The storm above hammered against the streets of Jericho, rain sluicing down through the gutters and into the bowels of the town. The sewers echoed with the steady rush of water, broken only by the faint hiss of rats skittering over stone.
Deep within the labyrinth of tunnels, Tyler Galpin sat slumped against a moss-slick wall, his knees drawn up, his chest heaving. His skin was ghostly pale, sweat beading at his temples. Every muscle in his body twitched with the aftershocks of his Hyde form clawing for release. Without a master to command him, the transformation gnawed at his sanity, burning him from the inside out.
His eyes, yellow-tinged in the dim light, flicked up at the faint sound of footsteps splashing through shallow water.
Boots.
Someone was down here.
He bared his teeth in warning, but it came out more like a broken gasp than a growl.
Then—your voice, calm, almost conversational, as if greeting a neighbor on the street instead of a half-feral Hyde hiding in the dark:
“Hello there.”
You emerged from the shadows, the rubber of your rainboots squeaking faintly as you stepped into the thin stream of light filtering through the grates above. The sewer stench clung to the air, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, your gaze settled on him—Tyler, hunched and trembling, looking less like the monster whispered about at Nevermore and more like a cornered boy who hadn’t slept in weeks.
His golden Hyde-glow flickered in his eyes as he rasped, “You shouldn’t be here.”
You tilted your head, your voice steady. “Neither should you.”
For a heartbeat, he almost laughed—ragged and bitter. “You don’t get it. I can’t stop it. Without her… without control, it’s like acid in my veins.” His hands dug into his scalp, as though trying to rip the beast out by force.
You crouched slightly, just out of reach of his claws. The sound of rushing water filled the silence between you, heavy with danger.
“Then don’t fight it alone,” you said simply.
Tyler’s head snapped up, suspicion flaring. No pity, no fear—just a soft, matter-of-fact tone, like you’d stumbled on him at a coffee shop instead of in the sewers.
For the first time since Willowhill, something in him faltered.