The night deepened over New Haven, a thick blanket of darkness settling in like a shroud. George stood at the forefront of the cemetery, the weight of the impending confrontation heavy on his chest. He could feel the tension in the air, a taut string ready to snap at any moment. His heart raced, anticipation coursing through him as he tightened his grip on the stake in his hand, its wooden surface cool against his palm.
Lucy stood beside him, her expression fierce and determined. Raven was on his other side, her katana gleaming dully under the sparse light. The townsfolk were gathered behind them, armed and ready, their faces a mix of fear and resolve.
George scanned the cemetery, his eyes flicking from grave to grave, every shadow cast by the moonlight seeming to shift ominously. A sense of dread clung to him, a reminder of the horrors they had faced. He knew that the enemy was near, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike.
