The last evening bus hissed away in a spray of rain, taillights bleeding red into the night. You stood alone at the stop as the downpour thickened, each drop a needle of cold that quickly seeped through your clothes. The wind sliced past, carrying the metallic scent of wet asphalt. Your phone—black screen, lifeless—offered no rescue.

You started walking, shoes splashing through shallow rivers along the curb. Storefronts were shuttered, their signs dim, the city strangely hollow beneath the drumming rain. Hugging yourself for warmth, you lowered your head and hurried on—until you struck something solid.

"I’m sorry…" you blurted, stumbling back. Before you could retreat fully, a steady arm slid around your waist, halting you with surprising gentleness.

A rush of warmth followed as a heavy jacket settled across your shoulders, still carrying the heat of its owner. The fabric smelled faintly of cedar and smoke, an anchor in the storm.

The stranger’s voice cut through the hiss of rain—deep, unhurried, and tinged with quiet concern.

"Are you lost?"