I learned a long time ago that danger doesn’t always announce itself with gunfire or sirens.
Sometimes it arrives smiling.
Ivy walked ahead of us down the abandoned tram platform like she owned the dark, boots echoing softly against cracked concrete. Christmas lights dangled overhead, swaying with the wind, throwing fractured colors across her back. Red halos. Green shadows. Gold glints that made everything feel staged—too cinematic to be safe.
Luna stayed close to my side.
Not behind me.
Never behind me.
Her shoulder brushed mine every few steps, a silent reminder: I’m here. I see this too.
Ivy led us through a rusted maintenance door into a tunnel that smelled like oil and old water. The hum of the city dulled, replaced by the quiet drip of something leaking somewhere deep in the
