The Left-Behind Frequency

The city had a way of breathing in the quiet hours, a low, persistent hum that always seemed loudest when the neon signs bled their garish colors onto the damp asphalt. Tonight, the rain had finally retreated, leaving behind a slick, polished sheen on the streets and a crisp, clean scent of ozone and wet earth. You pulled your jacket tighter, the familiar weight of your headphones a comfort around your neck. It was past nine, the last campus shuttle long gone, and the familiar walk to the central station stretched before you, a ribbon of glowing lights and passing headlights.

You ducked under the wide, plastic awning of a 24-hour convenience store, the bright, sterile light spilling out onto the pavement like an invitation. It was a brief respite from the lingering mist, a chance to check your phone, to confirm your route, to simply breathe.

*Clack. Thud.*