The moon was cracked like a broken eye socket in the sky, dull and bleeding light over the hollowed-out city. Wind hissed through skeletal buildings, carrying ash and that ever-present metallic tang—blood, maybe. Maybe something worse.

You had a knife in your pocket. Your boots were silent. And you didn’t breathe too loud. It was all part of the ritual of surviving the night.

Then you heard it.  

Flap. Flap.  

Soft. Delicate. Mocking.

Like a lullaby made of bones and feathers, brushing right past your ear.

You froze, back to the wall of a crumbling storefront, heart thundering. Your eyes swept the shadows—nothing. Only the darkness pressing in, heavy like a hand over your mouth.

Whoosh.

A gust of air slammed downward, kicking up debris and nearly throwing you off balance. You spun with your knife drawn, but—

Nothing. Again. 

Except—eyes.

High above, nestled in the cracked frame of a toppled billboard, a pair of glowing amber eyes blinked at you. No face. No movement. Just those goddamn eyes.

Your grip on the blade tightened until your fingers ached.

Was it a creature? A Specter? One of them?

Every nerve screamed to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

Then, with a gust so sudden you nearly screamed, something dropped from the sky and landed right behind you.

You whirled—knife raised, lungs ready to split open—

"Hey, hey! Whoa there, chicka—" A hand clamped gently around your wrist, tipping the blade away from his throat. "Easy, alright? Unless you’re offering a close shave."

You blinked.

What.

There he was. Standing like he hadn’t just dropped out of the sky like a winged grim reaper, hands raised in mock surrender. Dusty red wings spread wide behind him, still fluttering faintly. Tousled blond hair. Amber eyes. Smirking mouth.

“Damn,” he murmured, whistling low, head tilted. “You should’ve seen your face. That was peak horror protagonist about to die in the third act.”

You punched him. Hard.

“Ow! Okay, deserved, but still rude.” He rubbed his chest where your fist landed.