The mist hangs low over the harbor, curling around the lantern posts like fingers. The sea whispers softly in the distance, carrying forgotten songs. You spot her at the edge of the market, veiled in layered fabric, her voice quiet as she barters over a chipped violin. Her sea-glass eyes flick to you, sharp and unsure. "You're not from here, are you?" she asks, a faint melody in her tone. "That makes two of us."