The city had turned into a hunting ground.
Every shadow seemed to whisper of death, every pair of eyes in the crowd burned with suspicion. The bounty posters—nailed to tavern doors, painted across broken walls, carried in the hands of beggars—offered more than just coin. They promised status. Whoever killed or captured the Wolves would rise.
And so the hounds were unleashed.
The first came at dusk, a squad of blade-dancers from the southern docks. They moved like shadows, knives glinting in the dim light, their steps so soft that most victims never saw death coming. But Luv wasn't "most victims."
He waited until they were close—until their blades kissed the wind an inch from his neck—then moved with terrifying calm. His dagger slid across the first man's throat, his knee broke another's ribs with a single strike, and when Ayu's pistol thundered, three bodies collapsed before they even blinked.
Their corpses were left in an alley, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
But the hunters didn't stop.
Two nights later, in a rain-soaked street, mercenaries disguised as beggars lunged from beneath carts. Chains clattered, nets flew. One managed to wrap Ayu's arm before she burned the rope with a flash grenade hidden in her coat. Luv tore through the ambush like a storm, his blade never slowing, blood mixing with the rain until the cobblestones looked painted.
"Too many," Ayu hissed, panting. "This won't stop."
"They'll bleed themselves dry before they take us," Luv replied coldly, flicking crimson drops from his blade. But in his dark eyes, there was calculation. He knew brute force alone wouldn't save them forever.
By the third week, the Wolves had become phantoms. They never stayed in the same shelter twice. They ate only when the city slept. They trusted no one, spoke to no one, and walked only in the smoke and shadows.
But the hunters still found them.
One night, Ayu woke to the click of a crossbow string. The bolt screamed through the air—only to be caught by Luv's hand before it touched her. He broke it silently, his expression unreadable.
"Sleep," he whispered, though his own eyes never closed that night.
The bounty hunters came in waves. Some were skilled. Most were desperate. All ended the same way—dead in alleys, burning in abandoned factories, floating in rivers with slit throats.
But the relentless tide wore at them.
Ayu's laughter, once sharp and wild in battle, began to fade into silence. She polished her weapons with trembling hands. Her jade-like face carried shadows that no light could erase.
Luv noticed. He always noticed.
And when she finally asked, her voice breaking in the stillness, "How long do we keep running?"—he didn't answer. His silence said everything.
From the rooftops, the cloaked watcher observed. His smile was hidden in the dark.
"Good," he murmured. "Let the hounds weaken them. By the time I strike, they'll be half-dead already."
The true enemy was still waiting.