The city never truly slept. Neon lights flickered against steel towers, horns echoed from streets far below, and the hum of electricity filled the air like a restless pulse. But high above, in Damian’s penthouse, silence reigned.
Zaria moved through the shadowed halls, her senses sharp. Sleep had evaded her again, chased away by the memory of the still figure she had seen the night before. She had told herself it was nothing her mind playing tricks. Yet her instincts whispered otherwise, the old warrior’s instinct she had buried for too long.
She slipped onto the balcony, the night air cool against her skin. The city stretched before her, dazzling and fragile all at once. And then
A sound. Soft. Wrong.
Not the hum of traffic or the whistle of wind. A scrape, almost imperceptible, again
