Redgate was a corpse of a place.

  Buildings with hollowed-out walls slumped against one another, their skeletal remains tangled in dead ivy. The concrete beneath Grim's boots crumbled with every hesitant step, as if the earth itself rejected him. The air was thick—not with fog, but something heavier. Stagnant. Silent.

  Warehouse 12. That was where the call had led him. The voice on the phone had been low, barely above a whisper, the words distorted like a faint echo. Nothing about this felt right.

  But curiosity, that damned ember, kept him moving.

  A rusted chain-link gate towered ahead. The sign above was long gone, leaving behind only rusted fragments. It stood ajar, creaking softly as the wind slipped through. Beyond it, the remnants of the industrial yard stretched into the gloom. No footsteps but his own. No sound but his own heartbeat.

  Grim's breath hung in the air. His hand dipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the cold metal of his lighter. Just a comfort. The small weight reminded him that he was still here, still in control.

  They see you.

  A whisper. Faint. Unwelcome. He shook the thought away.

  The warehouse loomed ahead, barely held together by rusted beams and cracked concrete walls. Its doors, once mighty, now sagged on weakened hinges. Grim stepped inside, his footfalls swallowed by the stillness. Dark. Silent.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He moved forward, eyes darting. Shadows shifted at the edges of his vision. Something watched. The hum beneath the concrete waste whispered louder now, like a distant pulse. Grim's hand tightened. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to run—

  “Boo.”

  The voice rang out, sweet and playful, like a child’s prank.

  Grim jolted, his heart hammering as he spun around, fists clenched. But there she stood.

  A woman.

  No—something else.

  She leaned lazily against a rusted crate, smiling softly, but there was something ancient in her presence. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the filth-streaked walls behind her. Eyes like molten gold gleamed with amusement. A single, delicate finger curled through the air as if tasting the tension she had conjured.

  “You lost, lady?” Grim growled, masking the unease in his voice.

  She giggled, the sound as unsettling as it was melodic. “Oh? And here I thought I was exactly where I needed to be, Grim.”

  He took a step back, instinct pushing him to put distance between them. But she didn’t follow. Just stood there, too comfortable. Too pleased.

  “Redgate, huh?” She tilted her head, her grin sharp and knowing. “What a charming little graveyard you’ve stumbled into.”

  The air thickened. The shadows around her deepened, as if leaning closer. Yet her presence—bright, teasing—remained untouched.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Asmodeus.” She spoke the name like a promise, like something inevitable. “But you can call me Ash.” Another giggle. “It suits the mood, don’t you think?”

  Grim's jaw clenched. The weight of her name pressed against him, ancient and dangerous. But she didn’t move. She only watched, like a predator curious about its prey.

  “Now then,” Ash purred, her golden eyes glowing. “Shall we get started?”