The silver hatchback finally rumbled to a stop at the edge of a forgotten patch of green on the district's industrial fringe.
Amara didn't open the door right away. She just sat there for a second, staring through the windshield at the overgrown grass and the crooked benches beyond it.
A park. If you could even call it that.
It looked more like a place people forgot existed.
The rain had tapered off into a fine mist that clung to the bark of the skeletal trees like a second skin. Hansen turned off the engine, and the sudden silence of the car felt heavier than the noise of the city.
"Come on," he said.
Amara followed him to a weathered stone bench near the water's edge. The air here smelled of damp earth and old metal, a stark contrast to the sandalwood and expensive incense at Dravik estate. Hansen didn't sit immediately, he stood with his back to her, his shoulders tense, scanning the perimeter with a restless, predatory focus that made Amara's heart sink.
