here.
The striped orange cat leapt onto her lap, tail twitching.
"They're closer. Smell the steel. Smell the silver."
Mira smirked, her horns catching the neon glow. "Then let's see if they like New York hospitality."
But before she could rise, a shadow vaulted onto the rooftop.
Red suit. Batons in hand. A man with no fear.
"Hell's Kitchen doesn't need demons," Daredevil said, his voice like gravel. "Who are you?"
The cats hissed in unison, their eyes blazing. Mira stood slowly, her gaze burning as fiercely as the city lights.
"Name's Mira. Hunters are after me. And if you get in my way, you'll regret it."
Daredevil tilted his head, his senses flooding with the sound of seven heartbeats that weren't quite human. He tightened his grip on his batons.
"You brought trouble to my city," he said.
"Your city?" Mira laughed, sharp and cruel. "Sweetheart, this city has always belonged to devils."
The air grew heavier, charged with something infernal. The cats' eyes glowed brighter, their bodies stretching into monstrous silhouettes. Mira's power unfurled like smoke across the rooftop.
And from the alley below, she heard the clank of armor and the sharp click of crossbows being drawn.
The Hunters had arrived.