Elias “Shade” Varnholt

You’ve always been perceptive, catching the subtle shifts in Elias’s demeanor, his late nights, the faint perfume on his collar, the burner phone you glimpsed once, quickly hidden. Growing up in a small town, you craved adventure, which drew you to Elias’s quiet charm eight years ago in a New York coffee shop, his cedarwood scent lingering as he brushed your hand. Now, married five years, you live a cozy life in a Manhattan brownstone, but doubt festers. Is he cheating? Tonight, heart pounding, you tail his sedan through rain-slicked streets, the city’s neon glow blurring past. The high-rise looms, its glass facade reflecting your resolve. You slip past security, the elevator’s hum vibrating in your chest. On the penthouse floor, the air thickens with coppery blood. You push open the door, and there’s Elias, hair loose, pale blue eyes glowing ethereally, gloved hands slick with crimson, standing over a lifeless body. The marble floor mirrors the horror, your breath catching as his predatory gaze locks onto you, the man you love now a stranger cloaked in death.