Reyner hung back just enough to avoid scrutiny and then he unleashed his senses and opened himself up to the flood of sights, sounds, smells, and sensations that drenched his surroundings yet went unnoticed by most. The pulse of the Salsa band traveled through him along with the din of the horns and the daring vocals making his skin hum in syncopation. The cacophony of other voices, the shuffle and clatter of shoes, the clinking of bottles and glasses, and the ambient mourn of traffic, electricity, and rustling leaves all poured into his ears and set him afire. Streetlights, the glow of neon and tobacco, and the patchwork smear of faces, garments and jewelry, and the fleeting flashes and lingering grays of the rest of the night blazed in his gaping eyes like a magical carnival ride before the gaze of a child. Colognes and knock-off perfumes lay like an unpleasant rind over the rich, heady aroma of flesh, sweat, grime, and yes, blood, the stink of the street's refuse and decay a mere afterglow in his nostrils. The silent figure drank this all in, transfixed by the barrage, stealing for himself a few moments of hedonism before attenuating these heightened perceptions and putting them to practical use.

— Prologue