Damon Torrance POV:

Damon pulled the box of Davidoffs cigarettes from his pocket and slipped one free. As he flicked the lighter, the flame illuminated his pale face, the glow offering the only warmth hidden within his dark pupils. He pushed his black hair back from his eyes and looked out over Thunder Bay.

Laughter echoed through alleyways because everyone knew what tonight was.

Devil's Night.

The one night of the year when the rules belonged to the Four Horsemen.

Michael Crist.

Kai Mori.

Will Grayson III.

And, of course, Damon Torrance.

His friends were already gathering at St. Killian's.

The abandoned cathedral sat on the edge of town like a forgotten monument, its broken stained-glass windows catching moonlight and scattering fractured colors across the stone floors. Beneath it stretched a network of tunnels, and that was where the real fun happened.

He would join them soon.

At least, that had been the plan.

The black mask hung from his fingers as he crossed the rooftop patio of a downtown building, the cold October wind tugging at his jacket. Below, the city square should have been empty. Most people were at parties or locked indoors tonight.

Instead, someone stood in the fountain.

Damon slowed, the cigarette still resting between his lips, as he watched. A stranger.

Water splashed around their ankles as they moved through the shallow pool. Barefoot, alone, and completely unaware of the world around them.

What a foolish thing to be.

Unaware.

The fountain lights painted silver across their skin as they turned in a slow circle. The noise of the city gradually faded into the background. He should have kept walking.

St. Killian's wasn't far. The others were already there, planning the night's chaos and waiting for him.

Yet somehow he remained exactly where he was, watching as the cigarette burned between his lips. Moonlight caught the water every time they moved, and the fountain sprayed upward around them like shattered glass.

They were interesting.

And there was very little Damon found interesting anymore.

The ember glowed brighter as he took a slow drag before exhaling smoke into the night. Then he started walking toward the stranger in the fountain.

"Little Devil likes to dance," he muttered.

The words never reached them, but they would notice his presence soon enough.

Everyone always did.

Damon reached for the black mask hanging from his belt and slowly pulled it over his face.

Then he continued forward.

Let the game begin.