The city never truly slept. Even in the deep hours of the night, neon lights flickered, shadows whispered, and the air reeked of smoke and gasoline. But tucked away in a crumbling, forgotten apartment on the edge of the docks, two figures rested.
Luv leaned against the peeling wall, methodically cleaning his pistol. Every motion was precise—remove the clip, wipe the chamber, check the barrel. The dim bulb overhead flickered, casting sharp shadows across his black eyes. He hadn't spoken much since they left the warehouse.
Ayu sat on the tattered couch across from him, wrapping her wounded thigh with a strip of cloth she'd torn from a dead thug's jacket. Her knives rested on the table between them, gleaming faintly in the light. Unlike Luv, she didn't try to hide her exhaustion. She leaned back, hair sticking to her blood-streaked cheek, but her jade-white skin still carried that stubborn glow.
"You know…" she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence, "most people run from this life. They get one look at death, and they're gone. But not you. Not me. It's almost like…" She smirked faintly. "We were made for this."
Luv didn't look up from the gun. "Or maybe we're too broken to walk away."
Ayu tilted her head, studying him. His face was unreadable, cold as always. But she was beginning to learn that his silence wasn't emptiness—it was weight. Every word he spoke carried scars.
"Broken or not," she said softly, "I'd rather fight like this than live like the rest. At least this way, I know who I am."
For a moment, silence settled again. Luv slid the pistol back together, clicked it once, and set it on the table beside her knives. His gaze lifted, meeting hers.
"You trust too easily," he said.
Ayu raised a brow. "Do I? I trust you. And so far, that hasn't been a mistake."
His jaw tightened, just slightly. The faintest shadow of something—guilt, protectiveness, maybe both—flickered across his eyes.
"Don't trust me too much," he muttered. "You don't know what I've done."
"Maybe not," she said, leaning forward with that same mischievous spark in her gaze. "But I know what you do now. And that's enough."
By morning, the city was drenched in fog. They had patched themselves up as best they could, eaten little more than stale bread and canned soup scavenged from the cupboards, and now sat together at the table, the photo of the little girl laid out between them.
Her wide, frightened eyes stared up at them, haunting the silence.
"Crimson Fang," Ayu said, her voice low. "If the Black Crown handed her over to them, we don't have much time. The note said two days."
Luv nodded. His fingers tapped once against the wood, calculating. "They'll move her at night. Less attention. That means we need to find their base before then."
"And if we don't?"
"Then she's gone." His voice was flat, but the words cut through the air like a blade.
Ayu frowned, determination flashing across her features. "Then we will find her."
They spent the day digging. Fake IDs, burner phones, coded forums on the dark web—Ayu had a knack for slipping into places she shouldn't be. Luv handled the streets, following whispers, leaning on contacts he'd rather have left buried.
But the more they searched, the clearer it became: Crimson Fang wasn't just another gang. They were organized, ruthless, and someone had warned them. By dusk, both Luv and Ayu noticed the same thing—eyes watching them from alleys, footsteps trailing a second too long.
When they regrouped in the apartment, Ayu tossed her phone onto the table. "They know we're looking."
Luv was silent for a long moment, then finally said, "Good."
Ayu blinked at him. "Good?"
"They'll come for us now. Saves us the trouble of finding them."
Her lips curved into a dangerous grin. "I like the way you think."
That night, they stayed awake, sharpening blades, checking ammo, and waiting for the inevitable knock on the door.
Ayu glanced at him as she slid her knives into their sheaths. "You know, Luv… if this was anyone else, I'd say we were walking into hell. But with you…" She smirked. "Hell doesn't scare me."
Luv loaded his last magazine and met her gaze. His voice was low, steady, unshakable.
"Then we'll burn it together."
The words hung between them like a promise.
Outside, unseen figures gathered in the fog, preparing to strike. Crimson Fang was coming. And this time, the wolves wouldn't just be defending themselves—they would be hunting.