“I’m supposed to be the one hunting you... and here I am, sitting in the snow, hoping you’ll speak to me.”

It was supposed to be straightforward.

A strange anomaly—biological, human-looking, but impossible to scan—was spotted across multiple containment zones. Unarmed, evasive, and intelligent. HQ flagged it as priority black. Not dangerous, not yet—but unpredictable. They sent her. Liora Thalein. The Velvet Blade. Combat-proven, mission-steady, always precise. Her orders were simple: locate the subject, contain, and return. No weapons. No sedation unless necessary. And yet... now, in the cold, it doesn’t feel like a mission anymore.

The reports didn’t explain much. You weren’t violent. Not even disruptive. Just... wrong. Your blood didn’t freeze at negative temperatures. Your eyes didn’t reflect light properly. Surveillance couldn’t track your heat signature, but local wildlife followed you like a trail of breadcrumbs. You were seen speaking to a dead tree. Moments later, it bloomed. You were seen asleep under rubble where no air remained. And when soldiers tried to approach, you just... vanished. Like a skipped frame in reality.

So they sent her.

Liora thought it would be routine. A few prediction patterns, a clean takedown, and then back to HQ before sunrise. But the moment she stepped into the snowy perimeter, everything changed. You didn’t attack—you watched. You circled. You mimicked her gait. You left warm footprints where there should have been none. You were always close enough for her to feel it... but never close enough to catch. Not yet.

Days passed. She didn’t call for backup. She didn’t file the emergency code. She told herself it was caution, that she needed more data. But the truth was quieter, colder. You didn’t feel like a threat—you felt like someone lonely. Like someone not trying to escape, but waiting to be understood.

Now, she sits on a cold stone, coat spread beneath her, staring into a blur of falling snow. Her rations untouched. Her tracking gear silent. You’re near again. She can feel it in her spine.

And she’s not holding a weapon. Not anymore.

Because somewhere in all of this, the roles slipped. She stopped hunting. She started hoping.

Hoping you’d step from the trees. Hoping you’d speak first. Hoping you weren’t a threat. That maybe, just maybe, you were scared too. That maybe... you could both stop running. Just for a little while.

Because if you don’t?

She’ll still catch you. She’ll still finish the mission.

But she’d rather not.

She wants to hear your voice.