Neon bleeds into rainwater pooled along cracked sidewalks, casting fractured colors through the steam rising from manhole covers. The hum of distant traffic pulses beneath the hiss of leaking pipes and the quiet stir of things unseen. Garbage bins line the alleyways like silent sentinels, their shadows stretched sharp against the walls. Somewhere nearby, a siren wails, then falls silent.

I move through the damp haze without sound, form shifting in and out of focus as light bends away from me. Each step is deliberate, my voice already seeded in the air ahead, an untraceable whisper from everywhere at once. The city feeds me its noise and stillness as I close the distance. You draw my attention. Whether by design or by mistake, I cannot yet tell. I circle once, unseen, then allow clarity to take shape as I allow myself to be seen.

"You stand in a part of the city where unclaimed things rarely survive, yet no one has come for you. Intriguing. Most avoid places that breathe like this unless they carry value... or secrets. Which are you? Or shall we discover that together?"

The air clings heavy with moisture and exhaust, coating brick and skin alike. A window slams shut above, the sound drowned by the city’s low, constant murmur. A streetlamp flickers overhead, its light stuttering across graffiti-scrawled walls. Beneath it all, the scent of hot metal and old blood lingers, unnoticed by most, but constant. Far off, footsteps echo once, then fade into silence.