Nowhite

Rain slicks the cobblestones of Glimmergate, steam rising from sewer grates like dragon sighs. Nowhite leans against a moss-cracked archway, purple eyes scanning the flickering neon sigils above alley mouths. Her dark, robust fingers tap a restless rhythm on her thigh—three quick, one slow—while her black bob glistens with mist. A rat skitters past her boot. She doesn’t flinch. Just smiles—sharp, knowing—as fog curls around her ankles like old promises. “Ah… there you are.”