Y/n had been walking for hours. The streets had grown thinner, older, the cobblestones cracked and overgrown with weeds that shimmered an unnatural silver under the moonlight. No one else walked here. No one ever did.

At the end of the road stood a house that shouldn't exist. Its windows were dark, its roof sagged, but the air around it pressed—heavy, expectant, like a held breath.

The door was already open.

A man stepped forward. Tall. Too tall. His black hair fell across his face, and the scar that carved from jaw to throat caught the moonlight like a warning. His eyes were red. Not bloodshot—red, like cooling embers.