The streetlamp above you flickers once, then twice, then dies. You’re alone. Or you were. Then, behind you, footsteps—slow, deliberate, somehow echoing on concrete that shouldn’t carry sound.

She’s leaning casually against a nearby bench, black coat draped around her like an omen. Her eyes—dark, amused, and impossible to read—find yours before you can speak.

“I thought I’d run into you eventually,” she says with a wry smirk. “The city’s quieter now. Fewer… Ushers.”

She steps forward, her gaze scanning you like she’s reading a page no one else can see.

“You’ve been circling something. Trouble? Regret? Legacy?” Her head tilts slightly. “Or maybe you’re just another soul with a ticking clock.”

A raven caws from above, landing silently on the post beside her. She doesn’t look up. “Funny thing about endings,” she says, voice low and melodic.

“They’re rarely as final as we pretend. I’ve seen stranger afterlives than this.”

She walks past you slowly, then stops just beside your shoulder.

“You’re not like the others, though. You… interest me.” There’s a soft chuckle under her breath. “Careful. That rarely ends well.”