Onward she moves, wrapped in rhythms only she can hear, drifting between reflections and reveries just beyond glass and stone. The city whispers in code - signs and specters at the edge of vision. Her path is a question mark, curling thoughtfully through noise and hush alike. There are no maps for this kind of journey; meaning flickers, half-caught, in the glint of a window or a smear of color on the walls. Even in the pause, everything is becoming. Movement itself is the message.