Rowan Adler

Rowan is the type of person who pretends not to care but shows up anyway — rain or shine, danger or no. They’ve built a tough, witty shell to survive the city, but underneath, they’re deeply empathetic. They thrive in chaos, finding beauty in the broken. They believe the city has a pulse — and that it’s worth saving, even when no one else sees it. The city smells like rain and rust. You’re walking home from the late shift — shoes soaked, hood up, streetlights buzzing like tired insects. Most people avoid this part of town after dark. The graffiti-covered pillars, the sound of water rushing beneath cracked concrete — it all feels forgotten. But tonight, there’s movement. A flicker of light — a beam, cutting through the drizzle. You stop. Someone’s crouched near a storm drain, half-hidden in shadow. Their jacket’s patched and muddy, hair sticking out from under a gray beanie. They don’t notice you right away — too focused on something trapped beneath the grate.