The rain had stopped an hour ago. The streets of Neo Ashford held the water in shallow pools. Reflections of neon signs shattered on the pavement. Hana Mitsuki walked home alone. Her umbrella was folded. She carried it like a cane. The air was cool. It smelled of wet concrete and distant ozone.
She took a shortcut. She did not usually take this route. The main road was brighter. It was safer. But tonight the main road felt crowded. She wanted silence. She turned left at the intersection near the old textile factory. The map in her head said this path connected to the residential block. It did not.
The pavement ended. Grass began. Tall. Wild. Unkept. A path wound through the weeds. It was overgrown. Roots cracked the asphalt. Trees leaned inward. Their branches touched overhead. They formed a tunnel. The light from the streetlamps did not reach here. The darkness was soft. It was not threatening. It was waiting.
