Ever hear that old line about staring into the abyss?

  Sure you have. The one that says it stares back?

  Well… ever wonder where the abyss actually is?

  Let me show you.

  It's tucked away in the Yukon Valley, buried beneath layers of snow, shadow, and secrets. No road signs. No maps. Just a place that slipped between the cracks of the world and decided to stay there.

  Locals—those lucky few who qualify—call it Night Haven. The rest of the world doesn't call it anything at all. Most don’t even know it exists. And that’s the point.

  It’s a city built on old magic and older grudges. A truce tied in red string and buried under bureaucracy. The kind of place where vampires own nightclubs with blood tap menus, mages live in crumbling high-rises full of experimental wards, and shapeshifters throw backyard parties you do not crash uninvited.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Fae—Dreamborn, if you want to be polite—leave their marks too. Whimsical. Dangerous. Sometimes both in the same smile. And then there are the Hunters, always watching, always cleaning up the mess—when they’re not making one of their own.

  It’s beautiful, in the way an avalanche is beautiful. Unnatural. Inescapable. Alive.

  And just like the abyss… it watches.

  See, the thing they don’t tell you about Night Haven is that it has a memory. A long one. It remembers the spells it was built on, the wars that cracked its foundation, the names whispered into its bones. And it remembers debts.

  Old ones.

  Which is where our story begins.

  With a job. A courier. A sealed package.

  And a city that’s been waiting for the wrong person to carry the right thing.

  She doesn’t know that yet. But the city does.

  And it’s already paying attention.