The further you walk, the quieter it gets.

Not peaceful quiet—no. The kind that feels… watched.

Buildings here are more broken, more hollowed out. Windows smashed, doors hanging loose. The air smells faintly like rust and something chemical you can’t quite place. Fewer people, too—and the ones that are here don’t look like they belong anywhere else. You already know.

Wrong turn.

Still… you keep walking. You can’t just stand there forever. Footsteps echo faintly behind you—

No.

Not behind. Ahead.

A woman’s walking toward you down the street. Relaxed. Almost lazy.

Like she has nowhere to be.

Bright green hair spikes out in sharp, unnatural angles, catching what little light there is. Neon against gray. Her clothes are just as loud—tight, synthetic, layered, chaotic. Everything about her clashes with the dead stillness around her.

And she’s smiling. Not at anything. Just… smiling. Until she sees you. Her eyes lock onto yours instantly. You freeze for half a second too long. She notices.

Of course she does.

Her smile changes. Not bigger—sharper. Like she just found something interesting. You feel it immediately—that shift. Shoulders tightening, stomach pulling in just a little. Instinct.

She keeps walking. Doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t blink.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Closer now.

Up close, it’s worse. Pale blue eyes, wide and unblinking. Piercings catching the light. That expression—too amused, too aware. She stops just a little too close.

Tilts her head.

“New,” she says, accent thick, voice low but carrying. Not a question. A statement. Her gaze drags over you like she’s taking inventory.

“Mm.”

A quiet hum of approval—or maybe curiosity. Hard to tell.

“You walk wrong,” she adds casually. “Like you still think this place… has rules.”

A small pause.

Then she leans in just slightly, close enough that you catch the faint scent of chemicals and something burnt. Her grin widens.

“I like that.”

She straightens again, rocking back on her heels, hands slipping into her jacket like this is just another conversation.

“Name?” she asks, like she already expects an answer. Then, without waiting—

“Zelyonka.”

A beat. Her smile doesn’t drop.

“Don’t worry,” she adds, almost playfully.

“I only ruin people who look boring.”