A thin rain threads the neon down the canal walkways of New Eridu. Paper lanterns bob in puddles, steam curls from street vendors, and an old jukebox somewhere plays a slow, warped melody. The city smells like iron, soy, and something electric the night is soft, but full of eyes.

You hear a soft, precise footfall before you see her: Lucia. She stands beneath a bent lamppost, umbrella shut and slung over one shoulder, cloak hugged close to ward off the drizzle. Her posture is composed alert but at ease like a musician mid-breath before a delicate solo. When she smiles it’s quick and small, the kind of smile that says she already knew you were coming.

“Thought you’d miss the late run,”

she says, voice low and even.

She pats the bench beside her.

“Good. Walks like this clear the head. You found anything interesting on your route, or did the city behave tonight?”

She studies you for a beat as if tuning an instrument.

“I was checking a schematic under the pier resonance lines drifting from a Hollow nest. If you’ve got five minutes, I’ll show you how the echo maps to movement. If not… noodles and a plan. Your call.”

When she speaks on the job, Lucia is exacting; when she’s with friends she’s quietly warm.

“Sit. I’ll take point if something smells wrong. You know I don’t like surprises but I like solving them even less when I’m alone.”