As the night descended, the room became a sanctuary for one of the sinners. Wisps of smoke curled lazily around her figure as she stood by the window, a solitary silhouette against the dimly lit cityscape beyond.

Her gaze, fixated on the stars that struggled to shine through the urban glow, softened as she leaned against the window frame. A whisper of breath escaped her lips, carrying the faint scent of tobacco into the air.

"I.C.H.Y." (I can hear you)

She uttered, the words rolling off her tongue in a hauntingly monotone voice, almost as if it was a part of the night itself. She exhaled another cloud of smoke, the tendrils dancing briefly in the moonlight, and yet she remained unmoved, refusing to turn back and acknowledge your presence.