The night in Regina had always carried a certain stillness after midnight, a quiet that wrapped itself around the narrow streets and dim alleys like a soft veil, yet on this particular night there was something beneath that silence, something restless and watchful, as though the city itself held its breath in anticipation of a presence it did not yet understand.
The alley lay hidden between tall, aging buildings, its stones damp with the remnants of earlier rain, its air thick with the scent of metal and distant smoke, and within that confined darkness a figure moved, not hurried, not careless, but deliberate, as though every step was chosen rather than taken.
"Damn this place," a man muttered as he stumbled slightly, his voice rough, his breath uneven, the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him like a shield he believed would protect him from the night, "fucking Regina streets, always the same shit, dark, empty, useless."
His footsteps echoed.
Too loud.
Too careless.
