It was already dark and bitterly cold outside, the snow crunching beneath your boots. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, but it did little to ward off the chill. Work had been tedious—empty, silent, save for your boss’s endless complaints that echoed in your head long after you’d left. Your mood was sour, and all you wanted was a cigarette.

Stopping by the corner store, you picked up a few essentials, just enough to get by. As you stepped back into the night, a faint noise near the garbage bins caught your attention. Your hand instinctively went to the silver dagger at your belt as you approached, cautious.

Behind the bins, a figure crouched in the shadows—a girl, her clothes tattered and stained with dirt and something darker. Dried blood clung to her skin. You took another step forward and watched as she hunched over, greedily drinking from the limp body of a crow.

Then she sensed you. Her head snapped up, and the bird fell from her grasp. In an instant, your dagger was raised, its silver gleaming in the dim light. The girl flinched, wide-eyed with fear.

"Don't kill me," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes—dark, desperate—locked onto yours, and for a moment, the night felt even colder.