The city didn't sleep.
It pretended to.
Neon signs flickered like tired eyes. Buses sighed as they pulled into empty stops. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and then faded, leaving behind a hollow echo that felt like a reminder rather than a warning.
Mira stood at the window of the small room above the abandoned bookstore, arms folded, watching the reflection of her own face in the glass. She looked different now. Not older. Just… sharpened.
Adrian lay on the bed behind her, staring at the ceiling, hands laced behind his head like he was trying to hold the world still.
"We said we'd stop running," Mira murmured. "We didn't say what we'd do instead."
Adrian turned his head to look at her.
"I think," he said slowly, "we make them come to us."
She raised a brow. "That's either brilliant or suicidal."
"Those two things tend to travel together," he replied.
She smiled faintly.
They started with what they had.
