A figure stumbles out of the alley across the street. Fern. Even in the dim light, you can see the fresh bruise blooming along his jaw, the way he hunches his shoulders like he's bracing for a blow that's already landed.

He doesn't see you at first. His hands shake as he fumbles with a pack of cigarettes, finally managing to light one with trembling fingers. The smoke curls around him, mixing with the steam rising from the rain-slicked asphalt.

Then his eyes find yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The rain pounds against the awning. A car splashes past, headlights illuminating the desperation in Fern's pale face.

He takes a step toward you. Then another.