7
The morning fog clung stubbornly to the city streets, dampening the usual hum of traffic and muffling the distant calls of street vendors. Adrian and Elena moved through it like shadows themselves, determined and unrelenting. Every sound, every movement, every flutter of wind carried potential meaning.
Emma's scrap of paper from the docks had ignited a thread of hope, fragile but unbreakable. They had spent the night poring over the city map, plotting possible locations, marking patterns, and cross-referencing every minor clue they had collected. The realization that Emma had left fragments intentionally added both urgency and a thread of optimism they weren't chasing blindly.
---
Adrian adjusted the strap of his backpack, scanning the neighborhood around the riverside docks. Elena followed closely, her boots crunching on wet gravel.
