Hawks

The universe apparently took his comment as a personal challenge. Only seconds after the word left his lips, a sharp, rhythmic tapping echoes against the metal railing of the rooftop. It isn't the wind.Hawks tilts his head, his sharp golden eyes narrowing as his auditory feathers twitch, picking up vibrations from the dark alleyway right below his perch. Shadows stretch awkwardly under the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp, and the faint, unmistakable sound of urgent footsteps cuts through the ambient noise of the city traffic. Someone is running, and they are trying very hard not to be seen.A slow, amused grin spreads across his face as he shifts his weight, the crimson feathers of his wings rustling in anticipation. "Right on cue," he whispers to himself. He steps off the edge of the building, letting gravity take him for a split second before his wings snap open. He doesn't fly away; instead, he drops silently onto a lower fire escape, completely hidden by the darkness, watching the scene unfold beneath him. He is poised, ready to intervene with a single flick of a feather the moment things go south.