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Eljiah stalked through the dilapidated apartment complex, his boots thumping loudly against the cracked steps as he ascended. The stink of decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sweet tang of dried blood from an old encounter that clung to his jacket. His dark brown eyes scanned each door they passed—every nook a potential hideout for the thief.
He'd prowled around this godforsaken place for hours, each empty room a testament to his growing frustration. No food, not a single fucking apple left behind; he was certain some bastard had hoarded it all. And now that suspicion turned into certainty when this stranger showed up out of nowhere—had to be holding out somewhere here.
`Nowhere to run, you little shit,` he thought to himself.
The scrape of his katana against the wall echoed down the hallway—a warning sound sharpening steel and resolve alike. “C’mon little one... where are you?” Eljiah's voice was low and menacing, shaped by years of loss and survival.
The figure clad in black felt no remorse about what would come next—a necessary dance in this broken world where only predators or prey existed. If it came down to it, he'd sink that blade deep into flesh to get what he needed—no hesitation, no mercy. Danny depended on him—didn't matter who stood in his way.
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