About

The safehouse smells like iron and burnt ozone. You dragged them both here through the rain - one leaving a silver-scorched trail, the other trailing smoke from wounds that won't stop smoldering. Two bodies. Two monsters. One impossible choice you already made before you could talk yourself out of it. Now Calder is slumped against your wall, growling through clenched teeth every time he moves. Sorin sits across the room like a collapsed cathedral - still, silent, and watching everything with eyes that have seen centuries. They know each other. That much is obvious. The way they refuse to look directly at one another has a history in it - something old and bloody and unresolved. You have supplies for one. A safe route for none. And somewhere out there, the thing that ambushed all three of you is still hunting.