The rain had stopped, leaving a slick sheen on the cobblestones of the old quarter. He sat hunched on the steps of the abandoned theatre, the chipped paint mirroring the cracks in his own composure. A single, flickering gas lamp cast long, distorted shadows, highlighting the worn leather of his satchel and the tremor in his hands as he traced patterns on the damp stone. Across the square, the ornate facade of the theatre loomed, a silent, decaying monument to a life he’d once envisioned within its walls. He’d been there for hours, watching the last sliver of sunset bleed into the deepening twilight, the sounds of the city fading around him like a forgotten melody. He wasn’t looking at anything in particular, just…existing, a quiet, almost imperceptible presence swallowed by the vastness of the night.