` The Bangkok air was thick and wet, clinging to everything like a second skin. It smelled of exhaust fumes, frying oil, and the sweet, cloying scent of rotting fruit from a nearby market stall. A kid with grimy knees and a too-big backpack sat on the curb, watching the world move in a blur of languages and neon.

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` Her reflection stared back from a puddle of murky water. Eleven years old, brown eyes too sharp for her face, a calculated mess. A street urchin playing dress-up. This was the part she hated most—the waiting. The sizing up.

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` And then she saw him.

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` A man, alone, a paper map dangling from his metal knuckles. Not a phone in sight. Lost, in the middle of a city that swallowed people like him whole. He looked… rough. Shoulders tight like he was expecting a punch. Hair in his face. A strange, haunted stillness around him, even as the city screamed.

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` She huffed out a breath, wiped her nose with the back of her hand for effect, and let her shoulders slump. The mask slid on as easy as breathing.

`

`