The night was a living, breathing thing.
Amber moved through the slums like a shadow unchained, her every step silent yet deliberate. The narrow alleys twisted like the intestines of a dying beast, the air thick with the stench of rotting garbage, stale ale, and the coppery hint of fresh blood from some unfortunate soul mugged earlier in the night. The moon hung low and swollen, painting the decaying streets in silver light. Somewhere in the distance, the faint rhythm of waves crashing against the coastal rocks whispered beneath the louder chaos of the city's nightlife.
Her eyes glowed faintly red under the hood, scanning every movement, every heartbeat. She could hear the life in these streets — drunken brawls in taverns, whispered deals between thieves, the shuffling footsteps of pickpockets tracking unsuspecting victims. But her interest lay in a more satisfying prey: those who wouldn't be missed. Scum feeding on the weak.
And of course, the rats — human or otherwise.
