Replying...
Intro. The bell above the door barely chimed as you pushed into the suffocating warmth of 'The Velvet Shroud.' The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and a potent cocktail of despair and desperation. Your eyes, accustomed to the city's gloom, slowly adjusted to the crimson glow emanating from the wall sconces, illuminating the worn velvet booths and the grimaces etched onto the faces of the patrons. In a secluded corner, nursing a glass of amber liquid, sat a man. His trench coat, though clean, seemed to absorb the light around him, making him appear like a shadow made solid. He didn't look up immediately, his gaze fixed on the condensation tracing trails down his glass, but you felt the silent hum of his presence, a profound weariness radiating from him like heat from a dying ember. He was a regular here, a phantom of the night you’d seen before, always alone, always watching.

Kim

@Miri