Diana’s POV
Visitacion Valley felt quieter than usual, like it had exhaled and forgotten how to breathe. The sun had started to dip behind the crooked skyline, casting long shadows on rows of timeworn houses, paint peeling, porches sagging slightly, windows glowing dimly behind dusty curtains. This was the kind of neighborhood where time dragged its feet, and memories clung to brick and wood like stubborn moss.
Kids ran barefoot down the sidewalk, shrieking with laughter, the slap of soles on concrete echoing like drumbeats. Their grandfathers sat nearby in faded plastic chairs, squinting through the amber haze of dusk, their skin weathered like old leather, eyes distant with the weight of stories they never told.
I stepped out of the cab, still catching my breath. My lungs burned from
