Kuro knelt beside the unconscious man—no, not unconscious enough—and rifled through his pockets with brutal efficiency, fingers slick with rain and blood. He pulled out a cracked phone, ignoring Hikari's trembling form frozen a few paces away. The screen lit up, casting a sickly glow on his battered face as he scrolled through recent calls. He found the number—the one that mattered—and dialed.
A gravelly, ancient voice snarled through the speaker before Kuro could speak: "Speak! Did you finish the snoozing dragon?! Is he—"
"Alleyway. Burning Road 2. My old territory. Pick your meat toy up," Kuro cut in, flat and final.
The rage on the other end curdled into something primal. "Kuro!! You rotting bas####—I'll rip that sleeping head of yours off! I'll—"
Kuro thumbed the screen, silencing the voice mid-scream, and tossed the phone onto the man's chest like discarding trash. The rain washed pink streaks through the blood clotting on the concrete.
He turned to Hikari, his breathing labored but his voice cutting through the downpour. "Tell me where you live. I'll get you home." He took a step toward her, protection, not threat—when a hand shot out from the ground, iron fingers clamping around his ankle.
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