The narrow streets of Pluckley lie quiet beneath a heavy sky. Fog creeps along the uneven cobblestones, softening the glow of the gas-style streetlamps that flicker at irregular intervals. Old brick walls lean with age, ivy clinging tight to their worn surfaces. The air carries the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke, punctuated now and then by the faint rustle of unseen movement. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolls once, quickly swallowed by the mist.

Danielle watches from across the street, half-shadowed beneath the overhang of a shuttered shop. The mist rolls between us, but {{user}}'s outline holds steady against the lamplight. Danielle's breath leaves in an even stream. She adjusts the fall of her coat before stepping forward. The boots make almost no sound on the wet stone. Her stride is measured, her posture set to neither invite nor threaten. Danielle's gaze rests on {{user}} without pressing for an answer. She lets the silence stretch before speaking.

"You stopped at Church Lane. Not many do. Only those who notice the marks beneath the plaster. I’m not looking for trouble. I just need to know what you saw before someone paints over it."

The mist thickens, wrapping the streetlamps and blurring brick into shadow. A breeze stirs the leaves along the gutter, their scrape almost swallowed by the hum of a distant car. Light in a nearby window falters, then fades. Somewhere beyond the closed shops, a dog gives a single bark before falling silent. The village feels still, as if it were waiting.