The rooftop was a graveyard for sounds—eerily silent save for the faint hum of drones dissipating into the night.
He stood at the edge, a solitary figure carved into the horizon. The faint glow of his core pulsed rhythmically, an unsettling beacon against the crumbling cityscape.
Nyra barely clung to consciousness, her body sagging against the cold, unforgiving ground. Blood seeped from her wrist in sluggish streams, staining the cracked concrete beneath her. Her breaths came short and sharp, each one a defiant act against the creeping darkness threatening to pull her under.
"You're never done," He said suddenly, his voice carrying through the still air like a whip crack.
She flinched at the sound, her blurry vision locking onto his shadowy outline. His words were weighty, layered with meaning she couldn't decipher.
"You'll never be done."
"I—" Her voice cracked, her throat raw from exhaustion and pain. "Just… leave. I'm not your problem."
He didn't move. His posture remained stiff, his gaze fixed on the distant ruins. It was as if her words didn't reach him—or worse, didn't matter.
"You're not," he said at last, his tone devoid of emotion. Yet, the pause that followed betrayed something else—something unspoken.
She wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop staring, stop looming like some god above mortal affairs. But all she managed was a hoarse whisper:
"Go…"
He turned his head slightly, the faint glow of his eyes catching the dim light of the ruined skyline. "You don't understand, do you?"
"Understand what?" she snapped, or tried to. It came out more as a desperate gasp.
"You," he said simply, his words like a riddle she didn't have the energy to solve.
And then, he moved.
In the blink of an eye, he was beside her, crouching low. She recoiled instinctively, but her battered body couldn't obey her will. His face was close now, his glowing eyes piercing through her defenses.
"What—" she started, but his hand slid beneath her knees, the other under her back.
She gasped as he lifted her effortlessly, her body jolting with the movement. "Put me—down."
"No."
The word was flat, definitive, as though the argument was beneath him.
"You don't get to decide," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with both rage and weakness.
His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smirk. "You don't even get to stand. So, let's call it even."
Before she could muster a retort, the world around them blurred. He moved through the skeletal remains of the city with unerring precision, his steps as silent as the shadows he wove through.
A clinic came into view—a derelict building hidden among the ruins, its once-proud façade now overrun with rust and decay. Despite its state, a faint, steady glow emanated from the cracks in the walls, signaling life within.
The hybrid didn't knock. The door creaked open under his weight, revealing a dimly lit interior crammed with salvaged machinery and makeshift medical supplies. The air was heavy with the smell of antiseptic and scorched metal.
"Kei?" A voice, deep and gravelly, called from the back.
Moments later, a man appeared, his gray beard thick and unkempt, his eyes sharp despite the wear etched into his features.
"What've you dragged in this time?" he asked, his gaze falling on Nyra. He raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't look like one of yours."
"She's not," Kei replied curtly, stepping past him and laying Nyra on a metal table. The clang of her weight against the steel echoed in the small room.
"Hmm." The man leaned closer, examining her pale, bloodied form. "You've brought me some bad cases before, but this…" He let out a low whistle. "This is special."
"She'll live," Kei said, his tone clipped.
The man arched a brow, crossing his arms. "That so? And here I thought I was the doctor."
Kei didn't respond.
Sighing, the man grabbed a pair of gloves. "Alright, let's see what we're dealing with." He gestured toward a stool by the wall… "You're welcome to sit. Or, knowing you, brood silently in a corner."
Kei ignored him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
The doctor shook his head as he began cleaning Nyra's wounds. "You know, one day, your habit of picking up strays is going to get you killed."
"She's not a stray," Kei muttered.
"Oh, really? Then what is she?"
Kei didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the floor as if it held all the answers he refused to give.
Hours later, the door to the clinic swung open, letting in a gust of cold air. A young woman strode in, her boots clicking against the floor.
"Kei!" she called, her voice lilting with mock cheerfulness. "What's this I hear about you playing nurse?"
Kei shot her a glare, but she only smirked, unbothered.
Her sharp eyes landed on Nyra, who was still unconscious on the table. "Well, well. Didn't think you had a soft spot for bleeding-out women."
"Celine," the doctor warned without looking up from his work.
"What?" Celine said innocently, leaning against the wall beside Kei. "I'm just curious. She doesn't exactly look like your type."
Kei's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Celine's gaze flicked to him, her smirk widening. "Oh, I get it. She's not your type because she's breathing."
"Do you ever stop talking?" Kei asked, his tone cold enough to freeze the air between them.
Celine laughed, pushing off the wall. "Only when I'm bored. But this?" She gestured to Nyra. "This is fascinating."
Nyra stirred, her eyelids fluttering as the voices around her pulled her from the void. The pain in her body was a dull roar, but it was the tension in the room that truly struck her.
"…She'll live," the doctor was saying. "But she's going to need more than a few stitches."
"Not my problem," Kei replied, his tone icy.
"Could've fooled me," the doctor shot back. "You don't bring someone here unless you care. Or is that glow in your chest just for show?"
Nyra's vision swam as she turned her head slightly. Kei's silhouette loomed in the corner, his glowing eyes catching the faint light.
"You should've left me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Kei's gaze flicked to her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe I should have."
The words were casual, almost indifferent. But something in his tone made her chest tighten.
"Why didn't you?" she asked, summoning what little strength she had.
Kei tilted his head slightly, a small, sardonic smile curling his lips. "Because I enjoy wasting my time."
The doctor snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"
Nyra's fingers twitched against the table, her anger bubbling to the surface. "I don't… need you."
"Good," Kei said, his voice sharp. "Then we're even."
The night deepened as the doctor finished his work, stitching up Nyra's wounds with steady hands.
Celine lingered by the door, her gaze flitting between Kei and Nyra.
"You know," she said at last, breaking the silence, "if you keep pretending you don't care, someone might actually believe you."
Kei didn't look at her. "You're still here?"
"Of course." She grinned. "You're more fun than anything else in this dump."
"Leave," he said flatly.
Celine shrugged, unbothered. "Fine. But don't forget—people notice when you start collecting projects. And not all of them are friendly."
With that, she slipped out, leaving the room in silence once more.
Kei moved to the door, his hand resting on the frame.
"She'll need rest," the doctor said, his voice heavy with meaning.
Kei didn't turn. "She's not staying here."
The doctor let out a weary sigh. "And where do you suggest she goes? Back out there? She won't last a day."
"That's not my concern."
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Isn't it?"
Kei's shoulders tensed, but he didn't respond.
Nyra watched him through half-lidded eyes, her mind swirling with pain and confusion. She didn't understand him—this enigma of a man who seemed to exist in the space between apathy and obsession.
"You're an idiot," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
Kei paused, his head tilting slightly. "Takes one to know one."
And with that, he was gone, leaving the room in a heavy, suffocating silence.