Rhen turned into a narrow service alley between old brick buildings.
The Quarter closed around them through rusted iron balconies, rain-darkened walls, and ivy dripping into the passage. Rot, incense, and damp stone thickened the air.
Then came the metallic scent beneath them.
Blood.
It was not fresh enough to mark an active spill but recent enough to leave a trail.
Rhen’s body responded before thought became necessary. Every muscle tightened, his senses narrowed, and the predator beneath his skin rose with familiar clarity.
He did not care about the Quarter or the lives moving beyond the alley.
He cared about the kill ahead.
Their prey appeared within moments.
A male stumbled from an open service door with blood smeared around his mouth. His pupils were distended, and his unnecessary breathing came fast enough to resemble human panic.
A rogue.
Others emerged behind him, separating from the shadows in groups of two and three. Their bodies twitched with starvation and chemical agitation. They possessed speed without discipline, moving as though instinct controlled them while reason remained somewhere far behind.
Malakai’s mouth tightened.
He flashed a quick sign toward Cole.
They have been busy.
Rhen attacked before the rogues could close the distance.
He struck the first male with the force of a collision. His fist drove through the rogue’s chest, crushing ribs beneath the impact and ending the scream before it began.
The others lunged.
Rhen moved through them with brutal efficiency. Nothing in his violence was decorative. He used fists, fangs, and the unforgiving surfaces of the alley, breaking bodies as quickly as they entered his reach.
Blood spread across the cobblestones and darkened the brick walls. It coated Rhen’s hands until his grip gleamed beneath the alley lights.
He did not slow.
Cole entered the fight with a roar, catching one rogue by the throat and lifting him from the ground before driving him into the wall. Brick cracked beneath the impact, and the rogue collapsed.
Malakai fought with colder precision. He moved between attackers like a blade following seams in armor, every strike chosen before the target understood it had been exposed.
Bodies fell around him.
Then Rhen sensed something beyond the rogues.
A watcher.
His head snapped toward the far mouth of the alley.
A figure stood beyond the strongest reach of the streetlight, half concealed inside the darkness. Unlike the rogues, he remained still, composed, and entirely in control.
A heretic.
Fury narrowed Rhen’s vision until only the figure and the distance between them remained.
