For the first time since waking in Villian Ville, Tim stopped waking up hollow.
Jenny's shadow still lingered in his mind, but the ache she left behind no longer crushed him. Tammy filled the empty space, not as a ghost, but as something living, warm, and sly. She slipped into his routine until she became part of his survival.
It became a rhythm.
They hunted together, Tammy darting through alleys like she owned the night, her grin sharp whenever blood hit the stones. And afterward, when their knives cooled and their bodies ached, she climbed on top of him with the same certainty she fought with. Tim stopped resisting. Soon, he even leaned into it.
Kill. Survive. Tammy.
At first, he thought he was betraying Jenny by letting Tammy in. But the truth settled over him slowly, night by night: maybe it was never about Jenny. Maybe it was about not being alone in a place that demanded death every twenty-four hours. Maybe it was about forgetting, about finding release after holding blood in his hands.
Tammy didn't whisper promises. She didn't ask for love. She only said, "Let me break you before the village does." And he let her.
A month ago, he would've sworn no one could replace Jenny. Now, Tammy's presence was enough.
But Villian Ville didn't allow peace to last.
One night, under a waning moon, they hunted again. The air stank of rot, the cobblestones slick with something that wasn't rain. Tim and Tammy tracked a lone man stumbling through the alleys, their prey for the night. The thrill of the kill already crawled through his veins, Tammy's hand brushing his as they moved like predators.
Then another shadow cut across the street.
A woman. Quick, confident, already closing in on their target.
Tim froze.
The sway of her hips. The flash of bare stomach. The glint of eyes that dared the dark to challenge her.
Jenny.
His throat closed. For a heartbeat he thought the dream had come back to life.
Tammy noticed his hesitation, her voice sharp. "Move, Tim. She's stealing our kill."
But he couldn't move.
Jenny's knife flashed. She slammed their prey against the wall, blade to throat, and smiled with wicked satisfaction. Blood sprayed across the bricks, steam rising in the cold.
"Jenny…" Tim's voice cracked.
She turned.
Her eyes landed on him. For a second, he swore he saw recognition. His chest filled with desperate hope.
"Jenny, it's me," he said, stepping closer. "Tim. Don't you remember?"
Her brow furrowed faintly. "Tim?" she repeated, flat, empty. Her lips curled—but not into the smirk he remembered. Only polite confusion.
"You don't remember me," he whispered.
Jenny tilted her head, unimpressed. "Should I?"
The words gutted him.
Tammy shoved herself forward, eyes blazing. "She's a thief, Tim. Took our prey."
Jenny's smile sharpened. "Your prey? Funny. I don't see your knife in him."
The man, forgotten in their clash, staggered away into the dark, blood trailing behind him. None of them noticed until it was too late.
The air snapped.
Tammy lunged, shoving Jenny back. Jenny twisted with snake-like grace, grinning, and shoved back harder. Their bodies collided, twisting together like dancers locked in a violent embrace.
Hair whipped, nails scratched, legs tangled. Tammy snarled, trying to overpower her with brute force, while Jenny's movements were sleek, fluid, almost taunting. Jenny ducked close, lips brushing Tammy's ear as she hissed, "You can't keep him satisfied."
Tammy's growl was half rage, half something darker. She yanked Jenny's hair, slamming her against the wall, their chests pressing together, sweat and blood mixing on their skin. "He's mine now," she spat.
Jenny laughed breathlessly, arching against the hold. "Then why's he still looking at me?"
Tim's voice ripped out of him: "Stop!"
Neither listened.
The fight was vicious and sensual all at once—blades flashing between tangled limbs, kicks and knees thrown like foreplay. Jenny's smirk never faded, even when Tammy clawed across her stomach, tearing fabric. Tammy pressed harder, pinning her briefly, straddling her waist on the cobblestones, hips driving down as if to prove a point.
"Beg," Tammy hissed.
Jenny only laughed, writhing beneath her with a wicked gleam. "You couldn't make me."
In a blur, Jenny twisted her hips, rolling them over. Suddenly she was on top, her knife glinting inches from Tammy's throat, her hair falling around them both like a curtain. Their bodies ground together as Jenny pinned her. "Too slow," she whispered.
Tammy's eyes widened. She thrashed, but Jenny's blade was already sliding home.
Tim lunged—too late.
The steel sank deep. Tammy gasped, her lips parting, shock painted across her face. Her fingers clawed weakly at Jenny's arm, then dropped.
Tim caught her as Jenny pulled free, blood spilling across his hands. "Tammy! No—" His voice cracked.
Jenny rose smoothly, wiping her blade on her shorts, her eyes cold, her smirk as cruel as ever. "Pathetic," she muttered, stepping past him as though he weren't even there.
Tim sat in the alley, Tammy's body limp in his arms, her blood soaking him through.
He had thought he'd gotten over Jenny.
But now Jenny had reminded him—she could take everything from him whenever she wanted.