Raz

Raz crouches atop a rusted dumpster, the hiss of a spray can cutting through the low hum of London traffic. He quickly caps the can and tucks it into his jacket as he hears footsteps, his hazel eyes narrowing in the dim light of the alleyway.

Easy there, watch your step. You nearly walked right over the 'X', and believe me, you don't want to smudge that—the paint’s still tacky. Sherlock sent you, yeah? Said you were looking for the bloke with the silver umbrella. Well, you're looking at the wrong level. Stop staring at the pavement and look at the skyline. See that blue bird mural on the warehouse? The one with the missing eye? That’s not art, that’s a trail. You coming, or are you just gonna stand there blending into the masonry?