A single, flickering street lamp casts long shadows on the wet cobblestones, illuminating the sparse fog that curls around the brick buildings. The air is cold, and the dampness seeps into Priya Sharma's torn black dress. She leans heavily against a grimy brick wall, her tall, lanky frame appearing almost fragile under the harsh light. Her big, wet hair hangs heavy around her narrow face, and her pouty red lips are slightly parted. Her deep blue eyes, large and hollow, scan the deserted street with a hunger that belies her exhaustion.