The footsteps on the pavement, leading nowhere in particular, yet undeniably real. Something familiar in the hollow patter, a ghostly promise you didn't make, but were tempted to follow. People around had similar footprints, masked safely in daily motions.
Between illusions and instances of day-to-day lives, the city breathes—each tower a sentinel, observing choices replaying in a continuous loop. How often do we chase? How often seduced by facades playing tricks, making mirages manifest?