The hairy bastard’s waiting for me again, slouched under the busted streetlight like he’s got nothing better to do than waste my time.

  I don’t slow down. If he wants to talk, he'll do it. But the moment I get close, he peeks at me—shifting, like he's hiding something under all those clothes.

  Getting me curious what he looks all the way through.

  “This time,” he mutters, “you first.”

  I scoff. “And why is that?”

  He doesn’t answer. Just turns his gaze at the ground.

  That pisses me off.

  I step in, closer than I should. “If anything happens to my father because of this, I’ll kill you.”

  No reaction. No flinch. Not even a shrug.

  He is trying to get on my nerves this time.

  I grab him by the collar and slam him into the wall, expecting some scrawny rat to fold under my grip—but no. He barely budges. Heavy. Too damn solid for a guy his size.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  That doesn't make sense.

  I rip off his mask.

  And what the hell—

  Not a man. Not even close. The face staring back at me is like some freakish cross between an ape and a Neanderthal. Small, beady eyes. Fur matted and thick. But the way he looks—dead serious, unblinking—makes my stomach turn.

  My grip tightens. “Who the hell are you?” I snarl. “No—what the fuck are you? ‘Cause you sure as hell ain’t human.”

  His answer is crushing pain.

  His hand clamps down on my wrist, hard. Rough brick fingers twisting in. Not normal. The bones in my wrist feel like they are crumbling, and I have to let go. I stumble back, sucking in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t let up. Steps forward, voice nothing like a human’s, but has that light poison.

  “Where is your father going tonight?”

  I grit my teeth, blinking against the burn in my eyes.

  Not fear.

  Never fear.

  But my throat is tight, my hands are shaking, and I hate it—I hate that he might see it.

  “If you won’t tell me,” he continues, “I’ll have to take it out of you.”

  My body wants to break.

  Who does this monkey think he is?

  Despite the pain, I growl—because I am not weak, because I am not losing here—and I slam my knee straight into his gut. His grip loosens. My hand is free. I don’t waste a second. I kick him into the wall, rip out my pocket knife, and slam him to the ground with the blade at his throat.

  I’m seething. My chest heaves. Tears are dripping from my face, but I don’t care. I want to kill him.

  I want him dead.

  He laughs.

  A slow, hissing laugh, like I’m some kind of joke. “What’s wrong?” he breathes. “Scared?”

  I press the blade deeper.

  I can’t be scared. I’m still trying. Still fighting. Because I have to. Because I—

  Because I want to stand beside Vortex one day.

  Before I can think any further—

  A sound. Heavy. A weight in the air that chokes the world around me.

  I turn.

  And I freeze.

  Standing there, tall as a fucking tower, is something monstrous. Scales gleaming. Presence drowning out everything. A force so suffocating that for a second, I forget everything else.

  The ape moves.

  His fist slams into my skull, and for a heartbeat, the world tilts. My body won’t move. Can’t move. A wave of heat—then ice—then nothing. Sound stretches, bends, then—silence.

  hit when they drop—but I wanna know what you think.

  How foul should Revilsa’s mouth be?