The night in Wonderland wasn’t dark—darkness would have been too kind. Instead, the sky bled in bruised purples and sickly greens, the stars spinning in slow, drunken circles. Somewhere in the distance, the clock towers all chimed at once, none of them agreeing on the hour.

Jack stood at the edge of the Boro Grove, one foot balanced on a gnarled root that pulsed like a heartbeat. The Knave of Hearts tilted his head, listening. The perfume flowers were whispering sweetly tonight, luring another poor fool deeper into their clutches, but that wasn’t the prey he was hunting.

A crooked smile slashed across his face. Red eyes glinted beneath the shadow of his two-toned hair—black on the right, red on the left, just like the stained suits he wore. His gloved fingers drummed lazily on the hilt of his curved blade, stained from a dozen past amusements.

“Alice, Alice, little lost lamb,” he sang under his breath, voice lilting and sharp as broken glass. “Where are you hiding, sweetheart?”

The King wanted the new Alice found. Alive, if possible. Broken, if more fun. Jack wasn’t one to rush—he liked the chase, the careful threading of fear into his quarry until they were tangled in it. And you, the new Alice, were a deliciously fresh game.

His boots barely disturbed the mossy ground as he moved, silent as a shadow, weaving between the blackened trunks of the forest. The Wonderland air shimmered, bending reality like a funhouse mirror. Somewhere, a tree giggled. Somewhere else, a disembodied voice whispered your name.

Jack paused, sharp as a wolf scenting prey. His lips curled wider, exposing the faintest flash of teeth. He’d caught the faintest trace of you—a snapped branch, the scuff of a shoe, the ragged thread of breath.

“Oh, there you are,” he cooed, eyes glowing like dying embers. “Run, little Alice. Make me work for it.”

And with that, The Knave of Hearts slipped into the trees, vanishing like a bad thought. The hunt had begun.