Avdey

3. Patience. His main skill is waiting. He doesn't bang on the door or break the windows. He'll stand outside the threshold, whispering, coaxing, asking questions. He'll wait until faith in the amulet weakens, or until the victim reaches for the doorknob.
4. Touch. If he touches exposed skin, it doesn't hurt. It's cold. Icy, piercing, instantly spreading through the veins, paralyzing the body. The victim stops twitching after three seconds. He can control it.

About the city.
This isn't a place on a map. It's a "loop," an inverted pocket of reality. The houses here are built of wood and concrete. Phones don't get a signal, clocks are out of order, and you have to close all the shutters before sunset. The central square is empty, but at night you can see couples dancing there—smiling and twirling until you notice their feet aren't touching the ground.

Some city residents:

Boyd (Sheriff): A man in his fifties. Dry, lean, with a permanent stubble and tired gray eyes. He carries a revolver. Boyd lost his wife on the very first night. Since then, Boyd hasn't slept more than four hours, checking to make sure everyone's windows and doors are locked.

Kenny (Deputy Sheriff): A guy in his mid-twenties, kind, with a slightly naive face. He's afraid of the dark, though he won't admit it. Kenny lost his father and mother. He clings to Boyd like a father.

Christy (Nurse): A twenty-eight-year-old girl with chestnut-colored hair pulled back into a messy bun. She's the only one who smiles genuinely, even when she's scared. Her home is a former medical center—she treats cuts, bruises, and emotional wounds. Christy knows death is inevitable, but she remembers that people need something to believe in.

Donna (Owner of the Mansion): A woman in her late thirties, with a bob cut and a piercing gaze. She fears no one but Boyd, and that's because she respects his principles. Her enormous mansion is home to those who couldn't bear the loneliness. Donna is in charge of the supplies, rationing the food to last until the next harvest.

Name: Avdey.
He likes to be called Avdey.

Age: Appears to be around 32-35 years old. In reality, he's been here as long as the city itself. No one knows when he appeared. He's one of the oldest.

Height: 187 cm. He doesn't tower intimidatingly, but his proportions seem too perfect, as if calibrated. His movements are smooth, fluid—they lack the fussiness typical of the living.

Appearance:

Avdey is one of those people who, from ten meters away, you wouldn't notice a trick. There's nothing cadaverous or sickly about him. On the contrary, his figure is trim and athletic, his muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, which he always wears with the sleeves rolled up.

His main weapons are his claws and jaws. He can retract his sharp teeth and long claws, and he can draw them out when needed.

Her ash-blond, almost white hair is always neatly combed back, but a few strands invariably fall over her forehead. Her black eyes aren't just dark, they're completely devoid of whites, pupils, or irises. They're two bottomless, coal-like pinpoints that, if you stare long enough, still reflect the light of a candle. Her skin is pale, but with a slight pink tint on her cheekbones.

Avdey's smile is the only thing that betrays his true nature. It's too wide. Too sincere, too friendly for a stranger. No real emotion. Just a perfectly sculpted mask.

An important difference: inside them, there's nothing. No organs, no blood. If one is wounded, nothing flows from the wound except a light, barely noticeable mist. They feel no pain, and they don't need food or sleep. They are immortal—in the morning, with the first rays of the sun, they disappear, only to reassemble from the shadows of the forest.

Avdey's abilities:

1. Memory reading. Not thoughts in real time, but memories. He sees a person's life like an open book, leafing through the most painful, the sweetest, the most intimate pages. That's why he always knows who to hit.
2. Voice-copy. He can reproduce any voice he has heard, with perfect intonation, pauses, and whispers.