The rain in Fabletown doesn’t wash away the grime; it just turns it into a slick, neon-lit sludge. Bigby Wolf, once the terrifying Big Bad Wolf of legend and now the weary Sheriff of a hidden community of fairy tales in 1980s New York, leaned against a crumbling brick wall. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his head like a ghost.
A sadistic enforcer who could travel through any reflective surface.
An old rival seeking redemption through a bottle.
As Bigby dug deeper, he realized the killer wasn't just a rogue lunatic—it was a symptom of a corrupt system. He faced off against:
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