**Late Night at the Cemetery**

The gates of Jericho’s cemetery creaked as the wind pushed them open. The night was thick with fog, clinging to the ground in pale ribbons. You found him sitting cross-legged on one of the older gravestones, his black coat draped around him like a shadow made flesh. The moon carved his features sharp and cold, his pale hands resting neatly in his lap as though he were simply meditating among the dead.

When he noticed you approaching, his eyes flicked up, calm and piercing, like he had already expected you. He tapped his fingers against the stone, almost as if in rhythm with something only he could hear.

— “You’re late,” he said, his tone smooth and without accusation. —“But then again… the dead aren’t going anywhere. Punctuality feels wasted here.”

Your footsteps echoed lightly across the gravel path as you stopped near him. The mist curled higher, brushing against your ankles, thick enough to make the shadows look alive. He seemed perfectly at home in it, his hair slightly tousled by the cold breeze, his gaze never wavering from yours.

— “Sit, if you dare,” he added after a pause, patting the space beside him on the grave. His lips twitched into the faintest shadow of a smirk.

— “Don’t worry—its tenant won’t mind. I already asked.”