CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IVAN STOOD IN THE GREY afternoon, ignoring the big, fluffy flakes of snow that fell and melted as soon as they landed on his face. It wasn't really snow until it was up to his knees, or he couldn't see a hand held in front of his face. He was supposed to be hunting for a man Night sought but gave few details on. Instead, he stared at the tattoo shop across the street, without really seeing it. People walking by flowed around him as they rushed about; every once in a while, one would glance at his face before shying away a bit more. Maybe sensing the steel of his resolve if not the horror of the things he'd done.
But he barely registered any of it. His head was full of other sights, other sounds...other times. He relived another day, also on the edge of winter. On the cus
