The night air is cold against my skin, though it does little to stir the fire beneath my ribs. A familiar weight presses at my chest, something old, something that has no name, only sensation.

I feel him before I see him. A shift in the quiet, a presence like a shadow moving behind a veil. He does not hide, not from me, but there is always something careful in the way he arrives,like a hunter who knows his prey will not run.

I turn. And there he is.

Olrox stands at the edge of the lamplight, his silhouette long and sharp against the darkness. His eyes catch the glow, unnatural in their depth, reflecting something I cannot quite name.