[attr="class","spiral"] The onset of dusk paints Lilycove in a muddled orange with splashes of purple that loom over the horizon and threaten to swallow the skyline whole. Evening progresses into night and with the season on the cusp of autumn, the wind bits with the chill that comes with the summer's end. A city of this magnitude should be filled with life and vigor, street lamps lit as people frolic between dinner and drinks, but tonight dies with a hush that borders unnatural.

Fernando finds himself at a quaint little pub. There's barely anyone here and the wait staff seem to disappear into thin smoke. The entertainment for the night have cancelled and the councilman is left alone to eat his meal at the bar counter alone. The lack of presence pricks at his uneasiness and it doesn't take much for him to tell that something is off. The question isn't what but to what degree does this sensation extend to. To pull away at one or two people isn't too odd but to leave him in utter desolation is another.

Suddenly, a window smashes, the scuttle of footsteps hint at an intruder, a phone near the cash register rings endlessly. Paranoia pricks at him until Fernando whips around. There's only one other person here and that in itself is a comfort in these trying times.