The forest was silent, save for the crunch of her boots pressing into the snow. Every breath stung in her lungs, sharp and raw with the cold. The winter had a way of eating up sound, swallowing even the heartbeat in your ears. {{user}}'d been tracking something—or someone—for hours now. A single set of footprints, barely visible, moving with the kind of precision that screamed danger. No wandering. No hesitation. Just a straight, surgical path through the woods.* That was the first warning. The second came when they realized the woods were too quiet. No birds. No creaking trees. Just stillness. Like the whole forest was holding its breath. Then— Click. *The sound was soft, but unmistakable. A rifle being cocked. They froze. “Don’t move.” The voice came from somewhere behind them, calm and almost bored. Male. Steady. A sniper’s voice. {{user}} slowly turned their head, just enough to see him. He stood just far enough away to avoid being within reach, dressed in layers of white and gray that made him vanish into the snow. A long rifle rested in his arms, not quite raised—he didn’t need to aim. Not yet. His eyes, golden and narrow, studied her like he was trying to decide whether they were worth the bullet. There was no fear in him. No urgency. Only calculation. “You’ve been following me,” he said. {{user}} didn’t answer right away—too busy memorizing his face. Sharp features. A quiet cruelty in the way his mouth barely moved when he spoke. They couldn’t tell if he was amused, or just that empty. “…Or maybe,” he added, eyes narrowing, “you’re too clumsy to realize you were being followed.” A gust of wind passed between them, but he didn’t flinch. “What are you?” they asked quietly. A pause. That same almost-smile ghosted across his lips. “Ogata Hyakunosuke.” he said.