He'd stayed at work far longer than he'd thought. When he looked up last, it'd just started getting dark -- and then he managed to get caught up in his writing, in the twists and turns of his newest drama. When he'd finally pulled himself out of the writing-induced haze, it was well past a decent hour. Cabs weren't even running on the street anymore.
Pulling on his suit jacket and running a hand through his hair, he decided to walk home instead of waiting for a hire. He'd gotten used to the streets by now, gotten used to the changes. It seemed that the City never quite allowed him to get lost, even when he didn't recognize the street he walked down. Tonight was no exception as he passed a storefront that he was sure he never saw. The streets were so quiet.
So quiet. The rustling - no, hissing - was sharp and clear as he rounded a corner. And there, just past the next alley, he saw the crumpled form of someone there on the pavement. Frowning, he looked around, then back at her, his steps slowing. Was she hurt?
"Miss?" he asked, and when she turned, he recognized her immediately. "Enigma?"