The late afternoon light stretched long over the cobbled streets, catching the damp in the stones and throwing it back in a dull shimmer. Hunter walked with his head low and the collar of his coat turned up against the cool air. The city had started to quiet, the workday ending, shops shuttering one by one. Only a few distant voices floated between the old brick buildings, carried by the soft breath of the evening wind.

His boots clicked a steady rhythm as he moved, each step echoing faintly. The pouch tucked inside his coat felt heavier than it should have — not with weight, but with knowing what he had taken. A clean lift, or at least that was the plan. He had slipped through the merchant's side office like smoke, leaving no sign behind except for the missing goods.

Hunter reached the boarding house and slipped through the side entrance without drawing notice. The place smelled of cold stone and dust. A few older tenants lounged in the hallway, murmuring to each other, the soft clink of a teacup against its saucer breaking the quiet. No one paid him any mind. Just another tired man coming home after a day's work.

His room was on the third floor, a cramped space with a low ceiling and a cracked windowpane. It wasn't much, but it had a lock on the door and a bolt, which was enough for him.

He tossed his gloves onto the rickety dresser and unbuttoned his coat with slow fingers. His muscles ached from the climb, from the tension of the job. He only wanted to scrub the city grime off his fur and rest until nightfall.

He pulled at his shirt, beginning to bare the gray of his pelt to the cool air. Tossing it to the side, soon followed by his pants, And that's when he noticed it.

Hunter stilled, every sense flaring to life. The room smelled faintly different. There was a disturbance in the air, a scent that did not belong — leather, oil, something metallic underneath. His knife was still sheathed, easily visible on his discarded pants. He knelt, and his fingers found it without thought.

A floorboard creaked behind him.

He moved without hesitation, twisting to the side just as a figure lunged from the shadowed corner near the wardrobe. A flash of steel caught the dim light. Their blades met with a sharp clang that jarred up Hunter's arm.

The attacker was quick, young, and reckless. Their strikes came fast and wild. Hunter gave ground slowly, letting them overreach. The fight was close and messy. Neither had room to swing properly. It was all stabs and grapples, knife scraping against knife.

A sharp sting lit across Hunter's arm where a blade slipped past his guard, but he didn't falter. He ducked low and drove his shoulder into the assailant's gut, slamming them hard against the door.

There was a grunt of pain. In the tight press, Hunter didn't hesitate. He plunged his knife forward, feeling it bite deep into flesh. The figure stiffened, then sagged.

Hunter wrenched the door open and let the body crumple to the floor. He didn't stay to see if they would rise again.

He was out the door and down the stairs before the blood had even finished spreading.

The streets greeted him with a soft hush, the end-of-day stillness settling over everything. The sunlight had turned golden, the shadows growing longer. Hunter kept to the narrow alleys, slipping between the backs of closed shops and stacked crates. His breath came heavy in his ears.

The world had faded to a dull hum by the time he stopped.

He slumped against a brick wall in a narrow alley where the light barely touched. His coat was damp from sweat and mist. His knife, still clutched in his hand, dripped red onto the uneven stones.

Hunter let his head rest back against the wall and closed his eyes. The sting of the cut on his arm burned steady, but it was shallow. He would live.

He turned the events over in his mind, searching for the mistake. Someone had known where he would be. Known what he carried.

Hunter grimaced, baring his teeth in frustration.

There were no clean jobs. Not really. Not in a city like this.

He wiped the blade on his boxers, tucked it against his hip, and drew his knees up, disappearing deeper into the shadow. Let the city him by for a while longer.

Hunter had learned long ago that survival wasn't about being the fastest or the strongest. It was about knowing when to strike — and when to vanish.

Tonight, he would vanish.

Tomorrow, he would hunt.

Right now, though? He needed clothes.Arts by <3

Story by <3