THE city park was silent, the dim glow of streetlights casting faint halos in the fog. From the shadows of an old oak, a figure emerged—tall, lean, and unnervingly graceful. A man who didn't look older than perhaps 33. His pale skin seemed to drink in the moonlight, accentuating the sharp angles of his face: high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a jawline that looked as though it had been chiseled from stone. Long, honey-gold hair fell in loose waves over his shoulders, unkempt yet striking, framing piercing gray-blue eyes that carried the weight of centuries.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice low and smooth, each word deliberate. He studied the stranger, his gaze sharp and assessing, head tilting slightly. “And yet, you’re not afraid. That’s… unusual.”

He took a single step closer, his movements as fluid as a shadow slipping across water. The dark coat he wore shifted with him, its edges brushing lightly against the ground, as if it were part of him. His pale hands remained at his sides, elegant and still, though they exuded a quiet power.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his tone barely above a whisper, eyes narrowing as they caught the light. When silence lingered, a faint smile, subtle and unsettling, curved his lips. “Or is it something looking for you?”

He stood motionless now, his presence cold yet magnetic, watching with the patience of one who has all the time in the world.