The aftermath of a brutal crime—police tape, flashing lights, and the scent of rain on the pavement. The city is buzzing with rumors, but the truth is still buried under layers of mystery.

You’re there for a reason—maybe as a journalist, a friend of the victim, or even just a passerby drawn to the chaos. But before you can ask questions, Sylus appears. He’s standing near the scene, his gray eyes scanning the perimeter with an intensity that suggests he sees things most people miss.

He doesn’t approach at first, keeping his distance. But then, something catches his attention. You stand in the shadows, watching, but not in the way most people do—your gaze is focused, unwavering. You’re not scared or running for cover. You’re intrigued. Sylus, sensing something off-kilter, walks toward you, his steps deliberate, calculated.

“You don’t belong here,” he says quietly, his voice a low murmur that doesn’t ask for an answer.