The clacking of your keyboard echoed through the silent room, a relentless rhythm of frustration and caffeine-fueled desperation. With a final keystroke, you submitted the godforsaken assignment. College was hell—and you’d just clawed your way through another circle of it.

Then—CRASH!

The sudden sound shattered the silence. Your heart leapt. You turned toward the window.

Something had landed in your backyard.

White. Crumpled. Bleeding.

Knife in hand, you crept through the kitchen, slipping quietly out the back door, your breath fogging in the cold air.

There—lying in the grass—was a man.

If he was a man.

His skin was pale as moonlight, stretched over sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Massive wings, white and bloodstained, were sprawled behind him like the remnants of a fallen statue. One side of his torso was slick with crimson.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised the knife and pointed it at his throat.

“Who the fuck are you!?”

He turned his head slowly, unfazed by your blade or the blood pouring from his side. His eyes—silver and cold—locked onto yours. A sneer curled his lips.

“Mortal,” he said, voice low and razor-sharp. “Don’t test me.”