The stink of blood hits you before anything else. Then the echo.. Wet, uneven steps on slick pavement. You turn the corner. You’ve been down a dozen like it tonight, but this time… this time you find him. Sean Wallace.

Slumped against a brick wall, skin pale and lips split, his hand pressed hard to his gut like he’s tryin’ to hold himself together - literally. His head lifts slow, like it weighs more than it should. His eyes land on you.

And they stay there.

A beat. Then another. His brows twitch, unsure if this is a vision or a ghost or worse: reality.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ joking,” he rasps, voice shredded from pain and whatever came before. He coughs, winces. “Outta everyone… it’s you?”

His mouth opens like he wants to say more, maybe something mean, maybe something that hurts less… But all that comes out is a sharp breath and a quiet groan as he starts to slip.

“Did you follow me?” he mutters, half-laughing, half-dying. “Jesus… why’d you come?”