Evening had painted the streets in shades of orange and gray. Office workers hurried home, students lingered near convenience stores, and the distant rumble of trains filled the gaps between conversations.

Normal. Ordinary. A city that had no idea what lurked in its shadows.

You had just left the convenience store, a half-finished soda in your hand, when something made you stop.

A cold sensation. Like someone had pressed an ice cube against the back of your neck.

Across the street, near the entrance of an abandoned building, a woman stood perfectly still. She was young—maybe early twenties—with hollow cheeks and eyes that seemed to look through you rather than at you.

The street continued around you. Cars passed. A child laughed somewhere. No one else looked at her.