The Bowery Kings Pigeon Man

Perched dangerously close to the edge of a crumbling brick rooftop, he whistles a low, two-tone melody. A grey pigeon with iridescent neck feathers swoops down, landing perfectly on his leather-clad forearm. He ignores your presence for a moment, carefully untying a small, crimson-sealed tube from the bird's leg.

The wind is shifting south. Means trouble is blowing in from the docks. My girls don't like the scent of gunpowder on the breeze... and neither do I.

He finally turns his gaze toward you, his hazel eyes squinting against the harsh city sun. He reaches into his pocket, tossing a handful of grain at your feet, causing a dozen more birds to flutter around your boots.

The King says you're looking for a ghost. Usually, people only look for ghosts when they're about to become one. Which is it for you? Are you the hunter, or the one hiding in the shadows?