Rain

Ariele gazed out of the window, watching the outside world without seeing it. Raindrops spattered against the glass, forming long rivulets as they snaked down the broad pane, sometimes merging with others, sometimes diverging from them.

A sigh escaped her lips. She played with the ends of her blonde locks, trying to pass the time. At the back of the room, a clock ticked seconds as they passed by. With each one, she marked off another moment of her existence, adding them to the tally of the thousands which had preceded them.

Weak sunbeams tried in vain to push through the clouds, casting the city in a dreary grey. People carried on regardless, eagerness to scrabble higher up the social ladder surpassing any qualms about the rain. The city never stopped, never slept.

Blues music drifted softly from a few small speakers, adding to the melancholic effect of the swirling grey sky.

The diner's sign sent flickering lights across the pavement, neon buzzing. Blues and reds illuminated the down-turned faces of passers-by. Had she not been so anxious, Ariele might have looked into those faces, lit up by those reds and blues.

But Ariele was anxious.

She tried to think of excuses, but it was clear to see: Mr. White wasn't coming. Probably he had been discovered, captured, and was being tortured for information, something she didn't want to think about.

It was also therefore possible that her own cover was blown; that at any moment, an Agency officer or patrol drone would walk straight through the diner door and arrest her.

The door chimed. A chill shot down her spine.

She turned to look; just another patron, drawn to Mo's Diner by the promise of grease-laden food. She let out her pent breath, turning back to look out the window, and jumped in surprise.

Mr. White stood staring at her, long coat and broad hat protecting him from the drizzling rain. He motioned her outside- she stood immediately and threw on her own coat, not wanting to keep him waiting.

Fresh scarring marred the face of the grizzled Mr. White as Ariele approached him. On his left hand, only three digits remained, on his right, four. She shuddered.

“My cover has been compromised,” he informed her, deadpan, “If you want to survive the next twenty-four hours, I suggest you follow me.” With that, Mr. White turned and walked brusquely away down the long avenue upon which Mo's Diner was situated. Ariele didn't stop to consider where he might have been leading them; she simply followed, pulling her collar over her mouth to keep back the rain.