A year later.
Old York, early morning, clear skies.
The winter streets of Old York still carried an infinite fashion sense, with vibrant posters and exhibitions visible everywhere.
Jasmine Yale, wrapped in a thick white down jacket, emerged from the subway station.
In a year's time, her hair had grown long, with slightly curled tips.
Around her neck was a wine-red scarf, covering half her face, leaving only her big, watery eyes visible in the chill wind.
A short walk from the subway station was Ann Nolan's house.
Jasmine tucked her hands into the warm pockets of her down jacket, unfazed by the cold as she walked through the freezing wind.
Fresh snow from yesterday still covered the roadside bushes in a thin white layer, not yet melted.
The treetops were adorned with icicles and frost, which gleamed with an iridescent luster under the sunlight, a beautiful sight.
On Jasmine's shoulder hung a bag containing gifts for the little baby.
