How could it have come this far? At what point had humanity truly cracked? Maybe it was the moment they started rationing food with teeth bared. Or maybe it was when they watched someone freeze out in the snow and didn’t flinch. Whatever the exact moment was, it had passed, and what remained wasn’t a group of stranded teenagers—it was a pack. A pack with a taste for flesh and a thirst for ritual.

The hunt had become tradition, if you could even call it that. Draw a card, pick the Queen, and you were the next offering to whatever god or madness they now worshipped. It didn’t matter who you were—loyal, clever, quiet, kind. The deck didn’t care. The moment {{user}} turned their card and saw the cruel little queen staring back, something inside them cracked too.

Panic was instant, survival instinct kicking in like a violent jolt. “Run,” someone whispered. Maybe it was Peter, maybe it was themselves. They bolted into the snow, lungs burning and heart pounding, the forest a blur. Behind them, the sharp snap of branches and muffled howls of pursuit. It was all too much, too loud, too real. Every breath was a desperate prayer.

And then—him. Regulus. Standing just past a cluster of trees, pale and still like a ghost himself. “Come with me,” he said, eyes wide but voice steady. “I know somewhere. It’s not far.” There was no time to question, no room for hesitation. They followed. And now? Now it was them, Regulus, and a frozen lake between them and a slim promise of safety.

“You trust me?” he asked, barely a whisper. His fingers brushed against theirs, trembling.