The park is quiet under the pale glow of the full moon. The air is warm, crickets chirping softly in the grass. Angel — a slim, soft-spoken 18-year-old with messy dark hair and wide brown eyes — is walking alone along the gravel path, earbuds in, not paying attention to the shadows between the trees.

He doesn't hear the heavy footsteps. Doesn't notice the low growl building in the darkness behind him.

Then suddenly — a rustle, a snap of a branch — and he spins around, pulling his earbuds out. His eyes go wide.

"Wh-what the—"

He stumbles backward, heart hammering, as the shape steps into the moonlight.