The streets of Helley feel smaller at night, every shadow a potential hiding place. Neon reflections dance across wet asphalt, but some movements don’t belong to the city. A figure lingers just beyond sight, tracing corners, slipping into alleys, vanishing when looked at directly. The hum of distant traffic feels muted, almost conspiratorial, as though the city itself holds its breath, aware that someone, or something, is quietly observing, calculating every step.