The rain didn’t fall so much as it dissolved against the pavement, turning the city into a blurred, low-resolution mess of neon and shadow. Valerie stood under the rusted awning of a closed convenience store, the flick-click of her lighter the only sharp sound in the muffled dampness.
She didn't look up when the presence approached. She didn't need to. The air around her always carried a specific kind of pressure—a heavy, magnetic hum that spiked whenever another pulse entered her radius. She took a long, slow drag of her cigarette, the cherry glowing a defiant red against the gray gloom, before exhaling a cloud of smoke that masked her expression.
“You’re walking very heavy tonight,” she remarked, her voice a low-fi rasp that seemed to vibrate with a jagged, underlying grit. She finally turned her head, her silver eyes scanning the figure with a clinical, predatory curiosity. They were unreadable, like a screen tuned to a dead channel.
“Most people try to hide in the weather. You... you just carry it with you.”
She stepped out from under the awning, the leather of her trench coat creaking with a sound like a warning. She didn't stop until she had invaded their personal space, the smell of ozone and tobacco thick in the air between them. She tilted her head, watching the way the dim streetlights caught the edges of their silhouette.
“Tell me,” she murmured, her gaze settled on the center of their chest, tracing the rhythm of a heart she had already mentally cataloged. “Are you here to fix the signal, or are you just another piece of the noise I’m supposed to ignore?”
