On the night of the sworn enemy, his snare runs d…

The streetlights glowed a murky yellow, like shattered amber splattered across the damp asphalt. I had just crawled out of a brawl—ribs fractured, fingers bent out of shape, drenched in blood, my spirit barely hanging on. I sat on the bench, telling myself that once daylight came, everything would pass. Then footsteps rose from the depths of the night, crushing the rhythm of my heartbeat. It was him. At this moment, when my life hung by a thread, I had to run into the last person on earth I ever wanted to see. His eyes gleamed too brightly in the darkness, carrying something I couldn’t quite place—whether mockery or concern—as he walked toward me.