036

The rain had been falling for hours, but I didn't mind.

It soaked through my coat, my shirt, my skin- slid past my spine like a memory I didn't want.

I didn't run. I never ran. I walked like the water couldn't touch me.

But the city was quieter in the rain.

No vendors shouting. No children screaming. Just wheels slicing through puddles and the occasional cough muffled under umbrellas.

It was almost boring.

I paused under a flickering streetlight and tilted my head up, letting the drops hit my face.

They tasted like rust and oil. The street smelled of old cigarettes and wet fur.

I didn't move until I heard footsteps behind me. Two sets. Light. Not cautious, just...soft.

I turned slightly.

A boy and a girl stood a few feet away.

The boy was holding a large, yellow umbrella, tilted enough to cover both of them.

His hair was grey, cut ragged like it had been done with blunt scissors.

The girl had pink hair in uneven pigtails and an oversized jacket that swallowed her arms. Her eyes were sharp.

They were children.

And for some reason, they'd decided I was pitiable.

"You look cold," the boy said. His voice was gentle. Too gentle. "You want shelter?"

His umbrella was already shifting toward me.

I blinked at him. He looked younger up close-probably ten, maybe eleven.

Too small to be offering kindness. Too fragile to be wandering the city at night, even in a pair.

I could have killed him in one breath.

Instead, I said, "What gave me away? The shivering or the look in my eyes?"

He didn't laugh. Neither did the girl. But they didn't flinch either.

"You're walking in the rain," she said, pointing at me with a face as if she was stating the obvious. "And it's not safe to get sick."

I watched her eyes. The way they didn't avoid mine. Strange.

Catching a cold would be annoying. I'd already done the whole 'burning fever in an alleyway' arc last month and it hadn't been enlightening.

"...Alright," I said.

They turned around instantly, leading me through the rain like it was something they owned.

I didn't ask where we were going. I could teleport away if it got dull. I could gut them both and no one would ever know.

But I didn't.

Because something about them was... off. Not wrong. Just unusual.

And I liked unusual.

Their "base" was an abandoned laundromat three alleys deep and hidden behind a half collapsed billboard.

The smell of mold clung to the walls like regret. The front door was jammed, so we went through a side window the size of a dog flap.

The moment I stepped inside, the air changed.

Not in temperature. In tone.

Like I'd crossed an invisible line.

They handed me a dirty, patchwork blanket that might've been white once.

I didn't need it. I took it anyway. Sat on a pile of rags and watched the girl dig through a dented tin box, pulling out stale crackers and two half melted candy bars.

She handed me one. I stared at it.

"Don't worry," she said. "It's not poisoned."

"That's a shame," I muttered.

The boy stared- not scared, just observing.

We sat like that for a while. The ceiling dripped in places. The walls were covered in fading graffiti. Someone had drawn cartoon sheep over the dryer doors with pink chalk.

I wondered if that was supposed to be funny.

They asked my name. I said I didn't have one. Again.

The boy didn't flinch. He just nodded like he understood.

It's fascinating how humans would make up a story of their own for other people to make them seem more likeable, relatable- vulnerable.

I didn't ask theirs.

Names are only useful when you plan to remember someone.

We talked. About nothing.

The weather. The taste of vending machine noodles. The fact that rain makes everything smell like old pennies. They were cautious at first, but not the kind of cautious that came from fear- more like they were used to being ignored.

It didn't make sense. Why invite a stranger into your hideout?

Why give a blanket to someone who didn't ask?

Why feed a boy with empty eyes?

"Is it just the two of you?" I asked at one point, mouth full of stale sugar.

I didn't look at them when I said it. Watched a rat crawl behind the dryer instead.

Silence.

Then a soft, practiced answer.

"No," the girl said, her voice smooth. "The others are out. Getting food. Supplies."

I turned to look at them both.

I raised a brow.

...In this weather?

Interesting.

Either they were lying or they were idiots.

Both possibilities made me want to stay.

I didn't kill anyone that night.

Or the next.

My fingers itched once, when the girl left the room and the boy's throat was exposed in the light of a broken desk lamp.

But the curiosity was louder. Louder than the instinct. Louder than the need.

I watched them sleep.

Curled up side by side like animals, backs to the wall, blankets over their heads.

I could've reached out. Tested their reactions. Measured the time it would take to make them scream.

But I didn't.

Instead, I waited until the sun filtered through the window cracks, until the mildew smell gave way to morning rot, until they shifted in their sleep.

Then, I left.

No footsteps. No door creak. No goodbye.

Just me, slipping into the rain-washed city like smoke.

I didn't even teleport. I wanted them to have the illusion of choice when they woke up.

The question of whether I was real or not. Whether they'd dreamed me. Whether I'd come back.

I wanted to see what they'd do.

If they'd tell the others.

If they'd search the streets.

If they'd whisper about the boy with no name and wet eyes.

Because watching people react to my absence...

Was almost more fun than watching them bleed.

Of course, it mustn't be the maids and manservants from my home. Their reactions are too predictable to even consider as interesting.