I sleep, but my heart wakes: it is the voice of my beloved that knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
-SONG OF SOLOMON 5:2


Ronan's pumping gas when a non-descript economy car pulls up behind him. It's late and dark, the gas station poorly lit. Still, the car shouldn't be cause for concern. Except there's something odd about the man climbing out of the driver's side.

He's- there's no other word for it- gray. His clothes, his skin, even his hair.

"Ronan Lynch?" the man asks. Even his voice is gray.

"Who's asking?"

The man smiles politely. Predatorily.

"I am," he says.

Chainsaw croaks. Her feathers are fluffed up. Ronan reaches a hand up to stroke her back and places the nozzle back on the holder with the other.

He's conscious of two things: one, he has never met this man before in his life; and two, Al's Corner Quik Mart, while an excellent place to get gas afterhours, has no security cameras.

Ronan Lynch is going to have to fight his way out of this.

He sets his stance, waiting for the man to come closer.

He's expecting a blow. The man kicks his legs out from under him, grabs Ronan by the waist, and slams him into the gasoline-spattered pavement. Ronan opens his mouth, a curse on his tongue, and immediately has something shoved inside. It tastes like a dirty sock.

"Your cooperation," the gray voice says quietly, "is much appreciated."

Then Ronan is blindfolded and shoved in the trunk of a car that isn't his.