The city didn't sleep.
It only pretended to.
And under the flickering neon lights, Leon and Aria walked side by side — two ghosts wrapped in flesh, carving their place into a world that wanted them dead.
Leon's cigarette glowed like a dying star between his lips. His jacket, still stained with yesterday's blood, swung loose as the cold wind gnawed at his skin.
Aria, as always, walked like she owned the ground beneath her feet. The white dress, now more crimson than silk, clung to her like a second skin.
She wasn't wearing it for fashion.
She wore it because the stains told a story.
"You smell that?" Leon muttered, exhaling smoke through gritted teeth.
Aria closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
The scent hit her like a lover's whisper: iron, wet fur, and the sharp sting of moonlight.
"Wolves," she answered.
Her voice wasn't surprised. It was hungry.
From the dark alleyways, yellow eyes flickered to life.
Not human. Not mercenaries.
Lycan Syndicate.
A pack of cursed beasts hired by the Guild — paid in blood, bound by moonlight.
The leader stepped forward, half-man, half-monster, his voice a broken growl.
"Leon Valenheart... Aria Bloodveil... The Guild wants your heads on pikes."
Leon flicked the ash off his cigarette, unimpressed.
"Let them send a damn army. I'm still not losing sleep over mutts."
The wolves circled, muscles tense, teeth bared.
But Aria's smile stretched wider, her voice a purr of soft, deadly affection.
"You should've brought more friends, little puppy... I'm feeling greedy tonight."
The first wolf lunged — claws sharp enough to rip through steel.
Leon didn't flinch.
With one fluid motion, his blade slid free from its sheath, and the air was split by the sound of wet meat meeting cold iron.
Blood sprayed across the cracked pavement.
Aria moved like a song no one had the courage to finish — spinning through the pack, her blade slicing limbs from bodies as if they were paper dolls.
Each kill, a dance.
Each corpse, another love letter written in red.
When the last wolf hit the ground, gasping its final breath, Aria crouched beside it, tilting her head like a child studying a dying butterfly.
"You barked too loud, sweetheart," she whispered, before driving her blade through its throat.
Leon leaned against the nearest wall, watching the blood pool at their feet.
"That all of them?"
His voice was casual. Too casual.
Aria wiped her blade clean against her thigh, standing slowly.
"For now."
She turned, eyes gleaming with that possessive, obsessed glint.
"You're mine, Leon. No wolf, no Guild, no god will ever change that."
He pulled her into his arms, forehead against hers, their breaths tangled.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, lips curving into a familiar, crooked grin.
"Let's paint this damn city red, doll."
And so, the hunt began again.
For love.
For blood.
For the sick, twisted thrill of it all.