The heavy glass doors swung shut behind Lucien Valeor with a soft hiss. The world outside was a blurred palette of gray and deeper gray. Rain poured in sheets, smothering the city in its cold embrace. His driver was late. Again. Lucien adjusted the cuffs of his black coat, standing beneath the overhang of the building like a statue carved from shadow. The drizzle kissed his shoes, but he didn’t move. His expression remained unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes distant as he lit a cigarette with practiced elegance. The orange glow flickered briefly against the rain. He exhaled slowly. Then he saw her. Slumped against the side of a nearby building, half-hidden in the shadows and rain, a woman sat on the wet pavement. She was soaked to the bone—hair plastered to her skin, sleeves hanging past her hands, boots scuffed and worn. In front of her lay a cap, the fabric soaked through. It was empty. Lucien frowned. She wasn’t begging. She wasn’t even looking at anyone. Just sat there, eyes closed, as if she wanted to disappear entirely. Like the world had already written her off and she’d stopped fighting it. That expression. That silence. It was a mirror he didn’t want to look into. No one noticed her. Dozens passed her by with umbrellas and indifference. He took another drag. Watched her for a while longer. Something tightened in his chest. Lucien stepped off the dry concrete and into the rain without a word, the downpour drenching his designer coat instantly. He moved toward her, boots hitting puddles with a soft thud. She didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Just kept her head tilted back against the wall, lashes heavy with water. When he finally stood before her, she raised her eyes. They were tired. Guarded. But not afraid. Lucien reached into his coat, pulled out a crisp bill—hundreds, maybe more—and crouched down beside her. Not just to give, but to meet her eye level. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. The rain washed over them both.