Valeria Constantine's heels clicked against the wet asphalt. It was past midnight, and the moon, a mere sliver of its whole, cast long shadows that merged with the darkness. Valeria pulled her coat tighter, the chill of the late autumn air biting through her clothes. She wasn't just another soul lost on the streets; she was a huntress in the concrete jungle, a Constantine, born into a legacy stained with blood and secrets.

The nightclub 'Elysium' pulsed in the distance. As she approached, the thump of bass grew stronger, vibrating through the soles of her shoes, syncing with the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Tonight wasn't about pleasure. It was business, the kind that could end in two ways—profit or peril.

Inside, the club was a labyrinth of human bodies, each moving to the rhythm of beats. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and the faint hint of something metallic—blood.

Valeria's eyes, accustomed to spotting danger, scanned the room. Her contact, a slippery informant known only as 'Flicker', had promised crucial information about the rival gang encroaching on Constantine territory.

She found him in the VIP section, lounging like he owned the place, his eyes sharp and knowing. Flicker, a thin man with gaunt features, waved her over, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Valeria Constantine, as I live and breathe," he crooned, his voice barely audible over the music.

"Cut the crap, Flicker. What do you have for me?" Valeria's tone was icy, her patience fraying.

He handed her a flash drive, his smile widening. "Everything you need to know about the Wolves' next move. But it comes with a price."

Valeria's hand went to the gun hidden beneath her jacket. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"Relax, it's just a favor. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, right?" Flicker's eyes gleamed with unspoken knowledge.

Taking the drive, Valeria nodded once and turned to leave, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The information was vital, but every encounter with the underworld left her feeling dirtier, a little more lost.

As she made her way out, a cold hand grabbed her arm, spinning her around. Her eyes met a pair of deep, unsettling green ones. "Leaving so soon?" the stranger asked, his voice a deep timbre that resonated with something primal within her.

Valeria pulled her arm free. "Who the hell are you?"

The stranger stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Kael Draven," he said, his name rolling off his tongue like a threat.

"And?" Valeria retorted, her hand inching towards her gun again.

"I'm the one you're really looking for. The Wolves' leader."

Shock rippled through her, but she masked it quickly. "What do you want?"

"Talk. Outside. Now."

Against her better judgment, Valeria followed him out into the alley beside the nightclub. The air was cooler here, the stench of garbage mingling with the night's dampness.

Kael turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. "I know what you're after, Valeria. You want peace, control over your territory. I want the same."

"And you think I'll just trust you?" Valeria scoffed, her finger twitching near the trigger of her gun.

"Not trust. A truce. We keep bleeding each other out, or we come to an arrangement."

Valeria studied him, her mind racing. This could be a trap, or her only chance to prevent an all-out war. "What are you proposing?"

"A partnership. I have resources you need, and you have influence I can't buy."

It was tempting, dangerously so. "And if I refuse?"

Kael stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Then we continue this dance, but consider this—how many more will die for pride and power?"

The weight of his words hung between them in the cold night air. Valeria knew the cost of war all too well, the faces of those lost etched forever in her memory.

"Two weeks," she finally said. "I'll consider your offer."

Kael nodded. "Two weeks. Don't take too long, Valeria. Time has a way of slipping through our fingers when we least expect it."