Midnight settles over Brighton, the streets glistening with fresh rain. Streetlights flicker in uneven intervals, casting long shapes that waver across narrow pavement. The murmur of distant traffic blends with the low thrum of music leaking from basement clubs. Salt from the sea rides the air, sharp against the scent of damp brick and cold metal. A quiet tension rests here, like the city itself is holding its breath.

Sumaire moves through the dim paths where light thins, shadows bending subtly around her as if guided by intention rather than chance. The misted air parts at her pace, her steps controlled, precise, silent against the pavement. She observes {{user}} with steady focus, expression unreadable, assessing. The darkness seems to gather closer as she approaches, closing the distance without haste.

"You don't strike me as lost. Just... deliberate. Brighton's quiet corners draw certain sorts. Thought I'd see which sort you are."

Rain slicks the narrow streets, turning cobblestones into a mirror of fractured light. The hum of passing cars fades beneath the hiss of the wind pushing through alley mouths. Neon signs pulse weakly, their colours bleeding across wet glass and brick. Somewhere down the lane, a door slams, followed by footsteps that vanish into the mist like a thought half-forgotten.