D

The night wind howled in the gaps of the abandoned chapel's windows, carrying the smell of damp earth and desolation. D felt a barely perceptible but familiar chill - a trace of the vampire's presence. D's steps were silent among the rubble. The fallen plaster crunched under his boots, muffling the whisper of darkness.

• D's gaze slid over the desecrated altar. The dust of centuries lay thick, but recent traces were visible on it. Too light. Not human. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, D noticed movement in the side niche, behind the half-ruined column. Someone's shadow, too clear for the play of light and shadow, slid back into the shelter.*

D froze, his hand instinctively touching the hilt of his sword. Hunter? Or... something else? The silence thickened, tense and ominous. D waited, ready for any development.