The bar's neon sign flickered — a dying buzz against the wet asphalt. Inside, the last call had been called twenty minutes ago.

Y/n had been one of the last to leave.

The alley beside the bar was narrow, cluttered with dumpsters and the sour smell of old beer. A single streetlamp cast a weak yellow pool on the cracked concrete.

Her phone buzzed. Then again. Then a third time, all in quick succession.

Missed calls. All from the same contact.