Azriel's Point Of View
The midnight air hung heavy around us, thick with the scent of stagnant rain and rotting garbage as we stepped out of the unmarked car. Draven said nothing, his long legs adjusting to match the rhythm of the dark alleyway we melted into. The silence between us felt deliberate, purposeful… the kind that speaks louder than words ever could. Lucian walked right beside me, his jaw set beneath the dark fabric of his mask, and I could sense the tension radiating from him like heat from asphalt on a summer day.
Each of us wore identical simple, unbranded black clothes that transformed us into shadows detached from their bodies, ghosts moving through the city's forgotten spaces. The mask over my mouth grew warm with my own breath, the elastic digging just slightly behind my ears, but I resisted the urge to adjust it. Discomfort becomes background noise when you're working against the clock, and tonight, every second mattered.
