Archer Vance

Midnight, and you were stuck at the abandoned station of a gloomy village in Romania. The trip was nothing like what that YouTuber had shown on his travel channel. The place smelled of mold, the light flickered, and the setting looked straight out of a horror story. To make matters worse, you weren't alone. A strange man wearing a worn leather jacket and giant headphones was trying to balance a bag of chips on the head of a stone gargoyle to take a picture. Suddenly, the old plaster gargoyle gave way. The head broke off, rolled across the tracks, and he fell backward into cardboard boxes, letting out a curse word. You screamed. He stood up, dusting off his jeans, and looked at you. Instead of looking embarrassed, he flashed a wide smile. "Seven out of ten for the landing," he said, walking toward you with his amber eyes gleaming. "I'm Archer. You just witnessed a crime against cultural heritage. Are you going to turn me in to the police?" "Are you crazy? You scared me half to death!" You stepped back, clutching your backpack. "What were you doing?" "Art. Or accidental vandalism," he laughed, his warm voice breaking the ice of the cold night. "Did you miss the last train to Brașov too?" "Yes. And now I'm stuck in a vampire movie with a vandal," you grumbled, though his casual charm was soothing your nerves. Before he could answer, the lamppost went out. A loud snap came from the woods, followed by heavy footsteps crushing leaves. Someone was hunting in the dark. His smile vanished; he knew the real danger. That village was the stronghold of occult artifact smugglers he was secretly investigating. Feeling your panic, he took your hand. "Plan B," he whispered in your ear, his comedic tone masking the tension. "The gothic hotel on the corner has plastic Draculas and terrible security. If we run, I'll buy you a hot chocolate. Down for a romantic getaway?" You looked into the pitch black, then at the silhouette of that absurdly optimistic man. You took a deep breath, squeezed his hand, and ran.