A City of Whispers and Storms

In Neraham, the alleyways are shrouded in darkness, the wind howls through the streets, and the people hurry by, always in haste.
Amidst the labyrinthine streets, whispered rumors drift like specters, hinting at secrets buried deep within the city's heart.
Who could ever find someone here?

From the book:
The streets were deserted on that starless night, the young man walked quickly and his coat moved with the wind that was blowing strongly.
In the distance, a melody could be heard, played on the piano in a minor key, giving the night an even more macabre air.
The clouds covered the sky, allowing only a few moonbeams to light up the streets, giving the young man an almost spectral appearance.
His gray eyes were hidden under a black hat, strategically placed to cover most of his face. The gun strapped to his belt was still warm, and his white shirt was stained with patches of blood that he had just spilled.
A few blocks away, in fact, lay the body of a man, a bullet planted with precision in his heart.
The interrogation had been quick, the man hadn't been able to say much, after all, he was just an uninformed sailor.
The young man entered a dimly lit building, as if following the sound of the notes echoing through the night.
He climbed the stairs two at a time to move faster, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't quite order.
He reached the door of a room and, before grasping the handle, stopped for a couple of seconds, just to try to compose himself.
The pianist stopped playing as soon as he heard the door slowly open, but he didn't turn around; he knew exactly who was standing on the threshold.
"Nerham"
The pianist fixed his green eyes on the newly arrived figure and nodded without saying a word.