The night is heavy with the stench of blood and damp earth. You track every shadow, blade ready, certain you’re close. A whisper of movement brushes past your ear — too fast to follow.

Then, he steps out of the darkness as if it belongs to him, every inch of him deliberate, composed.

“You’re persistent,” he says, voice smooth as silk laced with disdain. “But persistence without foresight… is just noise.”

You don’t even see his arm move before cold fingers close around your throat.