The city did not sleep.
It only pretended to.
Lanterns burned low along the stone streets, their flames shivering in the night wind. Somewhere far off, laughter spilled from a tavern, rough and careless. Boots scraped against cobblestone. Life continued—ignorant, unaware.
Iris walked beside him in silence.
She kept her hood up, hands folded in front of her like she was afraid of touching the world. The fabric of her cloak brushed against the Rogue's arm with every step, light as a whisper, yet it felt… heavier than it should have.
He noticed it then.
People slowed as they passed them.
Not openly. Not obviously. Just enough to be wrong.
A merchant paused mid-sentence, eyes lingering too long before he shook himself and turned away. A guard at the intersection straightened unconsciously, gaze flicking to Iris and then snapping forward, jaw clenched. A drunkard laughed, then stopped laughing the moment she passed him, confusion creasing his face.
No one said anything.
But the air changed.
The Rogue felt it like pressure against his skin—subtle, persistent. His Shadow System stirred faintly, a cold ripple behind his eyes, as if something unseen brushed against its domain and was quietly rejected.
He glanced at Iris.
She was staring straight ahead, expression calm, but her shoulders were tense. As if she felt it too. As if she always felt it.
"Do they always do that?" he asked.
Her steps faltered for half a heartbeat.
"…Do what?"
He didn't answer immediately. They turned into a narrower street, shadows pooling thickly between the buildings. Here, the lanterns were fewer. The dark listened.
"Look at you like you're about to disappear," he said finally. "Or like they want you to."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.
"It's nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly. "People are strange at night."
That was a lie.
Not a cruel one. Not a clever one. Just practiced.
The Rogue let it pass.
They walked a little farther before Iris spoke again, her voice quieter now.
"Why did you help me back there?"
He shrugged. "You were in trouble."
"That's not an answer."
He stopped.
The shadows around his feet deepened instinctively, stretching like they were reluctant to let him go. Iris stopped too, turning to face him. In the dim light, her eyes reflected the lantern glow—not brightly, not unnaturally—just enough to draw attention.
Again, that pressure brushed his senses.
Again, the Shadow System swallowed it whole.
"Most people don't help," she said. "They hesitate. Or they bargain. Or they decide I'm not worth the risk."
"And?" he replied.
"And you didn't."
For the first time since they met, Iris looked directly at him—really looked. As if searching for something behind his face.
The Rogue met her gaze without effort.
"I don't like owing people," he said. "And I don't like crowds."
A corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something more fragile.
"You're different," she said softly.
He almost laughed.
"If you say that too loud," he replied, turning away, "someone might hear."
They resumed walking.
Behind them, from the mouth of the narrow street, a figure lingered in the shadows. Watching. Breathing slowly. Eyes fixed on Iris's retreating form with an intensity that bordered on reverence—or hunger.
He didn't follow.
Not yet.
The night closed in, unaware that something ancient had just passed through it… and that the world, slowly and inevitably, was beginning to bend.