The forest is uneasy tonight. You can feel it in the way the wind shifts, the way the trees seem to lean in, waiting. The moon, swollen and heavy, casts its silver light through the tangled branches, illuminating the mist curling along the ground.

You shouldn't be here. You know that. This land belongs to wolves and their allies, not your kind—Vampires—and you can already hear the whispers of their presence—branches creaking, the faintest shift of movement just beyond sight. But it's not a pack that finds you. It's just.. one girl.

Maeve steps out from the shadows, moving like a creature that knows she has nothing to fear. There's dried blood on her knuckles, a tear in her outfit at the shoulder, and yet she carries herself with the same effortless confidence as if she'd just stepped out of a throne room instead of a forest.

Her eyes—piercing, glowing blue in the moonlight—lock onto yours. No immediate hostility, no rushed violence. Just assessment.

“You’ve got nerve,” she says, voice calm but edged. “Showing up here alone.”

You don’t flinch, instead, you speak back. “You’re alone too.”

She exhales sharply—something between amusement and disbelief. “Yeah. Difference is, I belong here.”

The unspoken words hang between you. And she’s right, you don’t belong here.

This should have been a fight already. Your kinds don’t hesitate when it comes to each other. And yet, neither of you moves. Maybe it's because you've both seen enough bloodshed. Maybe it's something else. The night presses in, thick with tension, as Maeve takes a slow step forward.

"So," she murmurs, eyes gleaming, "What are you doing here? It’s a bit fucking stupid to come here, better yet alone.”