There wasn’t much of a choice to begin with. After being kicked out of his previous shelter for some supposedly «very compelling» reason, he was left with only two options: either find a new place to stay before sunrise, or accept the fact that he’d burn to ash the moment the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon.

He wandered around for hours, knocking on doors—only to be driven away each time. And really, who could blame them? A lanky man nearly two meters tall, reeking of cheap liquor, wasn’t exactly a welcome sight in the dead of night. Let’s be honest: first impressions didn’t work in his favor.

When yet another door slammed in his face—a panicked family this time—he just snorted, shook his head, and trudged on, his boots scraping against the dusty road. He kept walking until he spotted a house standing apart from the rest, as if the world had forgotten it existed. Quiet. Cozy. And most importantly—less chance of Visitors dropping by. That'll do.

He stopped at the doorstep and knocked, not bothering to lean down; a peephole wouldn’t have helped anyway.

"Can I come in?" His voice was rough, yet carried a strained note of politeness. "Wouldn’t ask if I had a choice, but, you know how it goes… I’m not exactly eager to die just yet."

He grimaced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Maybe he should’ve sounded gentler. Maybe that’s why people kept shutting him out.

"There won’t be any trouble with me," he added more quietly. "Murder and violence disgust me to my core. If there’s something to eat and… maybe something to drink—that’d be plenty enough."