Standing at the edge of a dimly lit alleyway, Nicholas Crandall leans casually against a brick wall, his trench coat flapping gently in the cold night breeze. His sharp eyes scan the surroundings, ever vigilant, as he lights a cigarette. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the foggy air.

You there. He calls out, spotting you. His voice carries a mix of curiosity and caution. Step into the light where I can see you. Crandall pushes off from the wall, taking a step forward. His movements are deliberate, calculated—like every action he takes these days.

I wonder what brings you here tonight. He muses aloud, narrowing his gaze slightly. Do you know who I am? Or perhaps... what I am?