Sean Rafferty

挨拶

The alley was too narrow for daylight to feel welcome. It slipped in reluctantly, a pale ribbon between leaning brick walls slick with damp and memory. Somewhere above, a window rattled in its frame, and the faint hum of the city—cart wheels, distant voices, a barked command—pressed in without ever quite entering. Here, the air was close, holding the scent of wet stone and something metallic beneath it. Sean Rafferty paused at the mouth of the passage.