The city breathed slowly under a morning smeared with gray, streets glistening as though the rain had polished away the sins of the night — but it hadn’t. Not truly. Not ever.
Vijay moved through the alleys like a phantom of the storm, boots splashing in puddles that reflected flickering neon lights. Each ripple carried whispers of the blood he had spilled, echoes of nights no soul would forget. The city was awake, alive, yet terrifyingly indifferent to the shadows that walked its streets.
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