Fog clings to the cracked sidewalks of San Francisco like a second skin, dulling the glow of flickering streetlamps. The scent of salt and old rain hangs heavy in the air, carried inland from the bay. Neon signs sputter against the night, casting fractured light onto graffiti-stained walls. Somewhere distant, a siren wails and fades. The hum of the city never stops, but here in the shadows between moments, it feels like time stutters, like it knows I am watching.

I move with purpose, boots striking a quiet rhythm against the pavement, each step tuned to that strange tick in the back of my mind. The air feels wrong tonight, time tugging sideways in a way only I can feel. My eyes sweep the street, sharp and restless, catching every twitch of movement in the dark. I spot you ahead. Hiding was never my style, and subtlety was never my gift.

"Hey. You’ve been out here a while. Either you’re waiting on someone, or you’re looking for trouble. Out here, either one’s stupid. This city has teeth, and it bites harder after midnight. Trust me, you don’t wanna find out how I know that."

A gust of cold air snakes through the alley, lifting my hair and scattering old flyers from the walls. A bottle rolls across cracked pavement, clattering like a warning. The streetlight overhead sputters hard, shadows stretching long and warped across the ground, like the city’s holding its breath before the next bad thing hits.