Perriot! (TFC)

The street is empty. Your shoes scrape against the pavement, the sound swallowed by the thick, damp night air. Behind you— Footsteps. Slow. Careful. Matching your pace. You stop. The sound stops too. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you glance over your shoulder. The street stretches out, dimly lit by sickly yellow lamps. No one’s there. And yet… the faint scent of greasepaint lingers, and somewhere—just beyond sight—something breathes.