Lu Chen's POV
The sky is already brightening when I leave the hospital.
That alone tells me I stayed too long.
Morning creeps in quietly, disguising itself as peace. Streetlights flicker off one by one. Windows glow with the promise of routine-coffee brewing, alarms ringing, lives resuming as if the night never bared its teeth.
Morning is dangerous.
Too many eyes adjusting to the light.
Too many people are learning how to notice again.
I keep my head down as I walk, steps measured, shoulders loose. The ache beneath my skin hasn't faded completely, a dull reminder of torn muscle and broken skin. It doesn't slow me. It never does. The wounds are already knitting themselves together, patient and relentless.
By tonight, there'll be nothing more than scars.
The city pretends to wake gently. I know better. I've seen what it hides after midnight, what it leaves bleeding in corners no one wants to claim responsibility for.
Two blocks from the hospital, I slip into an alley narrow enough to swallow sound. Trash bins line the walls, overflowing with the unwanted remnants of other lives. I peel away the hospital bandage and let it fall among them-just another thing discarded, just another truth no one wants to look at twice.
The moment the cloth leaves the skin, my senses sharpen.
The wolf stirs beneath me, stretching, testing the edges of restraint.
The scent reaches me first.
Fear-sharp and sour.
Sweat-fresh, panicked.
Blood-close, and not mine.
My pulse shifts.
I move.
The city becomes a blur of motion as I climb, fingers finding purchase without thought. Rooftops rush beneath my feet as I run higher, faster, carried by instinct more than intention. From above, the city reveals itself honestly-the blind spots between patrols, the forgotten districts, the places where help arrives too late, if it comes at all.
A warehouse squats at the edge of the district.
Lights still burning.
Voices raised.
A mistake waiting to be corrected.
I slow near a shattered window, listening.
Two heartbeats.
One frantic.
One barely holding on.
Two men.
One tied to a chair.
The wolf growls, low and disapproving.
I step inside.
They don't notice me at first. People rarely do, not until fear sharpens their vision-and by then, it's always too late. One of them turns, eyes widening, mouth opening around a word he never gets to finish.
I don't enjoy this part.
I never have.
But the city doesn't forgive hesitation.
I end it quickly. Cleanly. The wolf doesn't celebrate; it simply watches, alert, ensuring the threat is gone. Silence settles hard against the concrete floor.
The man in the chair is shaking, staring at me like I've crawled out of his nightmares. His breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes fixed, unblinking.
"Go," I tell him.
He doesn't question it. He runs.
Sirens rise in the distance, late but persistent. Someone finally found the courage to call it in. Good. They'll arrive in time to ask questions, not in time to interfere.
I'm already gone when they turn the corner.
By the time the sun fully clears the horizon, the blood is washed from my hands, my clothes replaced, my presence erased. I move through the streets unseen, just another figure dissolving into the city's rhythm.
And yet-
As the wolf finally settles, my thoughts betray me.
Fluorescent lights.
The scent of antiseptic.
Sharp words spoken like a shield.
Steady hands.
A nurse who pretends he doesn't care.
Xuyan.
The name slips into my mind uninvited, unwelcome-and lingers longer than it should.
I push it away.
Attachments are dangerous.
Comfort is a lie.
Weakness costs lives.
I know this. I've always known this.
Still, no matter how deep I disappear into the city's shadows, one truth follows me, quiet and unrelenting-
When night falls again,
when the wolf grows restless,
when blood finds me the way it always does,
I will return.
To him.