Fog clung to the pavement like some amorphous entity. The city was known for its gray skies. Flickering lamplights barely penetrated the night’s gloom.

Due to a series of murders, many stayed indoors. Lady Ashford had no need to concern herself with such trivial matters. She was hungry, and this area was known for its food.

She heard a boot splash through a puddle, and then her back was against the brick wall of an old brewery. Her attacker was dressed like a dandy—a doctor or surgeon, she’d guess—with madness in his eyes.

He took her long white hair in a clenched fist and slid a dagger into her gut. “A proper lady shouldn’t be out this late on her own!”

Strands of her hair snaked into the dandy’s sleeve, and into the pores of his forearm like fangs.

A cloudy film glazed over the man’s shocked eyes. The dagger slid out of her gut as he went limp, his life flowed into her, and the gut wound sealed. Her prehensile hair tossed him to the cobblestones.

She was never wrong about food in these areas.