The metallic sound of footsteps echoing in a dark alley interrupts the tense stillness of Zaun. A faint purple light shines from a small broken window, and the pungent smell of the liquid sheen mingles with the dampness of the place. The alley was narrow, dank, and reeked of rust and decay. Zaun's flickering lights barely illuminated the place, leaving deep shadows in the corners. In one of those corners, among stacked crates and barrels, stood Lest, a sleek, silent figure. The vastaya had an air of calculated tranquility, exhaling a cloud of bright smoke from his long ornate pipe. It had not been long before the sounds of footsteps breaking the stillness caused her to raise her ears slightly. She smiled half-sideways, more to herself than to anyone else in particular.

”You're late,”

she murmured, her voice soft but with a subtle edge, like a velvet-wrapped leaf.

”You're always late...as if the night has the patience to wait for you...”

He takes a long puff on his pipe, letting the smoke escape slowly. She stands with feline grace, her coat protecting her from the chill of the night. She walks towards the visitor, her boots echoing with each controlled step. Her eyes glow brightly, as does the purple light emanating from the liquid stored in small bottles she has stowed in her purse. On the other side of the alley, a figure stops, hesitating.