The city didn't let him breathe. Every step Aubrey took after that alley felt heavier, the streets pressing down on him like a weight. The woman's words echoed in his head—you lit the sky tonight.
Survive tomorrow.
The phrase lodged under his skin like a blade. It wasn't a warning. It was a dare.
He pushed through the night, weaving between neon-lit markets closing down for the evening. Vendors shouted last calls, their voices raw with exhaustion. A drunk stumbled into his path, slurring curses before collapsing against a wall. Aubrey kept moving, eyes scanning every rooftop, every shadow. His senses were wired too tightly to relax.
He ducked into a narrow passage between two buildings, the air thick with the smell of fried oil and damp concrete. Steam from an overhead vent brushed against his face, making his skin prickle. He paused, listening.
Footsteps again. Not the heavy clatter of drunks or gang runners. Soft. Measured. Always just out of sight.
Aubrey spun around, hand slipping to the knife in his jacket. Nothing. Just the slow drip of water from a rusted pipe and the distant hum of power lines.
But he knew. She was still there. Watching. Testing.
He hated it—being prey.
He broke into a run, boots hammering against the ground, weaving through alleys like he had since he was a kid. His body remembered every turn, every shortcut, every climbable wall. The city's bones were carved into him, and he used that knowledge to cut sharp corners, scale a low fence, and vanish into tighter streets.
The footsteps followed.
Not close enough to catch him, not far enough to lose him. Always there. Always steady.
He burst out onto a wider street lined with broken streetlights and half-burned billboards. Cars long abandoned sat rusting in the gutters. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled—not rain, just the low groan of the city's failing grid.
Aubrey slowed his pace, chest heaving, and ducked behind a rusted car frame. He gripped the knife tighter, forcing his breathing calm, eyes locked on the street.
The shadow appeared at the end of the block. Tall. Slim. Cloaked.
Not rushing. Not hiding. Just walking toward him like she already knew where he was.
Something in Aubrey snapped. He wasn't going to let her corner him again. He stepped out from behind the wreck, Bloodfire stirring in his veins, his voice sharp across the empty street.
"Why me? Why follow me?"
The woman stopped, her face hidden beneath the hood, only her eyes catching the faint glow of a nearby sign. They were sharp, reflecting the light like shards of glass.
"You've already chosen your path," she said. "The moment you used the fire."
Aubrey's jaw clenched. His hand trembled against the knife handle. "I didn't choose this."
The woman tilted her head. "Neither did I."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. A flicker of recognition—or maybe pity—passed between them. Then, without another sound, she turned and walked into the shadows at the edge of the block, vanishing as if the night itself swallowed her.
Aubrey stood frozen, fire crawling under his skin, questions burning hotter than answers.
He should have felt relief that she was gone. Instead, he felt hunted still—not by her, but by whatever truths she carried.
And deep down, he knew this wouldn't be the last time their paths crossed.