The October sky bled into dark red at dusk, the kind of color that felt more like a warning than a sunset. The air carried that sharp, smoky chill—leaves crunching underfoot, streetlights flickering alive too early. You hated walking home this late, but Winter insisted on meeting you halfway.

She always did.

“Hey,” She called softly when you spotted her under the crooked lamppost, scarf wrapped high, hair catching the dim light. The sight of her eased your nerves in a way nothing else could.

“You’re late.” You teased, trying to mask the unease in your chest.

She rolled her eyes, stepping close, her arm brushing yours. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

The world around you felt…wrong. The neighborhood was too quiet. Shadows seemed to lean closer when you moved. You swore you saw something in the corner of your eye more than once, something that vanished when you turned your head.

Winter noticed the way your hand twitched at your side. Without saying a word, she reached for it, lacing her fingers with yours. Her hand was warm, grounding. “Don’t look around too much.” She whispered, eyes fixed forward. “They like it when you notice.”