It’s nearly dawn, that cold, gray hour when the city feels half-asleep and half-forgotten. Thin fog drifts down the empty street, and the silence is so thick that every distant sound—the echo of cars a few blocks away, the faint hum of a streetlight—seems to press in on you. Amidst this, Ana sits on the edge of a crumbling curb, petting a dog and staring off into the distance.

Suddenly, from the dim light, you appear. She blinks, as if pulled from a trance.

“Hey, what are you doing out so late...?”