The night hadn't ended when the fight did.
The streets still carried the sound of broken glass crunching under boots, the dull drip of water from busted pipes, and the faint hum of neon signs fighting to stay alive. Aubrey walked slower now, the weight of the Bloodfire heavy in his veins. His jacket clung to him, damp with sweat and streaked with ash. Every step felt louder than it should, as if the city itself was listening.
He kept his hood low, pulling shadows across his face. No one needed to see him like this — the faint glow tracing the veins of his hands, the way his breath came in slow, uneven bursts, heat rising from his skin like smoke from a dying flame. If anyone looked too closely, they'd know. And knowing meant danger.
Aubrey ducked into a narrow alley, pressed his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. His chest heaved. The image of Lilith collapsing replayed over and over, molten cracks dimming as if the monster's death had pulled some piece of him down with it. He wanted to believe it was finished, but he knew better. Creatures like that didn't just appear without reason. Something had stirred it. Something deeper.
And somewhere in the haze of that fight, he'd felt it — eyes watching him. Not just the gang, not just Varric, but something else. Hidden. Waiting.
He opened his eyes again and forced himself forward. The city wasn't going to hand him answers. He'd have to dig them out himself.
---
The next morning came muted. Not bright — the sky over the city never offered clarity — but washed in pale gray, as though the smog itself had given up pretending to be clouds. Aubrey's body ached with every stretch, his knuckles raw, his shoulders bruised from too many near misses.
He sat on the edge of a rusted water tank, high above the city on one of the towers he'd claimed as his refuge. From here, he could see the sprawl of endless buildings, lights flickering in uneven grids, smoke rising from factories that never stopped burning. A city that ate people whole.
He tore into a protein bar from his stash, chewing without taste. His eyes drifted, following movement below. People flowed like currents through the streets — workers in gray uniforms, merchants shouting prices, kids darting between legs, gangs staking corners like wolves marking territory.
And there. A flash of something different.
She walked with her head high, shoulders squared, eyes sharp despite the weight of the city pressing down. Not like the others who bent their backs just to survive. Her hair caught the gray light and turned it into something warmer, something alive. Aubrey didn't know why he noticed. He didn't want to notice.
He forced himself to look away, to chew the tasteless bar until it was gone. He had no time for distractions. Especially not her.
---
Later that day, the streets reminded him why.
The Crimson Talons were back. Not many this time — four, maybe five — but enough to corner someone. Aubrey turned a corner and saw it: a small shop with shattered glass, smoke curling from the doorway, and the girl he'd noticed earlier standing between the gang and an old man who looked like the shop's owner.
Varric wasn't there, but one of his lieutenants was — a wiry man with scars across his cheek and a chain wrapped around his wrist like a serpent.
"Pay the debt," the man sneered, jerking the chain so it rattled, "or the whole place burns."
The old man coughed, clutching his chest. The girl didn't move. She held her ground, eyes hard, jaw set.
"You've already taken everything last week," she said, voice steady but sharp. "There's nothing left."
The lieutenant grinned, stepping closer. "Then we'll take you."
Aubrey's blood heated. Not just from anger, but from the instinctive flare that came whenever Bloodfire answered a threat. He should've walked away. Getting involved meant exposing himself. But his legs carried him forward before his mind could stop them.
The lieutenant turned, sneer shifting into something sharper. "Look who it is. The ghost himself."
Aubrey said nothing. His fists clenched. Heat simmered under his skin, crimson veins flickering faintly.
The girl glanced at him — quick, assessing. No fear, just curiosity. Like she'd seen fighters before, but not like him.
The lieutenant swung his chain, metal singing through the air. Aubrey sidestepped, grabbed it mid-arc, and yanked the man forward. His fist met the man's jaw with a crack that sent him sprawling. The others lunged. Aubrey ducked a blade, slammed his knee into another's gut, twisted the knife from his grip, and sent it skittering across the pavement.
The Bloodfire pulsed, begging to be unleashed. But Aubrey held it back, relying on fists, knees, and instinct. The last thing he needed was half the city knowing what lived inside him.
Within moments, the gang lay groaning on the ground. Aubrey stood over them, chest rising and falling, jaw clenched tight. The lieutenant spat blood, eyes burning with promise. "This ain't over. Varric will skin you alive."
They limped away, dragging their wounded with them.
Silence settled.
The old man muttered thanks, but Aubrey barely heard him. His eyes were on the girl. She was closer now, studying him openly.
"You fight like you've been doing it all your life," she said.
Aubrey pulled his hood lower. "Sometimes you don't get a choice."
Her lips curved, not quite a smile, more like an acknowledgment. "Still. You didn't have to help. Most people don't."
He didn't reply. Words weren't his weapon. Silence suited him better.
She tilted her head slightly, as if waiting for him to say more. When he didn't, she let the silence win. "I'm Selene," she said finally.
He gave the smallest nod. "Aubrey."
And then he turned to leave, before she could ask more. Before he could want to stay.
---
That night, Aubrey couldn't shake her from his mind.
The city had a way of erasing faces, grinding them into the blur of survival. But hers lingered. The defiance in her eyes. The steadiness in her voice. The way she hadn't flinched when he stepped into the fight.
He lay back on the rooftop, staring at the fractured skyline. Smoke drifted. Sirens wailed in the distance. His hands glowed faintly in the dark, Bloodfire restless.
For the first time in years, Aubrey wondered if he
wasn't as alone as he thought.
And that thought scared him more than the monsters did.