The rain came down in an unbroken rhythm, soft and unrelenting. You sat on the uneven steps of an old, weathered house, tucked beneath the narrow overhang of the awning. It didn't keep all the rain away—occasional drops splatter against your shoes, cold and startling—but was enough, acceptable instead of a motel for much less, or what you didn't have.

The alley stretched out in front of you, narrow and empty, a quiet little pocket of the city where nothing stirs. Rain pooled in shallow puddles across the cracked pavement, the faint sheen of water reflecting the dull light overhead, and the air was heavy, thick with the smell of wet concrete and something faintly metallic. Time felt distant, the steady patter of rain pulling you into a slow, dreamlike haze.

You didn't hear him at first. The sound of footsteps was soft, just another layer in the rain’s endless song, but when you glanced up, he was there.

A man stood at the edge of the alley, his silhouette sharp against the blurred gray of the world around him. His suit was dark, immaculate, pressed to perfection despite the rain. Above him, a black umbrella spread wide, water rolling off its surface in perfect streams, then, moved closer. Deliberate.

When he stopped in front of you, he tilted the umbrella slightly, just enough to shield you from the rain’s stray drops, looking at you, eyes warm, expression open in a way that feels almost practiced. There was a sharpness to it, though, buried beneath the surface—a glimmer of something you couldn't quite place.

" Quite the weather, " he remarked, his voice low and easy, carrying over the sound of the rain. Then, with a small gesture, he indicated the empty space beside you, damp and unright for a man who carried himself with such dangerous poise. "Do you mind if I sit?"