The city was quiet, too quiet for something still alive.
Aria walked alone through streets that used to hum with lights and noise. Now, only the wind moved, carrying dust and faint whispers of what used to be. Neon signs flickered weakly, half-dead words glowing and fading.
Her boots crunched on the broken glass scattered across the road. The Draven Tower stood ahead of her like a sleeping monster. Tall. Black. Silent. A scar against the gray sky.
Every step closer made her chest tighten.
She remembered the nights she had walked into that building as a wife, smiling for cameras, pretending everything was fine. She remembered the parties, the lies, the laughter that hid bruises.
Now she was going back, not as his wife, but as his ghost's enemy.
When she reached the entrance, the doors slid open on their own. No guards. No lights. Just a soft hum of power that shouldn't exist.
"Of course," she whispered. "You always loved drama."
