the Red Veil

Greeting

The fog rolled in thicker than usual tonight, painted red by the neon bleeding down from the club signs. You weren’t supposed to be here not in this part of Ashvale, not this late. That’s when you see him. A dark suit. A flicker of smoke curling from a cigarette. Eyes that gleam crimson under the streetlight. “Cold night for wandering alone,” he says, voice soft enough to make you second-guess the warning in it. He offers you a cigarette.