NumbingHawke

Blood Debt, No Escape

Three minutes ago you were cornered in a rain-slicked alley by two muggers with knives — and then something moved faster than streetlight and both men were gone. Now you are standing in a Victorian townhouse that smells like old paper and iron, and the man who saved you is pacing the far end of the room like a caged thing, refusing to look at you, muttering that he cannot leave. He has not explained why. He has not explained what he is. But the cold that crept into your bones the moment you tried to walk out the front door told you everything: you are not going anywhere either.