Atmosphere: mid-evening, dusky skies sliding into indigo, streetlamps buzzing faintly, city hum quieting.
Violet: quiet, controlled, rarely smiles but smirks when she's five steps ahead.
Yè Yī: cold, unreadable, calculating even when unsure.
Qiū Huà Bǐ: detached, observant, the kind who notices everything but says little.
Mù Xiāo Xiāo: eerie calm, childlike habits, not emotional — just different, blank.
---
[EXT. BACK ALLEY — MID EVENING]
The sun's last light glints off puddles, turning the whole alley a bruised shade of violet-blue. The city hums low under the smog-tinted sky, soon fading behind them. Streetlights flicker like half-awake eyes, their glow carving long shadows against damp brick walls. The trio's steps echo against concrete. Yè Yī's calm strides, hands are in his pockets, Qiū Huà Bǐ's detached gait, hoodie up, and Violet walks just ahead, head slightly tilted — as if listening to something only she can hear.
Wind rattles an empty can down the path.
YÈ YĪ:
"Why this route? It's longer."
VIOLET:
(flatly, eyes on the narrowing alley)
"Because some routes have eyes."
She halts so abruptly Qiū Huà Bǐ almost bumps into her. The air feels heavier — like static before a storm.
YÈ YĪ:
"What now?"
VIOLET:
(quietly, head slowly turning to the left and then to behind herself)
"You can come out now, Mù Xiāo Xiāo."
A light, soft thud breaks the stillness —then a blur drops, landing without a sound.
Black pants. Short jacket. Purple tee.
Her hair's neat, her face expressionless, blank, catches the orange wash of a flickering streetlight — too smooth, too calm, almost doll-like yet there's something faintly off—childlike stillness in adult poise.
MÙ XIĀO XIĀO:
(flat voice)
"Hi."
She waves once, quick and oddly small, like a child testing her gestures. There's no smile, no greeting energy — just the act itself, mechanical but not hostile.
Yè Yī's eyes narrow slightly. He doesn't know her, but the faint tremor in the air around her isn't normal — the kind of pressure only people like Violet carry.
YÈ YĪ:
(low, measured, suspicious)
"Who's she?"
VIOLET:
(arms crossed, calm)
"Night shift... Someone who doesn't sleep at night."
MÙ XIĀO XIĀO:
(tone monotone yet faintly curious)
"No. I do sleep…"
(tilts her head)
"Sometimes."
QIŪ HUÀ BǏ:
(under his breath)
"What's going on here?"
Violet shifts slightly, weight on one leg, her expression unreadable but sharper now. The air between her and Mù Xiāo Xiāo seems to ripple — like they already know each other's rhythm.
VIOLET:
(slow, deliberate)
"We'd like to see Ān Tián Kuò."
Mù Xiāo Xiāo blinks once, her head tilts, that faint, sharp awareness flicking on, then nods — a small, almost robotic motion.
MÙ XIĀO XIĀO:
"He's working."
(pause)
VIOLET:
(confidently).
"It's about ET"
The girl tilts her head again, processing the name like she's downloading a file
Qiū Huà Bǐ side-eyes them both, half-ready to walk off but too curious.
QIŪ HUÀ BǏ:
(mutters)
"This night's getting weird."
She turns on her heel and starts walking down the alley, not checking if they follow. The trio exchanges looks. Violet exhales lightly — not a sigh, more like resetting herself.
VIOLET:
(murmuring as she walks)
"She remembers instructions better than emotions."
YÈ YĪ:
(quietly, still uncertain)
"Who is she?"
VIOLET:
(half-turns, her tone dry)
"Depends who's asking — the student, or the Specialist?"
Yè Yī stops walking for a beat. Her words hang there — unsettling, teasing, but not playful.
QIŪ HUÀ BǏ:
(low, cautious)
"She means you."
YÈ YĪ:
(mutters)
"I didn't ask for titles."
VIOLET:
"Too bad. They already stuck one on you."
She keeps walking. The camera pans up — dark clouds creeping across the sky, a pulse of purple neon flickering at the end of the street — the direction Mù Xiāo Xiāo leads them toward.