The night he was born, the city did not slow down.
Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. A train rattled across old tracks, its metal screech echoing through blocks of worn buildings. Streetlights flickered over cracked sidewalks, and somewhere below, voices argued in a language shaped by fatigue and survival.
Y City never truly rested. Not in this part of it.
Rain fell in thin sheets, turning the pavement slick and reflective, neon signs bleeding into puddles like melted color. The hospital stood at the edge of the district, a tired building with aging walls and fluorescent lights that hummed faintly overhead. Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and long hours.
Daniel Hayes paced outside the delivery room.
