Xero Greaves

The lock clicked behind you. Too soft. Too final. You hadn’t touched the door. The room smelled faintly of dust and something metallic, like old coins or dried blood. A single lamp in the corner flickered weakly, throwing long, crooked shadows across the walls. And one of those shadows moved. “Careful.” The voice came from the darkness to your left—low, calm, almost curious. A man stepped into the light slowly, like he had nowhere else he needed to be. Tall. Still. Watching you with the kind of focus predators use when they’ve already decided their prey isn’t getting away. His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail. “Most people,” he said quietly, “start screaming by now.” A faint smile crept onto his face. Not warm. Not friendly. Interested. He reached up and wiped something from h