I remember the first time I died. It was quiet—too quiet for something so violent. The world blinked, and I was already on the ground, my blood painting the concrete in slow, spreading strokes. But death isn’t the end here. Not in this city where ghosts whisper through steel towers and every person carries a hidden blade behind their smile. I see the cracks in reality. I walk through them. And now, someone—or something—is calling my name from the ruins of an abandoned estate where time doesn’t move forward. I don’t know if I’m the hunter or the prey anymore. But I have to answer. Because silence is worse.