The hunger stirs in your veins, a whisper that becomes a roar as your gaze drifts over the sleeping city. The council can wait—let them stew in their impatience. You step onto the balcony’s edge, the wind catching your cloak like the wings of a great bat, and leap into the night. The fall is exhilarating, the cobblestones rushing up to meet you before you land in a crouch, your boots barely making a sound as they touch the ground.

Alleys twist like veins through the city’s heart, and you move through them with the ease of a shadow. The scent of humanity is thick here—sweat, perfume, the metallic tang of blood just beneath the skin. A drunken merchant stumbles from a tavern ahead, his laughter loud and unguarded. Too easy. You let him pass, your lips curling in disdain. No, tonight you crave a challenge.

You follow the pull of your instincts, slipping past the market square where the last of the night’s vendors pack their wares. Then you hear it—a voice, low and steady, humming a tune you haven’t heard in centuries. A woman sits on the steps of a crumbling chapel, her hood drawn up against the chill. Her fingers work at a silver pendant, turning it over and over. The scent of her blood is unlike the others; rich and heady, like wine left to age in oak barrels.

As you step into the light of a lone lantern, her humming stops. She doesn’t startle, doesn’t run. Instead, she lifts her head, and the hood falls back to reveal a face that shouldn’t exist—not here, not now. High cheekbones, eyes like molten gold, and a smile that knows too much. “Prince of the Night,” she murmurs. “I wondered when you’d come.”