Nolan didn't have a chance.
Three goons surrounded him in seconds. Their laughter echoed off the walls, sharp like knives. Each one grinning like they were about to carve a masterpiece.
"Look at him, the pretty boy with lavender eyes…" one of them sneered. "Shame, isn't it? All that beauty wasted."
Another goon stepped forward, crackling his fists like he was ready to smash something delicate. "How the hell are you so… beautiful?" His voice was thick with mockery. "You shouldn't be out here. You should be in a cage."
Nolan clenched his jaw, eyes cold but filled with something else now. Rage. He never liked to fight for himself—but they'd crossed the line with Alya.
"Shut up." His voice was quiet, too controlled for someone in a corner.
The goons didn't hear him, though. They were too busy pawing at his bruised skin, kicking his knees out. Nolan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm—but the anger was bubbling, threatening to burst. They wouldn't stop until he fought back.
Then, they took it too far.
The last one in the group leaned down, running a hand through Nolan's hair, pulling his face close. "What's a pretty boy like you doing in the gutter, huh? Maybe you should be sold to Deadsmoke. Be a nice little plaything." He chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to enjoy that pretty face first."
"I said shut up." Nolan finally snapped.
Before the goons could react, there was a blur—a massive shadow crashing into the middle of their circle. Mou.
The dog didn't bark. Not a single growl. Just pure carnage.
Mou wasn't here to warn them. He was here to destroy.
With a leap that should've been impossible for a creature his size, Mou sunk his teeth into the first goon's neck, tearing through muscle and flesh like it was paper. Blood sprayed across the alley, but Mou didn't make a sound. He didn't even growl as the man screamed in agony.
Nolan couldn't tear his eyes away, but there was no time to watch the spectacle. A goon grabbed his leg, pulling him back into the mess. But Mou wasn't done.
The second goon screamed as Mou's jaws snapped down on his arm, biting through bone. With a savage twist, the arm came off at the elbow, the man collapsing to the ground in shock and pain. Mou didn't stop. He shredded the guy's face next.
Nolan could barely breathe.
Meanwhile, Alya was scanning the area, her heart pounding. They couldn't keep running forever. They needed to get out, find an escape route. A safe house. Anything.
But then she saw him.
A man—slithering into her path. His eyes gleamed with malice, dark and hungry. He had that look. The one that makes your skin crawl.
His lips curled into a disgusting, perverse smile. "Well, well… What do we have here?" His voice was a greasy rasp, making her stomach churn.
He slowly pointed down at her thighs. "Deadsmoke won't mind if I taste the product before he does."
Alya's stomach dropped to her knees. That sickening feeling twisted inside her.
No. Not like this.
Before he could get closer, she reacted.
Ducked.
Ran.
Her body moved on instinct, her muscles burning, but the man was fast, too fast. He kicked her in the back.
The impact hit like a freight train. Alya hit the ground hard. Her vision blurred. Blood spilled from her mouth as she gasped for air, the taste of iron thick on her tongue.
She couldn't stop it. The pain. The rage. The terror.
The man approached her, his smile twisted and cruel. "You're a pretty one, aren't you? Broker gonna love you."
Alya tried to crawl away, but she wasn't fast enough. She could feel his shadow looming. His breath on her skin.
"Don't run, girl." He hissed.
And then he moved. His head dipped low, aiming for her chest, for her vulnerability.
Stab.
Alya's hand shot up, a jagged piece of broken glass gripped in her palm. She shoved it straight into his neck. Blood gushed, spraying her face in a sickening mist.
The man stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock, but Alya wasn't done. She didn't stop.
She stabbed again. And again. And again.
His screams echoed through the alley, but they didn't stop her. She was beyond caring. She was beyond fear.
"Call me a bitch again?" she screamed, her voice a fury of pain and rage. "I'm not weak, you pig!"
She gritted her teeth, stabbing harder, the glass carving through his flesh, puncturing his windpipe.
"Don't touch me again."
It was an unclean kill. Sloppy. Messy. But Alya didn't care. There was nothing left of the woman who might have hesitated. Nothing but rage.
She wiped her face, blood mixed with tears, before turning back to Nolan.
He was struggling against the last of the goons, but he managed to break free, his hands slick with sweat and blood. One of the goons grabbed his ankle, but then—
Mou was there.
With a snarl, Mou sank his teeth into the man's hand, ripping through flesh and bone. The goon screamed as his hand was severed in half, the blood splattering in the air.
Mou didn't stop.
But when Nolan ran, Mou stayed behind. His teeth bared, he let out one last growl before being overwhelmed.
Mou was sacrificing himself.
Somewhere later, in the hideout, they finally had a moment to breathe. It was cold, empty, and hollow. They sat down on the floor—Alya's legs trembling, her chest heaving from adrenaline.
Nolan looked at her. "Nice kill. You made that piece of shit wish he was never born."
Alya didn't answer right away. She just let the silence speak for her. The blood was still warm on her hands, but the relief was short-lived. The rage was still alive in her veins.
She leaned her head on Nolan's shoulder. "Why is he threatening me? What do they want from me?"
Nolan's voice was steady. "They're just hounds. They growl, bark, and snap. But they'll never cut us. Not unless we let them."
Alya took a deep breath, the tension in her body slowly starting to fade. She looked at Nolan, her eyes filled with something different now—strength. Confidence.
"I feel good now," she whispered.
Nolan met her gaze, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside disappeared. It was just them. Family.
They both stood, their feet dragging through the dirt of the hideout.
"We're going to rescue Mou… or die with him." Alya's voice was low, firm, unwavering. "Because we're just a fucking family."