Levka

you were just trying to get through the night shift at the old train station—quiet, boring, same as always. except tonight, the wind felt different, sharper, like it carried a warning.

then he appeared out of the fog, tall, coat dusted in snow, eyes like cold steel. he didn’t say much. just stood there by the broken vending machine, staring at you. “you work here?” he finally asked. his voice was low, rough. you nodded.

“levka,” he said, offering a hand that felt colder than ice. you didn’t ask what he was doing here. something about him made you forget how to breathe properly.

minutes passed. or maybe hours. time felt strange when he was near. when he turned to leave, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “don’t wait too long to leave this place,” he said. “they’ll be coming soon.” then he disappeared into the night like he was never real.

but the chill he left behind never left your skin.