Mio didn't tell his father about her.
He considered it.
But something about the way she had stood across the street — steady, controlled, unshaken by Sevrin — made the moment feel personal.
Not family business.
Not inherited debt.
Something new.
The apartment felt smaller now that he understood what moved beneath it. He could sense the red threads everywhere. In the pipes. In the wiring. In people walking past the building.
Some threads were faint, harmless. Others pulsed like open wounds.
He leaned against the window and let his senses stretch.
There.
Two floors down.
An argument escalating.
Not loud. Controlled anger. The kind that turns quiet before it turns dangerous.
The hunger stirred again.
Not violently.
Just enough to remind him it was there.
He closed his eyes.
Control.
He reached gently this time.
Not pulling.
Not taking.
Just brushing the thread.
The density shifted.
The anger thinned.
A door slammed below, but the sharp edge had dulled.
Warmth spread through his chest.
Cleaner than before.
He opened his eyes slowly.
"That's dangerous," he whispered to himself.
Because it felt good.
Not the way power feels when it dominates.
The way balance feels when something heavy is lifted.
How did they lose control? he wondered.
The collectors. The syndicates his father hinted at. The ones who enforced contracts without hesitation.
Did they start small too?
Helping.
Adjusting.
Telling themselves it was necessary?
Sevrin stood near the wall, watching him.
The wolf's amber eyes held no approval.
No warning.
Just witness.
A sharp pressure cut through his awareness again.
Closer this time.
Refined.
Disciplined.
She wasn't hiding now.
She was approaching.
Mio turned toward the apartment door just as a knock sounded.
Not heavy like the collectors.
Not hesitant.
Measured.
His father stepped out of the kitchen, eyes narrowing immediately.
"Stay behind me," he said quietly.
Mio didn't argue.
The door opened.
She stood there.
Up close, she looked younger than he expected. Not fragile. Just human. Steel-blue eyes assessing the room in a single sweep.
Her gaze landed on Mio.
Recognition flickered.
"I'm not here to enforce," she said calmly.
Her voice was steady. Not accusatory. Not friendly.
His father did not lower his guard. "Then why are you here?"
"Because something shifted in this district," she replied. "And it wasn't chaotic."
Her eyes returned to Mio.
"It was precise."
Mio met her stare without blinking.
"And that's a problem?"
"For someone untrained?" she said. "Yes."
Silence pressed between them.
Sevrin materialized behind Mio slowly, silver light pooling along the floor.
Her hand moved toward her blade again — not drawing.
Measuring.
"You see it too," she observed quietly.
"I see enough," Mio replied.
His father shot him a warning look.
The hunter's eyes softened slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"You're not like the others," she said.
"Others?"
"The ones who take without correcting."
The word correcting landed strangely.
Mio felt his pulse shift.
"How do you know what I take?" he asked.
She held his gaze.
"Because the threads you touch don't rupture."
That unsettled him.
How much had she been watching?
His father stepped forward slightly. "You shouldn't be near him."
"I'm aware," she replied.
The air tightened.
Not hostile.
Charged.
"I could have drawn my blade yesterday," she continued. "I didn't."
"Why?" Mio asked.
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Because you hesitated first."
The memory flashed — the suspended moment across the street.
He hadn't lunged.
He hadn't fed.
He had waited.
That had mattered.
"You're newly marked," she said quietly. "You don't understand the hunger yet."
A flicker of irritation moved through him.
"I understand enough."
"No," she corrected gently. "You understand relief. Hunger is different."
His father looked between them, confusion and suspicion mixing.
"You think I'm a threat," Mio said.
"I think," she replied carefully, "you're a variable."
The word was almost clinical.
But there was no cruelty in it.
Outside, something shifted.
This time not disciplined.
Not refined.
Heavy.
Chaotic.
Mio felt it immediately.
A rupture three blocks away.
Threads snapping violently.
The air thickened with panic.
Her head turned sharply toward the window.
"You feel that," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Mio answered.
His hunger flared instinctively at the surge of imbalance.
She noticed.
Her eyes sharpened.
"Don't," she warned.
"Don't what?" he shot back.
"Don't mistake chaos for opportunity."
Sevrin stepped forward, muscles tense.
The rupture intensified.
A scream echoed faintly through the city.
Not normal fear.
F-Scape interference.
Her jaw tightened.
"This is what happens when vice feeds itself," she said. "Uncorrected."
Mio's chest burned.
If he moved now, he could take it.
Thin it.
Feed.
Stabilize.
But that pressure in her presence stopped him.
She was watching.
Measuring.
"How'd you do that?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked once.
"What?"
"Yesterday. You hid your presence until you wanted it felt."
A pause.
Then, almost reluctantly:
"Discipline."
"Teach me."
The words left him before he could stop them.
His father stiffened.
She studied Mio for a long moment.
"You're not asking for permission," she said.
"No."
"You're asking for control."
"Yes."
Another scream in the distance.
Closer now.
She turned toward the door.
"You have one chance," she said without looking back. "Come. Watch. Don't interfere."
His father grabbed his arm.
"Mio."
He gently pulled free.
"I need to see it," he said.
Not for power.
For understanding.
Sevrin moved with him.
The hunter stepped into the hallway.
Mio followed.
Behind them, the apartment door remained open.
For the first time, he wasn't chasing hunger.
He was chasing comprehension.
And somewhere in the chaos ahead, something else had begun to notice them both.