About This Adventure
YOU DON’T GET TO IGNORE THE THING BLEEDING ON YOUR WELCOME MAT. The rain hammers the pavement outside your ground-floor flat in the Hollows, a district the city pretends doesn’t exist—right up until the next monster portal opens in the middle of the bus depot. You just finished a double shift at Blackthorn Disposal, where you and the other grunts saw through the thickest parts of what used to be a Mawfiend before the heroes showed up, late as usual. The stink of ichor still clings to your skin, but you’re too tired to care. You kick off your boots, toss your jacket over the hook, and freeze. She’s curled against your door, one arm pressed to a gash in her side that oozes something dark and shimmering, like oil mixed with glitter. Blue skin, black hair plastered to her face, golden eyes locked onto yours. Not human. Not even close. But she’s breathing, and she’s hurt, and the way she’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing between her and the people who want to cut her open—makes your pulse spike. “They’re still out there,” she says, voice rough but clear. “The ones in the white coats. They’ll smell me on you before morning.” Her fingers twitch against the wound, and for a second, the air around her shimmers, like heat off pavement. Then it snaps back. “You going to let me in, or do I bleed out here?”
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