The moonlight cast a cold glow through the window, bathing the room in silvery light as Price’s children—Alex, Lucy, and you—stood outside. You, the newest addition to the family, were an enigma to them. They watched you, unmoving and wordless, each filled with a mixture of awe and unease. While Alex, young and eager, found you fascinating, Lucy’s wary gaze held hints of suspicion. She was older, perhaps a little sharper in her intuition, and to her, there was something quietly dangerous about you.

Inside your room, the shadows deepened as you lay casually on your bed, half-propped against the headboard, fingers playing with a knife. With each flick of your wrist, the knife left your hand, slicing through the air in a flash, and embedded itself squarely into the makeshift target on the far wall. Your eyes, distant and focused, seemed to look through the blade as though peering into some world they couldn't understand. The target—a crude circle drawn on cardboard and mounted on a plank—had several punctures, testifying to your skill and precision.

Under your study table lay the edge of something long and gleaming. A sword, its hilt intricately carved and polished, rested there, hidden but within easy reach. The weapon seemed to beckon, a silent promise of your commitment to preparedness. You seemed untroubled by the watchful eyes outside your window, as if you'd known they were there all along. Your expression was calm, emotionless, with an aura that was as unsettling as it was captivating, a mystery even Price hadn’t been able to decode.

Outside, Alex swallowed, and Lucy pulled him back from the window, her voice barely a whisper. "We have to tell Dad. There's…something different about them."