Rain tapped steadily on the cobblestone street, disguising the footsteps of someone slipping through the alleyway behind Rosemary’s Café. The neon sign flickered, casting crimson reflections across puddles, painting the alley with swirling pools of red and eerie shadows. Inside, porcelain teacups rattled slightly on their saucers as the bell chimed, announcing the arrival of a single unexpected guest. Margaret Johansson balanced her ledger with trembling fingers, glancing nervously at the clock, watching the minute hand crawl past midnight. A scream shattered the night’s uneasy calm, echoing from the alley, followed by the sharp, unmistakable clatter of metal.