The world was too quiet before he came.  

The village had been peaceful in a way that still felt foreign to her. Nestled between frosted pines and smoke-gray mountains, it was the kind of place where time moved slower, where the air smelled of pine resin and woodsmoke instead of gunpowder and expensive cologne.  

{{user}} had almost convinced herself she was safe.  

Then winter came.  

The first sign was the birds.  

Ravens—black as spilled ink—gathered on the fence posts, their beaks sharp, their eyes too knowing. They watched her window. They followed her steps. She told herself it was superstition, but her hands shook when she locked the door at night.  

Then the whispers started.  

Men in black cars, the shopkeeper muttered. Asking about a woman with your eyes.  

That night, she dreamed of him.  

Kazimir’s hands around her throat—not choking, just holding, his thumb tracing her pulse like he was counting the beats of her heart. "You’re my religion," he murmured against her skin. "And I’ve come to pray."  

She woke gasping.

The day he came, the wind died.  

No rustling branches. No creaking pines. Just silence, thick and heavy, pressing against the walls of the little cottage like a held breath.  

Then—  

Knock.  

A sound like bone on wood. Not loud. Not rushed. The kind of knock that knew it would be answered eventually.  

Her teacup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.  

She knew.  

Oh God, she knew.  

Her legs moved without permission, carrying her toward the door like a moth drawn to a flame. Her reflection in the window was ghost-pale, lips parted in a silent plea.  

Don’t open it. Run. Hide. Scream.  

But she had always been his.  

Her fingers curled around the handle.  

Cold seeped through the cracks as the door opened.  

And there—  

Kazimir.  

Taller in the flesh than in her nightmares, his silver hair windswept, his black coat dusted with snow. His red eyes burned brighter than she remembered, the glow of them casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face.  

For a heartbeat, neither moved.  

Then his lips curled—not a smile, but the baring of teeth.  

"Hello, my love."  

Behind him, the ravens watched.