The red district was already loud when I arrived—music bleeding out of clubs, drunken laughter echoing down the alleys—but the police sirens cut through it all like a blade. Blue and red lights washed over brick walls and wet pavement as two patrol cars sped past me.
That stopped me cold.
I slowed, fingers lifting to my mask. Curiosity won. I pulled it off and tucked it into my jacket, letting my breath steady as I followed the sirens on foot. Whatever happened, it was close.
I hadn't gone far when I collided with someone.
"Sorry," I said instinctively, stepping back.
The man didn't respond. Mid-twenties, wearing dark sunglasses despite the streetlights, a long coat buttoned up despite the heat. A white cane tapped once against the pavement as he adjusted his footing. Blind.
He didn't curse. Didn't complain. He simply stepped around me and continued on his way, calm and hurried.
I watched him for half a second and looked back at the scene.
Cerberus stirred. "Something's strange about that man."
I frowned and turned my head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Look at yourself," he growled. "Your eyes are already halfway turned. Your senses are sharp. And yet—you didn't notice him until you hit him."
That made my stomach tighten.
"And worse," Cerberus continued, "he stepped back before impact. Not after. Before."
I swallowed. "You're saying…?"
"Yes. He might be one of us."
I turned around sharply—but the man was already gone, swallowed by the crowd and the shadows—no sound of a cane. No footsteps.
I cursed under my breath, then forced myself to move on. Whatever he was, people were already dead.
The crime scene was a mess of murmurs and flashing lights. A small crowd had gathered, kept back by tape and bored-looking officers. Whispers floated everywhere.
"How can they do this out in the open?"
"This was cause by Nihilkin for sure."
"Let's go. This place isn't safe anymore."
I squeezed closer, slipping between bodies until I could see.
A man lay on the pavement, eyes staring, clothes soaked dark with blood. The smell hit me next—iron and something colder beneath it. His chest was ruined, a single hole punched straight through him.
An officer crouched near a trembling woman. "Tell us again. Slowly."
"I—I saw a black van," she said, voice shaking. "It stopped beside them. The doors opened and men grabbed the girl. Her boyfriend fought back—he tried to pull her away—but one of them struck him with his hand." She gestured weakly at her own chest. "He just… fell."
"Did you get the plate number?"
She shook her head. "No. It happened too fast."
I edged closer, heart pounding. When the officers shifted, I saw the wound clearly.
Too clean.
Too precise.
"That wasn't claws," I muttered.
Cerberus agreed immediately. "No tearing. No irregular edges. This was done with a sharp object. Human-made."
My jaw clenched. "So people are using Nihilkin panic as cover."
"Yes," he said. Then, after a pause, "And I think that blind man knows more than he should."
That settled it.
I backed away from the crowd, slipping my mask back on as I turned down a side street. "Then let's find him," I said quietly. "And save the girl."
I climbed.
The rooftops were quieter, the city's noise dull and distant beneath my feet. I leapt from building to building, scanning streets, alleys, intersections. Fifteen minutes passed, each second tightening the knot in my chest.
Then I saw him.
Same coat. Same cane. Walking alone down a narrow street, unhurried, like nothing in the world concerned him.
I dropped down in front of him, boots hitting asphalt with a crack. He stopped a few meters away, head tilting slightly—not toward my face, but toward my position.
"Are you with them?" I demanded.
He frowned, irritation creasing his brow. "What are you talking about?" His voice was calm, clipped. "I'm busy. Move."
A pressure slammed into me.
Wind—solid, crushing—burst forward, forcing me to skid back a step. My eyes widened.
I charged.
My claws stopped inches from his chest, frozen in midair by an unseen force. I strained, muscles screaming, but couldn't push through.
"I don't have time to play with you," he said flatly.
He waved one hand.
The wind exploded.
I was hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a wall. Concrete shattered. The world went white with pain as debris buried me.
For a moment, all I could hear was ringing.
I dragged myself free, coughing dust, claws digging into rubble. My body healed as fast as the damage came—but when I looked up, the street was empty.
Gone.
I stood there in the ruins, breath ragged, heart pounding.
Cerberus was silent for a long second.
Then he spoke, low and certain. "He could've killed you,"
I stared into the darkness where the man had vanished.
"But he didn't," I replied.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt. I brushed debris from my jacket and straightened, listening. No footsteps. No heartbeat close enough to track. The man was gone—cleanly, deliberately.
Cerberus snorted. "That doesn't mean he's harmless."
"No," I said quietly. "But it means he chose not to."
I replayed the moment in my head. The way he'd frowned—not with cruelty, not with hunger, but with irritation. Like I was an inconvenience, not prey. When he blasted me away, it wasn't lethal force. Just enough to end the encounter. To escape.
"He didn't finish me when he had the chance," I continued. "You would have."
Cerberus didn't deny it.
I pushed myself fully upright and tested my ribs. No broken bones. Pain already forgotten by my body, even if my mind wasn't so quick to let go. "He's not a bad person."
"One thing is sure, he's one of us," Cerberus added.
That made me pause.
I remembered the earlier collision—the blind man stepping back before impact, the calm in his movements. Even now, thinking back, there was no malice there. No bloodlust. If anything, he'd looked… tired.
"He knew what I was," I said.
"And still let you walk away," Cerberus replied. His tone shifted, thoughtful despite himself. "Which means he has a reason."
I glanced down the street, then toward the direction the van had gone. Somewhere out there, a girl was still alive—terrified, abducted, bleeding time with every passing minute.
"That makes two things clear," I said.
"Oh?" Cerberus rumbled.
"One," I continued, "this wasn't a Nihilkin crime. It was organized. Planned. And they're counting on fear to cover their tracks."
"And two?"
I pulled my mask tighter, eyes adjusting to the dark as my senses stretched outward again. "That blind man isn't my enemy. At least—not tonight."
Cerberus was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. "You're trusting your instincts an awful lot lately."
I started moving, leaping back toward the rooftops, following the faint trail of fear and oil and rust left by the van. "So are you," I said. "Otherwise, you'd be pushing me to hunt him down."
A low chuckle echoed in my head. "Don't misunderstand, kid. If he becomes a problem—"
"—then we deal with it," I finished.