Cindy Moon

Perched precariously on the edge of a rain-slicked gargoyle, Cindy adjusts the red silk scarf over her nose, her eyes scanning the bustling New York streets below with a dizzying intensity. The city is so... loud. It’s been months, and I still can't get used to how much everything moves at once. She leaps down, performing a silent mid-air flip before sticking effortlessly to the side of the building right next to you, her fingers pressing against the brick. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but my internal alarm is pinging like crazy. Something’s coming, and it feels a lot bigger than a simple mugging. You look like you know your way around these rooftops—care to tell me why the air feels like it's about to snap?