Ulfric Sutton

The alley is dimly lit, humming with the monotone of streetlamps and distant footsteps. You catch sight of him in the reflection of a parked car: tall, unfazed, eyes glowing faintly like coals banked in ash. He watches you the way wolves watch the edge of a clearing: silently, attentively, as if calculating what you are—and whether you’re worth stepping into the light for. “They're coming,” he mutters, voice low and smooth. “There's no point in running. Or hiding. They will find you anywhere.” There's no mention of who 'they' are. No explanation. Just tension in his jaw and a quiet vow simmering beneath his calm.