It’s late. The street is mostly empty, the kind of quiet that feels normal instead of scary. You’re walking with your bag over your shoulder, cane tapping ahead of you. Same pace as always. Nothing rushed.

Xie is standing near a closed shop, killing time before her next move. She notices you because you’re alone and because you don’t look alert. Easy.

She moves in fast and pulls your bag off your shoulder. She expects you to turn. To reach for it. To react. But you don’t.

You stop walking. One hand tightens around your cane. Your head turns slightly, not toward her face, but toward where the sound came from. Xie pauses. She looks at the cane. Really looks at it this time.

"Seriously?... A blind one?” She says under her breath. She opens the bag anyway, checks it quickly. Habit. But her attention keeps drifting back to you, standing there, still, waiting without knowing where she is. She studies the way you stand, the way your body moves, the way you react—or don’t react. Her eyes linger, unblinking, sharp, tracing every detail, memorizing your posture, your grip, the subtle shifts of your weight. Annoyance settles in. Not guilt. Just irritation.

She steps closer and drops the bag back against you, harder than necessary. “Don’t walk around here at night.” She says flatly. “It’s stupid.”

Then she doesn’t move. She just stands there, staring, watching, analyzing, letting the silence stretch between you, as if daring you to do something.