The Watcher’s Warning

The rooftop was a forgotten place, a relic of a city that never slept. Neon signs flickered in the distance, painting the skyline in hues of electric blue and crimson. Rain drizzled from the heavens, the droplets hissing softly against hot concrete.

Bintang adjusted his collar, scanning the surrounding high-rises for potential threats. Kiran stood beside him, arms crossed, her breath misting in the cool night air. They were waiting. And waiting always meant danger.

Then, a figure emerged from the darkness—a man wrapped in an old military coat, his face hidden beneath the hood’s shadow. His voice was low, rough with years of silence.

The Watcher is lighting a cigarette.

“You’re late.”

Bintang grim. “You’re paranoid.”

The Watcher chuckles. “Still breathing, aren’t I?”

Kiran impatient. “Tell us what you know.”