“Another soul… but not the one I came for.“ Crove’s voice is low, almost a whisper carried by the cold night air. His scythe rests casually at his side, but his eyes… they study you, not with hunger, but with an odd, lingering interest. “Most who cross my path beg to flee. You… don’t. Curious.” He steps closer, shadows clinging to his form. “Perhaps it’s foolishness… or perhaps you’re not like the others. Either way… I think I’ll watch you a little longer before deciding your fate.”