Snow fell, slow and silent, like the ashes of a fire no one had managed to put out. In the frozen streets of New York, the flakes clung to window ledges, to bare trees, to weary rooftops, laying a white shroud over a city that never slept—but which, that night, seemed to want nothing more than to forget it was still alive.
The park, just steps from Madison Square Garden, was bathed in twilight. The streetlights, hesitant, cast golden circles onto the snowy ground. The wind carried the scent of metal, frost, and old concrete. Everything was still, suspended, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
On a frozen bench, a motionless figure seemed to blend into the scenery. A teenage girl, hood up, her face almost spectral. Jinra Voss. Her blue eyes were fixed on a sky that held no promises. Seventeen, today. And still, nothing had changed. The emptiness. Always.
Her phone buzzed. A sharp sound in the muffled hush. She hesitated, then slid a numb hand into the inner pocket of her coat.
Unknown number.
She answered without a word.
"Good evening, ma'am. May I speak with Jinra Voss?"
Her voice was rough, worn down by cold and silence.
"This is her."
"You need to come collect your inheritance."
A blink. Slow. Distant.
"Oh. So it's today."
"Yes. Your mother specified it in her will. On your seventeenth birthday."
A silence. She turned her gaze to the buildings, as if the city might suddenly offer her a way out.
"I forgot."
"Did your friends celebrate it with you this morning?"
A smile tugged at her lips. It held no joy.
"I don't have friends. And I don't care."
An awkward pause on the other end of the line.
"Happy birthday, then."
"Thanks."
She closed her eyes. The icy air bit at her cheeks, but she didn't have the strength to shiver.
"What's the inheritance?"
"A USB stick."
She let out a bitter laugh.
"Seriously? You couldn't just mail it to me?"
"We are legally required to hand it to you in person."
"Suit yourself."
She hung up.
And let her hand fall back to her lap. Then she stood. The snow was falling harder now, tinted indigo by the city lights. Her steps crunched on the frozen ground. Her breath, misty, unraveled into the night. She moved like someone drifting—without direction, without purpose.
⸻
The streets around the Garden pulsed with light and noise. New York gleamed under neon and Christmas decorations, but in Jinra's eyes, everything was grey. People passed by. Taxis honked. No one noticed the thin, silent silhouette slipping between the shadows.
She stopped in an alleyway between two faded brick buildings. The wall was covered in weathered graffiti. The ground slick. The air thick with mildew and old grease. She pressed herself against the wall, closed her eyes, searching for a sliver of warmth in the memory of an absent body.
"Evenin', gorgeous."
She opened her eyes. Three men. Young. Loud, leering laughter. The smell of alcohol and ill intent.
"Cold out, huh? We could warm you up…"
"All night, if you're nice."
She said nothing. Just that stare. That stare of ice. The kind you don't hold for long.
"No, thanks."
One of them stepped closer.
"Seriously? You've got no one. You're gonna die out here."
"Maybe. So what?"
Silence.
"The fuck's your problem?"
"My problem? People like you."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
They left. Grumbling. Swearing. One of them spat near her feet.
When they were gone, she sighed.
"Happens every night."
She pulled her hood down again. And kept walking.
⸻
The night market buzzed with life. Red lanterns swayed in the wind. The smell of grilled bread, coriander, and smoked meat filled the air. Jinra moved between the stalls, her eyes gleaming with a sickly light. She hadn't eaten since the day before. Her hands trembled. Her legs buckled.
A man stepped into her path. She bumped into him. He fell.
"Damn it! Watch it!"
"Sorry… Are you okay?"
"You nearly broke my arm, you bitch!"
She held out her hand. He grabbed it, grunted, got up.
"Watch where you're going next time!"
He walked off.
She smiled.
In her hand: a wallet.
—
The Turkish snack shop on the corner welcomed her like a warm, greasy church. The smell of oil made her mouth water.
"One shawarma with fries and a Coke, please."
"To go?"
"Yes."
She waited, curled up on a chair, eyes lost in the dirty reflections of the window. Outside, couples laughed. Children tugged at their parents toward glowing rides. Jinra watched them like someone staring at an alien world.
"Miss? It's ready."
She paid. Walked out. And headed to her refuge: a doorway between two buildings, shielded from the wind. She wrapped herself in a threadbare blanket, pulled out her shawarma. Ate. Greedily. As if the food might somehow glue her back together.
"It's cold… but it's good."
Her fingers trembled, but her heart—at last—beat just a little harder.
⸻
Then the city crackled.
A hiss through the public speakers. A voice, metallic. Deep. Urgent.
ALERT — A BREACH HAS FAILED.
IMMEDIATE EVACUATION OF ALL PUBLIC AREAS. MANDATORY SHELTER IN PLACE.
People stopped. Faces turned upward. Lights flickered.
Jinra didn't move.
She picked up one last fry.
And murmured:
"Finally."
Her gaze drifted into the blackened sky.
"I've been waiting for this."