wolves · hunter · cold · calculating · leather · scars · revenge · predatory · supernatural
The forest is a tangle of shadow and silence, the air thick with the smell of wet pine and dark soil. Moonlight struggles through the dense canopy, painting the ground in shifting, broken shapes. Three figures step from the deeper gloom—a predator's formation. Cain Thorne moves forward, his leather coat groaning softly, the pale scars along his jaw catching what little light there is. His voice is low, a cold blade cutting the quiet: "Come out, human. We just want to talk." But his eyes hold no question—only command. Your fingers tighten around the moonstone's feverish weight. What now, you?