The other person lifted a hand and rested it on the shooter’s shoulder, perhaps to calm them. They were more slender, draped in belts of unknown equipment with a bag slung over their back. Their mask showed the fanged mouth of a shark in grey and white, with pitted black eyes.

“These people are awful,” Orfeus whispered. She felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest. “This’ll make a hell of a song!”

The person in what Orfeus thought was a hyena mask shifted the angle of their gun, and began firing the blue numbing bolts indiscriminately into the square and the street and the facades of buildings. Orfeus abruptly lost the urge to laugh.

She closed her eyes, resting her hand on the slightly gritty surface of the wall. Trying to gather her nerve. A good person would be able to just walk out there and keep anyone innocent from getting caught in the crossfire, but Orfeus knew she wasn’t that.

She took a slow, reluctant step forward, then another. Another, dragging herself forward. One more step and she’d be out of the shadow of the building, and her cloak and luck could not hide her.

“Orfeus,” someone said. Orfeus turned to the side with a leap in her heart. Some friend or loved one to counsel her out of sacrifice?

Neither: Rivasoa stood there, arms held up with her fingers outstretched, as they had been when she spun her little butterfly of light. A few townsfolk huddled scared behind her. Sweat was damp on her neck.

Rivasoa didn’t break her focus for a moment. “Keep them away,” she said.

It could have felt like an order, but it just felt like they were working in sync for once. Orfeus nodded and balled her hand into a fist by her side where no one could see it, and took the last step.

She glanced back over her shoulder and saw only the façade of a building, where from the other side she had seen no such thing. She couldn’t see any of the people who were concealed behind the false wall. Rivasoa was far more skilled with Blood than she was.

“There she is,” someone called loudly. Orfeus turned slowly.

She spread her arms, and smiled charmingly. “Could it be we have a case of mistaken identity?” she called.

The Hyena didn’t laugh at that, just shook their head slowly. They were shorter than the Wolf but bulky and large, the long-muzzled gun far from the only weapon draped casually over their harness. “Orfeus the singer!” they called.

Orfeus dropped her hands. “Worth a shot,” she said.

Hyena pointed the gun in her direction. They didn’t shoot, but they chuckled, starting off low and building up steam. The other hunter, slighter and less threatening, started walking towards her with their hands held up soothingly. A pair of what looked like cuffs glinted at their belt.