"Finally done~" She let out a long sigh of satisfaction and relief as she stretched her arms over her head, feeling the tension leave her shoulders.
"You done, Riley?" asked the officer sitting at the desk beside hers, his voice laced with envy.
"Yep, that was the last of the reports I needed to finish." She gestured toward the neat stack of files on her desk with a flourish, her tone practically dripping with smugness.
"Ah, lucky you," her colleague groaned, slumping forward onto his desk. "I've still got a mountain to get through."
"Well, good luck with that," Riley said, her grin widening as she stood, savoring her small victory. "I'm heading home to relax."
"Don't gloat about it," the officer muttered, flopping his arms over the papers in front of him.
Riley chuckled softly. "Look at it this way: sure, you've got more to do than me, but at least you're not buried in paperwork like Malvin or Silas."
"Ugh, no kidding." The officer shivered at the thought. "I swear, I'd quit if I had to deal with their workload."
"Exactly." Riley smirked as she grabbed her coat. "Alright, I'm out. See you tomorrow!"
"Yeah, yeah. Be careful on your way home," he called after her, barely lifting his head.
Riley waved goodbye and left the room, making her way toward the front of the station. The receptionist was still at his post, sorting through some documents behind the counter. He glanced up as she approached.
"Heading out?" he asked casually.
"Mm-hmm," Riley hummed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Wrapped up my report."
"Good for you." He smiled faintly before glancing out the station's front windows. "It's pretty late, though. Be careful out there."
"Don't worry about me," she said with a confident grin. "I'm an officer, after all."
With that, Riley pushed open the heavy doors and stepped outside. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint metallic tang of the Steamworks District, the commercial district of Ironhelm. The usual daytime chaos of clanging machinery and bustling crowds was replaced by an eerie quiet.
"Almost creepy," she muttered, glancing around. The only light came from the faint glow of streetlamps and the occasional illuminated window in the distance. "It's so alive during the day, but now it's dead silent."
The rhythmic tap of her boots echoed against the cobblestone streets as she walked. "Makes sense, I guess. It's nearly midnight." She shoved her hands into her pockets, her gaze falling on the line of Ironguard steamwagons parked in front of the station.
"Ugh," she groaned with a pang of envy. "I wish I had one of those. Would save me so much walking." She sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe I'll start saving up for one. Would be a nice surprise for the family."
Lost in her thoughts, Riley quickened her pace, her coat swaying with her brisk movements.
After nearly ten minutes of walking, the station was far behind her, its comforting glow long out of sight. She was nearing the edge of the district now, where the commercial streets gave way to quieter residential blocks.
Then, she froze.
Her breath caught as she stopped in front of a dark alleyway, a prickling unease crawling up her spine. Slowly, Riley turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the shadowy passage.
A pair of glowing green eyes stared back at her, piercing through the darkness with an unnerving intensity.
"Wh-who's there?" she called out, her voice unsteady as her hand instinctively moved toward the gun at her hip.
Before she could react further, a strangled sound escaped her throat— "Hck!"
---
Philip didn't particularly enjoy fighting or killing. In fact, he might even go so far as to say he disliked it. Growing up in the slums had taught him that a fight was never just a fight—it was a battle for survival, often to the death. Anything less meant one of two things: you were either naive or you weren't free. He had always fought to stay free.
But that was before.
Now, as his hands clamped tightly around the throat of his prey, the muffled, strangled sounds escaping its lips fueled a fire in his chest. He once saw this power as a curse—a poison that seeped into his very being, burning him from the inside out. The pain had been indescribable, as though his soul itself had been flayed. He had thought he wouldn't survive it. He had begged for death.
But now?
A slow grin crept across his face as he locked eyes with the panicked creature squirming in his grip. No. Not a curse. A blessing. A gift so extraordinary that lesser beings could only dream of wielding it. And he had been chosen.
The prey's desperate struggles weakened with every passing moment, its clawing hands faltering, its breaths hitching as it fought against the inevitable.
Philip no longer disliked fighting. He didn't just accept killing—he relished it.
Because now, he understood.
The snapping sound that echoed through the quiet night was satisfying in a way words could never describe. The body went limp in his hands, its weight almost negligible.
He was a predator surrounded by prey.
He dragged the lifeless meat into the shadows of the alley, its dead weight little more than an afterthought in his hands. The faint glow of streetlamps outside barely reached him now, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls. He stopped, positioning the body sideways by the neck, his grin widening.
With deliberate force, he began to pull.
He was a hunter hunting meat.
The skin stretched, tore. The spine resisted for only a moment before it gave with a sickening snap. Philip held the message aloft, blood dripping onto the ground below.
He was a wolf among sheep.