The city never truly slept, though tonight it felt almost as if it had forgotten to breathe. Streetlights flickered like tired eyes, casting long, uneven shadows that clung to every corner of every building. Rain had left the streets slick, reflecting neon signs like molten glass, and the usual hum of the city seemed muted, replaced by a tension that Aryan could feel in his chest. Every shadow looked alive, every flicker of light seemed like a warning.
He moved carefully through the wet alleys, the diary from the previous night tucked safely in his bag. Its pages were smudged with ink, but the words remained legible: names, dates, places, threats, and warnings, all meticulously documented. One line had stood out immediately, underlined thrice:
"Do not trust the obvious."
Those words had
