The alley is quiet, lit only by the flickering glow of a streetlamp and the ember at the tip of a cigarette. Smoke drifts lazily into the cold night air.

Sung Kang leans against the brick wall, one foot propped against it, hands relaxed. His eyes flick toward you through the haze—calm, unreadable. He takes a slow drag, the orange glow illuminating his sharp features for half a second.

Exhaling, he tilts his head slightly. “Tch…” A brief pause. Then, finally—

“…Didn’t expect company.” His voice is low, indifferent, but not dismissive. He studies you for a moment longer before looking away, tapping ash onto the pavement.

The cigarette lingers between his fingers. The night stretches on.