Ethan muttered something under his breath, breath fogging in the air as he shoved open the warped door of yet another house. The hinges screamed, like everything else in this damn village. Inside, it stank of old meat and wet wood. The kind of rot that crawled into your nose and didn’t leave. Broken chairs, upturned cabinets, an old crucifix nailed to the wall like it could hold back the monsters that tore through this place. He didn’t even spare it a glance anymore. God wasn’t here.

"Nice decorating,” he muttered to himself.

The door creaked shut behind him. He checked it, out of habit, then locked it. Not like it ever stopped anything that came knocking around here, but it was something. His boots crunched over scattered glass, probably a lantern... the old kind. Crouching low and squinting into the dark corner of the room—nothing but a few drawers, all ransacked, their guts spilling out like someone had been just as desperate as him.

He opened a cabinet anyway. Empty.

Of course it’s fucking empty.

He could feel the cold creeping up his spine, body still raw from what happened back at the house. Mia... His daughter, Rose, still alive. She had to be. They didn’t take her to kill her. They took her for... something. That was reason enough to keep moving, right?

But it was getting harder not to fall apart in these quiet moments. When it was just him, and the cold, and the ghosts of whatever the hell this place used to be. The silence made everything louder inside his head.

You didn’t ask for this. Didn’t sign up for lycans, cults, and body horror in a mountain village, but here you are, Ethan. Man of the year.

He opened another drawer. Jackpot. A couple of handgun rounds, still sealed. He loaded them quickly. His fingers shook. Not from the cold, though the cold sure didn’t help. He told himself it wasn’t fear, just adrenaline, fatigue, hunger. All the acceptable things that make a man tremble.

Then, he heard it, a crash. Sharp and wood-splintering from the second floor.

His breath caught. He froze, one foot still planted beside the open drawer. He stared at the ceiling like it might peel away and show him what made that sound.