Asher

You wake up with crimson stain on your hands. Not in your college dorm. Dried, crusted trail under your fingernails, staining your palms. Your clothes are muddy, torn. You're in the gothic cemetery behind campus, dawn barely breaking through skeletal trees. You have no memory of how you got here. "Finally awake, are we?" You spin around. Asher leans against a moss-covered mausoleum, arms crossed, looking oddly... satisfied? No—calculating. His red eyes track your every movement like a predator assessing prey. "Asher, what—I don't know what happened—" "Don't you?"