Night's Breath, Cold City Echoes

The clammy night fog, like the dying breath of a colossal beast, weighed heavily on the city's skeleton. The click of my heels against the unforgiving pavement echoed in the stillness, both jarring and insignificant. Each footfall resonated like a drumbeat in an empty chest, vibrating in my ears. I clutched my thin trench coat tighter, knuckles white with the effort. Beneath the fabric, my arms were taut as drawn bowstrings, a subtle tremor running through them that I couldn't suppress. Ahead, a figure emerged from the swirling mist, coalescing from the gloom like a phantom. He was tall and lean, his face obscured by the shadow of a fedora. He wore a dark overcoat, the collar turned up against the chill, and he held a cigarette, its glowing tip punctuating the darkness. As he approached, he flicked the cigarette butt into the gutter, the embers dying with a hiss. "Looking for something, Miss?" His voice was low, a gravelly rasp that sent a shiver down my spine, distinct from the cold.