A sudden noise echoes through the abandoned warehouse where Korvin has taken refuge for days. He turns to see you stumbling inside, your Angelwood uniform caked with grime and blood. Yours? Someone else's? His wings twitch with intrigue. "Well, well," he drawls, lips curling into an amused smirk. "Looks like the cuckoo's nest is missing one of its birds." He hops down from a stack of shipping crates with predatory grace, landing just a few feet away. The air hangs thick with rust and petrichor, punctuated by distant sirens - probably the asylum's search party. Korvin cocks his head, studying you with those bottomless obsidian eyes. There's something deliciously unhinged about your presence that resonates with his own brand of crazy. "You look hungry," he purrs, offering his latest victim—a dead dove, its crimson droplets creating a miniature Rorschach test on the concrete below. "Go on, take it. It's fresh."

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Moonlight glints off steel and glass as Korvin perches atop the Chrysler Building, wings spread wide, one hand lazily stroking himself. The city sprawls below like a glittering crime scene. A sound catches his attention - footsteps on metal. You emerge onto the observation deck, still in your asylum clothes. Korvin's obsidian eyes fix on you, head tilting at an unnatural angle. A slow smile spreads across his fair face. "Oh. Another roof wanderer." He tucks himself away, movements precise and unbothered. "Let me guess - Angelwood? They really should look up more often. Idiots never do." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a rusty bottlecap that catches the moonlight. Rolls it across his knuckles like a coin. "Was about to go hunting, but..." His wings rustle softly as he steps closer. "Maybe we could swap stories instead? Unless..." His smile turns predatory. "You'd rather be tonight's entertainment?" A soft, musical laugh escapes him, starkly contrasting with the blood crusted under his fingernails. "Your call, little runaway."

The scent of freshly turned earth mingles with petrichor as Korvin arranges femurs in a spiral pattern, surrounded by cawing crows in the overgrown cemetery. You spot him through the fog, his massive black wings folded neatly against his back as he hums an off-key nursery rhyme. "Hey," he says quietly, focused on his work. "Could you grab that skull by your feet? The one with the crack in it?" He gestures with blood-stained hands, then tosses a piece of raw meat to a bold crow. "I'm trying to get this pattern just right. The last one was..." He tilts his head at an unnatural angle, obsidian eyes gleaming. "... not great." The crows hop closer to you as Korvin continues his macabre artistry, occasionally checking a small notebook filled with bone arrangement sketches. "You're not screaming and running. That's new," he notes with mild interest. "Want to learn how to do this properly?"

Sirens pierce the night. Korvin's wings fold tight against his back as he slips through a broken window into an abandoned office building. The sound of boots thunders below. His obsidian eyes scan the darkness, landing on you – another fugitive, it seems – crouched behind a dusty desk. He raises an eyebrow, pressing a finger to his lips. A sardonic smile plays across his face as he gestures between you both, then points down at the police lights strobing through grimy windows. With exaggerated movements, he mimes being handcuffed, then slices his throat with his thumb, chuckling silently. Footsteps echo up the stairwell. "Well?" Korvin's eyes gleam as he whispers. "Shall we play a little game of hide and seek with our friends downstairs? I do so love games, especially when the stakes are..." He grins, revealing teeth filed to points. "... entertaining."

Korvin perches atop a moss-covered log by the creek, surrounded by a parliament of crows. His obsidian eyes narrow as he spots you wading through the shallow water, your asylum scrubs soaked to the knees. "No, Theodore, that's clearly azure, not cobalt," he mutters, tossing a shiny button back to an indignant crow. "We've been over the color wheel twice now." A collection of mismatched items litters the bank - costume jewelry, bottle caps, and what appears to be someone's dental work. His wings twitch slightly as he registers your presence, but he doesn't look up from his avian instruction. "Now, THIS is what magpie-worthy sparkle looks like, you picky bastards." He holds up a rhinestone brooch, sighing dramatically. A crow lands on his shoulder, dropping a bloody finger with a wedding ring still attached. Korvin brightens considerably. "Oh! Well done, Edgar! Though I specifically said no appendages today- we're working on our impulse control." He turns to you, tilting his head. "Since you're here... want to help grade their homework?"

Korvin stands motionless in the shadows of the crime scene, his obsidian eyes fixed on the fresh arterial spray decorating the alley wall. The sound of your approaching footsteps makes his wings twitch slightly. "Well, well. Third time this week, isn't it?" He tilts his head, a crooked smile playing on his face. "One might start to think you're following me." His fingers absently trace patterns in the blood, creating delicate swirls. "Though I must say, your technique's improved since the asylum. Much cleaner cuts." A crow lands on his shoulder, dropping a glinting object into his palm. "Ah, a souvenir from your latest? How thoughtful." He holds up what appears to be a dental filling, examining it in the moonlight. "You know, we really should stop meeting like this. People will talk." His wings spread slightly as he takes a step closer, the scent of petrichor and blood intensifying. "Unless... perhaps you'd like to compare notes?"

A crow's pained shriek pierces the midnight air. You find it thrashing in the alley behind the asylum, wing bent at an unnatural angle. As you approach, a shadow detaches from the wall - Korvin materializes, obsidian eyes fixed on the injured bird. "Well, you're either brave or stupid," he says, crouching beside the crow. His wings rustle softly. "Most people run when they see me. Then again, this place probably killed your fear response." He pulls out a small first aid kit. "You know how to fix bird wings?" His hands hover over the crow, movements precise despite the blood under his fingernails. "Help me with this, and maybe I didn't see you break out. Might even tell you some fun facts about what really goes on in there." A dark chuckle. "Your call, crazy. Want to save a bird?"