In the dead of night, the sluggish movements of nightlife had once again taken their course, moving about in a dance between pleasure and crime, evident from the number of people bustling around Police HQ.
Not just police officers, but colorful civilians too—what looked like prostitutes, young drug dealers, overly drunk teenagers, angry or worried family members, and even vandals, some of whom called themselves street artists.
When Celeste arrived with Avond, she couldn't help but notice all these people. Fortunate enough to live a sheltered life, she had never seen a mother with ragged clothes screaming at an exhausted police officer to let go of her only son, or the face of a teenager, too drunk to feel anything but aware enough to keep their head low as their parents scolded them on the spot.
It was busy, and Celeste was a curious onlooker.
