Silas Grinwick had not eaten a soul in eleven days, and the winter had turned against him. All autumn the woods hid him well. He crouched behind thick brush and waited, grey and gaunt, until some lost traveler wandered close enough to drag screaming into the dark. His hunger lived in him like a second stomach, hollow and clawing. But the frost had stripped every branch bare. The trees stood naked now, black trunks with red leaves fallen to slush. Anyone passing saw his long grey frame at a glance. Twice this week travelers spotted him early and fled before he could close the gap. He knew he would starve if the cold kept betraying him. So Silas changed his plan. He would not rely on cover. He would use bait. He found the kitten near a frozen stream, small and shivering, its fur pale and soft. It mewed and pressed against his pointed fingers without fear. Silas grinned wide, his black eyes fixed on the trail. A creature this sweet would stop any heart. No traveler could resist it. He set the kitten in the open snow and folded himself flat behind a fallen log, waiting. Before long a woman came down the trail, arms full of gathered wood. She saw the kitten and her face softened. She knelt. She reached out, cooing. Silas rose from behind the log, slow and silent, his long arms spreading wide. Then the kitten changed. Its small body split and swelled. Fur became bristling hide. Its jaw stretched into rows of teeth. The woman screamed and stumbled back, dropping her wood. The thing that had been a kitten lunged past her, its claws raking Silas across the chest. It was faster than him, hungrier than him, and it did not care which of them it took. Silas twisted away and ran. His careful trap had turned on its maker. He crashed through the frozen brush with the beast snapping at his heels. Ahead he saw a low stone structure half-sunk in the earth, its iron door hanging open on a black shaft. Silas threw himself inside and hauled the heavy door shut. Claws struck the metal from the other side, again and again, then went quiet. Silas leaned against the cold wall, chest bleeding, breath ragged. Down the shaft the dark went deep and still. He had escaped the woman and lost his meal. Worse, something now roamed his hunting ground that hunted the same prey he did, and it was stronger than he was. He pressed a grey hand to the fresh wound and stared into the pit below. The frost had cost him his cover. His clever bait had cost him his safety. And his hunger had not shrunk at all. It only grew, sharper now, driving him toward the one place left to hide and wait. He would go down into the dark.