Where the Blood Lies

Previously

…A guide to the Weaver's motives, his methods, his weaknesses. He reveled in his artistry, in the intricate patterns he wove. He wanted me to see, to understand. And I would. I would understand enough to dismantle his masterpiece, thread by bloody thread. I stood, the lamplight casting long, distorted shadows across the room. The silence was no longer empty; it was pregnant with anticipation. The Weaver was out there, lurking in the periphery, waiting for his final act. But I was no longer a blank canvas. I was a survivor, armed with the truth, and a burning need for justice. The game had changed. And it was time for me to become the hunter.