The city didn’t sleep.
But now… it hunted.

Broker’s orders spread like wildfire—burning through Velrian’s seedy layers like a virus in a system. Mercs, gamblers, bounty-lurkers, info dealers—they all got the ping. It was payday. And the targets?

Three.
The girl – “Golden eyes for the Nights. Keep her pretty. The buyer likes a struggle.”
The boy – “Lavender eyes. Cut clean. Organs first, eyes last.”
The dog – “Bleed it. Slowly. For fun.”
Order: Bring them alive. Let them wish they weren’t.

Every screen in the back alleys lit up with their faces. Wanted posters merged with ad holograms. Digital pop-ups played over strip-club doors and noodle stalls.

Alya, Nolan, and Mou ran like hunted data packets through a corrupted system.

But shadows don’t bleed.
And Nolan’s arm did.

“Over here,” he hissed, ducking under a rusted pipe stack. Alya dragged Mou along, breath tight in her chest, heart pounding like malfunctioning machinery.

They collapsed into a hideout—just barely enough space between busted server cores and carbon crates. A vent hissed somewhere. Mou lay down, tongue out, eyes wide. His paws twitched like he wanted to maul something—anything.

Alya clenched her fists, trying to still the shake in her hands.

“Why does it always end like this?” she whispered, staring at nothing.

Nolan didn’t answer.

She scoffed bitterly. “That bastard wanted my body… like I’m some toy. Like I don’t get to be human.”

He winced but said nothing. The silence hurt more than anything else.

Alya looked over at him—his face bloodied, clothes torn, but those lavender eyes still shining in the dim light. And suddenly, she laughed. Not out of joy—but the ridiculous unfairness of it all.

“And you…” she said softly. “Those eyes. It’s not your fault they’re that beautiful. Hell, they’re hypnotizing. Sometimes when you’re asleep, I—I just stare at them. Like an idiot.”

Nolan blinked. “Wait. What?”

She turned beet red. “Nothing. Shut up.”

A smirk formed on Nolan’s bruised lips. “So you’ve been watching me sleep? That’s cute. Creepy—but cute.”

“Say it again and I’ll throw Mou at you.”

From the corner, Mou grumbled and rolled onto his side with a lazy, judgmental growl, like he was so done with these two and their hormonal chaos.

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend to be,” Nolan teased, nudging her shoulder.

"Just shut up," Alya said in little blush

“You literally spit on Deadsmoke’s face and now we’re running side missions for a guy who thinks blood is a personality.” Nolan exhaled the breathe

“Because he called Mou a mutt!” she snapped.

“And somehow that’s worse than calling you merchandise?”

Alya shrugged. “Mou’s family. Don’t touch family.”

Nolan gave her a sideways smile. “If I were you, I’d have done the same. Maybe worse.”

The tension broke. Just a little.

Alya leaned down toward Mou, whispering, “Come on, boy. Group hug?”

“Three…”
“Two…”
“One—”

Mou barked once, then shuffled away and sat in the corner like a pissed-off king refusing tribute.

They both burst out laughing, the kind that hurt because it was real. Raw. A crack in the nightmare.

They started moving again.

Nolan peeked out of the rusted vent cover. “All clear.”

Alya nodded. “Let’s move. Quiet. No more heroics.”

They stepped into a back alley, ducked behind crates, slipped through an old food processor tunnel. Nolan checked every corner. Alya held Mou’s leash tight.

She finally exhaled. “Okay… this place looks—”

“THERE ARE THE BRATS!”

The scream shattered the silence.

Lights flashed. Weapons buzzed. The hideout was no longer hidden.

“GO!” Nolan shouted.

The hunt had just begun.

To be continued…