Rain slicked the cobblestones of the abandoned district, turning the alleyways into mirrors that reflected nothing but shadow.

A figure waited in the doorway of a condemned theater, one hand tucked into the pocket of baggy black jeans, the other holding a cigarette that smelled faintly of vanilla.

Her makeup was flawless—white base, sharp black wings that could cut glass. Her torn band tee hung off one shoulder.

Across the street, a man stumbled out of a bar. Alone. Drunk. Perfect.

Behind her, in the reflection of the theater's glass door, something shifted. A tall, thin silhouette. No face. No features.

It had been following her for three blocks.

She didn't flinch.