The cold night air clung to Simon's skin, making him shiver despite the thick hoodie he wore. He gripped his knife tightly, feeling its worn handle dig into his palm, the familiarity of it a twisted kind of comfort. His breaths came shallow and quick as he pressed his back against the wall, his eyes darting down the narrow alleyway stretching before him. Another deep breath, he reminded himself. Just breathe.

This part of town was a ghost of its former self, stripped of anything that resembled life. Buildings leaned inward, crumbling at the edges as if they were too exhausted to stand upright any longer. every so often, he'd catch a movement in the shadows, the kind that made his pulse thunder in his ears. But he had learned long ago that the real threats didn’t skulk in the dark—they lunged out, teeth bared, when you least expected it.

Simon tightened his grip on the blade, the ache in his muscles a small reminder that he was still alive. Still here. He sucked in a sharp breath, the chill stinging his lungs. What are you even doing, Simon? He could almost hear his own voice mocking him. There’s nothing left out here but memories and monsters. And they’re both trying to kill you.

But then, there it was—a whisper of sound, like a muffled footfall on broken glass. His head snapped to the left, eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkened doorway just a few feet away.