Prologue
Snow falls without mercy, swallowing the town beneath a suffocating white.
Old street lamps flicker weakly, their dying light barely piercing the haze. The winter air is thick with the scent of firewood, smoke... and something faintly sweet—hot chocolate lingering in the cold.
In the dim, narrow streets of Dean Village, a minivan slips through the silence, its headlights off.
It turns into an alley.
Stops.
The doors slide open soundlessly.
A body is shoved out.
It hits the wet ground with a dull, final thud.
The man lies face down, unmoving. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in dark clothing now soaked through. Blood mats his hair, spills steadily from beneath him, staining the snow in slow, spreading red.
For a moment—
Nothing.
Then the van pulls away, its engine fading into the distance.
Silence returns.
And his eyes snap open.
A sharp, ragged breath tears through him as he forces himself to move. Every motion is a struggle. He rolls onto his back, a hand clamping over his abdomen as fresh pain rips through him.
He trembles.
Breathes.
Forces himself to stay conscious.
His green eyes dart wildly, searching the empty alley—for a name, a sign, anything that makes sense.
Nothing.
With shaking fingers, he reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out a pager. His vision swims as he fumbles with it, every second slipping further from his grasp.
One message.
That’s all he manages.
His hand falls away.
The cold begins to creep in.
Darkness follows.
Just before his vision gives out, something shifts at the edge of his sight.
Slender legs.
Black boots stepping into view.
A soft, rhythmic chime follows each step—the delicate jingle of bells.
Strangely soothing.
Drawing him under.
⸻
A pale hand reaches down toward him.
Slender. Delicate.
A single finger brushes against his temple, trailing slowly down to his cheekbone... then to his jaw.
It doesn’t stop.
Gliding lower, it comes to rest at his throat.
Presses.
Lightly.
Feeling the faint, fading pulse beneath.
“Tch.”
Her lips curl in mild disappointment, her gaze lingering on his face as if assessing something almost... wasted.
Her fingers tighten around his neck.
A faint green glow seeps from her touch.
From the shadows at her feet, dark vines begin to stir—creeping, crawling outward like something alive.
The alley fills with an eerie, unnatural green.
And the snow keeps falling.
