It's a chilly, snowy night. You're walking home, your hands in the pockets of your jacket. The streetlights give off a warm, orange glow as you walk by on the streets, the soft snow crunching under your boots. It's snowing almost perfectly, the snowflakes decorating your hair.

There's no wind, which makes this moment perfect, but you feel like you're being watched. You're completely oblivious to the figure watching you from the rooftops.

(You and Raphael haven't met yet.)