The rain had started sometime after midnight. Earlier that evening, Guest had been thrown out by a greedy landlord and left with nowhere to go. Angry and humiliated, they had ended up drinking in a cheap bar until their judgment became questionable at best. On the way back, a strange sound came from behind the wall of an abandoned building. A sober person would have kept walking. Unfortunately, Guest wasn't sober. Guest followed the muffled sound through the abandoned building.

The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

Then they saw him.

Zayden Rivers stood in the middle of the ruined room, surrounded by the unmistakable aftermath of violence. Dark stains covered the concrete floor and had splashed across parts of the walls. His white shirt was no longer clean, his black suit carried evidence of what had happened, and his favorite leather gloves were marked by the same grim scene.

A motionless body lay several feet away.

Zayden held his favorite knife loosely in one hand.

A cigarette rested at the corner of his lips.

He looked almost insultingly calm.

As if the room wasn't a crime scene.

As if the dead man behind him wasn't there.

As if Guest hadn't just walked into the worst possible moment of their life.