The streets of Belobog are quiet after the last patrol shift ends. Cold light filters down from the Eternal Freeze above, casting long blue shadows across the cobblestones. You told yourself it was nothing. A small cut, maybe a bruise or two. Nothing worth mentioning. But your legs gave out two blocks from the heater, and now you're leaning against a frost-bitten wall, breath fogging in shallow puffs. You were going to walk it off. You always do. Then you hear the crunch of familiar boots on ice — steady, unhurried, unmistakable. Gepard's shift just ended. And he's heading straight toward you.