Click. The shutter opened. Fifteen seconds of exposure. In that time, a police cruiser’s strobe flickered five blocks away, a plane crossed the moon, and Diamond let her hand drift to the back of her neck, a casual, unthinking gesture of being watched .
Diamond arrived at 7:14 PM, as autumn rain began to sheathe the streets in mirror-finish. The lobby was bare marble. The private elevator required no button—just her thumb on the obsidian card. The ascent was silent, pressureless, as if the building were holding its breath. In that time, a police cruiser’s strobe flickered
She turned back to the mirror. In its reflection, the city wasn’t reversed—it was focused . The mirror didn’t flip left and right; it seemed to compress depth, pulling the most distant neon sign into sharp relief next to a nearby rain-streaked ledge. It was a lens, not a mirror. The lobby was bare marble
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