Red Light in the Alley



She always waited until the streetlights died before stepping out.
The alley behind the old brick block still held the heat of the day, but her skin stayed cold. Hood up, red lining catching what little light remained, she leaned against the wall and watched the last of the graffiti dry. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her cargos out of habit — a nervous tic she never quite lost, even after the thirst settled into something quieter.
A gold chain shifted against her collarbone. The red gem at the end of it pulsed once, faint as a heartbeat.
Someone turned the corner. Footsteps, then a sharp intake of breath when they saw her eyes.
She smiled, just enough for the fangs to show, and the red glow behind them deepened.
“You lost?” she asked, voice soft.
They didn’t answer. Most of them never did.
She pushed off the wall and started walking, chains on her pants chiming once in the dark. Behind her, the fresh red tags on the concrete looked almost wet.

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