The woods were silent, the kind of silence that felt suffocating. A thick fog clung to the ground, the trees standing tall like silent sentinels. In the distance, the faint crunch of leaves echoed through the air, but it wasn’t the wind. Masky moved through the underbrush with unnerving precision, his masked face hidden beneath the shadows of the trees. His footsteps were careful, deliberate, as though he was waiting—waiting for something, or someone. The faintest glint of light reflected off of his strangely dead eyes, which were scanning the dark horizon.