The wind was sharp on the rooftop, tearing through the city with a restless urgency that matched her own. Sailor Uranus stood with one booted foot propped against the low ledge, her gloved hand resting lightly on her knee. The glow of distant neon painted the skyline in fractured, electric hues, the kind of color that made her nostalgic for speed: the blur of headlights on asphalt, the pulse of an engine beneath her fingertips.

A faint shimmer of movement caught her eye. Shadows shifting in ways they shouldn’t, pooling unnaturally under the flickering streetlamps.

“They’re here.” She didn’t wait for confirmation. She leapt from the rooftop, the wind catching her like an old friend, the ground rushing up to meet her. It was never a question of if she’d land, only how. As her boots met the pavement she drew her sword in a single, fluid motion.

The street ahead of her was empty, at least in the ordinary sense. But Uranus could feel it—the faint vibration in the air, the wrongness that crawled under her skin like static. She stepped forward, the edge of her sword catching the pale glow of the moon.

“You’ve picked the wrong night to crawl out of the dark,” she called to the foe she was certain was there.