The city was alive, pulsing with neon and noise, but Aurora Sage barely noticed it. Her focus was narrow, every step measured, every instinct sharpened by the slip of paper burning in her pocket.
He's not your savior.
The words gnawed at her as she wove through the alleyways near the studio district, drawn by something she couldn't explain. She had learned long ago that men like him didn't simply taunt from a distance. If he had left her a message, it meant he wanted her to follow. And Aurora—reckless, furious, unwilling to be toyed with—intended to do exactly that.
Her boots clicked against damp pavement, the echo mingling with the hum of traffic nearby. Every corner she turned sharpened her awareness, every shadowed doorway a potential ambush. She had been here before, years ago in a different city, a different life—hunting, being hunted, her identity nothing more than a mask.
But tonight, there was no mask. Tonight, she was Aurora Sage.
And she would end this.
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