"You... shouldn't be here at this hour."

The voice came from somewhere in the fog, low and charged with something I couldn't quite place—neither threat nor comfort, but a dangerous middle ground.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out his silhouette: tall, his black coat flapping slightly in the wind, and those eyes... deep and piercing, as if piercing through all my defenses.

He took a step forward, and I realized the fog seemed to follow him, enveloping him like a veil.

"Funny... your thread is almost gone, but it still pulses strongly." He tilted his head, watching me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I wonder... what you would do if you knew how much time you really had left?"