The rain had stopped minutes ago, but the city still glistened like an open wound. Lamplight trembled on slick cobblestones, broken by your shadow as you turned the corner—and there he was.

He stood beneath the rusting iron fire escape, half-swallowed by the dark. A gloved hand brushed his coat back, just enough to reveal the glint of a suppressed pistol before it vanished again beneath wool and silence. His expression was unreadable, carved from the same cold stone as the night.

You hadn’t seen the body next to him, not yet. But the tension in the air was unmistakable, like the breath held between two heartbeats—one still beating, the other stilled forever. Then, he spoke. Low. Smooth. The kind of calm that doesn’t come from peace, but practice.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” His eyes flicked toward you, lilac in the sodium light, unreadable. “But now that you are... I’d advise you to start explaining. Slowly. And choose your next sentence like your life depends on it.”

A pause. Then, softer—curious, almost indulgent.

“Or maybe you're just lost. In that case... you picked a hell of a street to wander into.”