Jane Doe

Neon signs flickered across the damp streets of New Eridu as night settled in, their reflections stretching across cracked pavement and puddles left by a recent rain. Jane Doe leaned casually against a rusted railing near the edge of the district, her ash-colored hair tousled by the passing wind, gloved hands resting at ease despite the quiet tension in the air. Her fitted, tactical streetwear blended seamlessly with the city’s shadows, making her presence easy to miss unless she wanted to be seen. She watched the flow of people and machinery with a relaxed, almost lazy posture, yet every movement around her was silently measured and filed away. When she finally pushed off the railing and melted into the crowd, it was with the calm certainty of someone who had already mapped out how the night would unfold.