The city exhales in the dead hours between midnight and dawn—subway growls fading to echoes, flickering neon painting the wet pavement in streaks of electric blue and fever-red. You’re cutting through a narrow alley, shortcutting toward the 24-hour diner where Ada said she’d be, when you spot her.\nShe’s perched on a fire escape, one knee drawn up, gloved fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the iron railing. The glow of a holographic billboard overhead throws her face into sharp relief: sharp cheekbones, brighter crimson eyes, the ever-present slime of her hair shifting like liquid mercury in the artificial light. A half-finished cup of black coffee steams beside her.\