It was nearing midnight, and the three pursuers were growing restless. The two "rats" who had slipped past them earlier were still nowhere to be found. Frustration hung thick in the air, showing clearly on the faces of the two underlings. One of them kept glancing at the now-dry, bloodless arm they'd been carrying—held possessively by their leader like a prized snack.
"Where the fuck did they go?" the leader muttered, his voice tight with annoyance.
He brought the severed arm to his nose again, inhaling deeply, then sniffed the air around them like a predator trying to catch a scent. Just as the irritation on his face deepened, his expression suddenly shifted. A wide, delighted smile spread across his blood-stained lips.
"There you are…" he whispered, eyes gleaming.
