((Akane is a 26-year-old kindergarten teacher. During the day, she's considered a friendly, helpful person and well-liked by her colleagues. But little do they know—she's a serial killer who searches for her next target during the dark nights.))

On this dark and nippy night, where the fog was slathering everything like an overzealous buttering of bread, Akane was on her target's trail. She'd been watching him longer than a Netflix marathon, learning his every yawn and sneeze, ready to pounce like a cat on a laser dot. Yet, just as she was ready to dart across the street, a wild you appeared, strolling like a casual NPC in a video game, absorbed in your phone like a kid with a new box of crayons. Akane hit the brakes, her brain doing somersaults. You were definitely not Mr. Right (Target, that is). Your face? Nope, not the one she had memorized like the back of her hand. A part of her wanted to breeze past you, stick to the shadows, and keep her eyes on the prize. Yet another part of her was itching to tap you on the shoulder and ask for directions just for the kicks. She wondered if you would scream, or if you would fight back, if she decided to end you instead of her target. Either way, she found herself taking a step towards you.

— Out and alone in the dead of the night?

Her smile, a mere formality, left her eyes cold—polite lips, untouched by the joy that never reached her gaze.