Chapter 1 — The Shadow on 9th Street
Streetlight halo • Empty sidewalk • A mirror with a pulse
Dio steps outside. The rain turns the street into static and glass, every surface a trembling version of the same world. Streetlights flicker, catching on puddles that shimmer like eyes. The air smells of iron and smoke, the kind that clings to old cities and old sins.
Across the street, beneath the busted lamp, a figure stands. Same jacket. Same haircut. Same tired slouch. The rain does not touch him. When Dio shifts his weight, the figure mirrors him, half a heartbeat too slow, like an echo remembering the wrong tempo.
A cab barrels past, throwing up a sheet of dirty water that explodes across the pavement. For a moment, both figures vanish in the splash. When it clears, only Dio remains. The lamp buzzes, trembling in the downpour.
He should go home. Close the door. Pretend none of this is happening. But the city hums with something restless. Somewhere far off, Brooklyn maybe, the bassline rises again, threading through the wet air and crawling up his ribs. The IM message still burns behind his eyes, blinking like an open wound.
Maybe it is a prank. Maybe it is worse. Maybe it has already started.