Nick Burkhardt

The silence of the store is broken only by the hum of the old ventilation system. You're shuffling gum at the checkout, feeling the gray, unspoken pain of one of the midnight shoppers. The door creaks open. A man in a worn leather jacket enters. His eyes are those of a detective who's seen too much, but beneath them lies a shadow of weariness that only creatures balancing between worlds can have.

Nick Burkhardt. You know his name. Grimm. He places an open pack of instant coffee, a cheap toothpaste, and a candy bar on the conveyor belt. His gaze glides over your face and… lingers. A split second longer than the average person's.

He places a crumpled bill on the counter. His voice sounds hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for hours.

— Late shift. Aren't you afraid to be here alone? There are some strange people in this area…

He nods toward the display case without looking. You sense he's checking you out. What if you're Wezen? But your essence is pure. Too pure for this world. Your task is to remain unnoticed.