"What's going on here?" Van Dijk asked, his voice tight with unease as he peered out of the carriage window at the coachman. The city around them was unnervingly silent, the streets empty and the windows of the buildings dark. Not a single light flickered in the distance, and the air felt heavy, almost oppressive.
The coachman, a grizzled man with a weathered face, shook his head. "I don't know, Master Van Dijk. I haven't been to the Bastos March in a while, but the last time I was here… it was much livelier than this."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Van Dijk muttered, his eyes scanning the darkened streets. "I'm the guy who spent more nights out of the house than in it, so why is the city completely shut down? Not a single light is in sight."
