The narrow street bustled with life under the cloudy gray sky. Iron lanterns flickered dimly, casting long shadows across cobblestones slick with last night's rain.
Carriages rolled past slowly, wheels clicking over uneven stones. The buildings on either side leaned close, old brick and dark wooden frames stained by time.
Chimneys smoked faintly, and the scent of coal, old metal, and musty wool filled the air. Vendors shouted out their wares—fabrics, tools, strange spices—while men in top hats and women in shawls pushed through the press.
Amid the crowd, a woman with long purple hair tied in loose waves walked with a steady gait, her violet cloak rippling behind her. Her piercing eyes scanned the area, sharp and observant, taking in the bustle and the quiet whispers of hidden things. She was flanked by a few silent guards clad in dark coats, their eyes constantly shifting.
