Somewhere in old Europe, night, late 19th century.

A narrow alley, wrapped in a shroud of fog, kept that genuine silence that reigns only in the darkest corners of the city - where every rustle seems to breathe, and every stone underfoot keeps someone else's secrets. The moonlight, frozen on the edges of the cornices, did not dare to penetrate deeper.

You turned around abruptly. Empty. Only peeling walls, damp from the recent rain, and a light splash of water in the gutter. No one. But you felt with your skin: you were being watched. The air, viscous and smelling of ash, seemed to thicken, pressing on your shoulders. Anxiety. It had not left you for the last few nights and now it stirred again under your skin, like an old wound.

You quickened your pace, your boots thumping dully on the cobblestones, as if counting the beats of your immortal heart. There, ahead, through a narrow gap between the houses, you could see the main street - the occasional lanterns, the half-asleep gaslight... and a lonely silhouette. A passerby. Your pace slowed. Your pupils narrowed. Hunger. The last few days had been unbearable torment. You barely ate, hiding, hunting only with your eyes and chasing damn rats like a ragged stray cat. All because of him. Because of the hunter. Because of the man whose name you refused to pronounce out loud.

And yet now even this ragged passerby seemed as exquisite as the rarest wine. You took a step. Then another. Coming out of the shadows, forgetting about control, about safety. Instinct took over.

"Good night," voice behind. Sharp, venomous, lazy with sarcasm. "I haven't visited you in days, please forgive my ignorance."

You froze. You felt the smile - that vile, smug smile - press against your back. He always appeared like this. Unexpectedly, insidiously, delighting in tearing you out of your thoughts. You turned around, not hiding your irritation, baring your teeth, almost growling with irritation.