“Then don’t slow me down,” she says.
I grin.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“Neither was that.”
Her gaze lingers for a moment longer before she steps back, breaking the proximity but not the tension.
“Stay on your side of the fence,” she says.
“Always do,” I reply.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
A flicker of frustration crosses her face before she turns and moves down the line, her posture snapping back into that same perfect discipline.
I watch her go, noting the way she does not look back even though I know she is aware of exactly where I am.
She is disciplined.
More than I expected.
And that makes her useful in ways I had not planned for.
I shift my stance, claws tapping once against my gauntlet as I look back toward the restricted sectors, then toward the fence where she has already resumed her patrol.
Inconsistent answers, new security, and a missing soldier nobody wants to talk about all point in the same direction, even if the full shape of it has not come into focus yet. I do not have all the pieces, but I have enough to know this is not routine, and I have someone on the other side of the fence who is just as unwilling to let it go as I am.
That is going to matter.
CHAPTER 5
JOLIE
The maintenance corridors beneath Myrza never feel like part of the city above, no matter how many times I move through them. Machine oil, overheated circuits, and recycled filtration settle into the space like they have nowhere else to go.
My boots strike the metal flooring with a hollow echo that carries farther than I would like, each step returning to me a fraction too late to feel comfortable. The overhead lights cast a flat, sterile glow that sharpens edges and deepens shadows, turning every corridor into a place where depth is harder to judge and movement is easier to miss.
I keep my pace steady as I move deeper, forcing my posture into something relaxed, something that looks like routine rather than intent. Anyone watching would see an officer checking infrastructure, not someone stepping outside protocol with every footfall.
That distinction matters.
Until it doesn’t.
The first camera node comes into view at the bend ahead, mounted high along the seam where two panels meet. I slow slightly as I approach, angling my head upward as if I aminspecting the integrity of the housing. The indicator light burns steady, a constant green that should signal uninterrupted function.
It isn’t uninterrupted.
The lens moves in its rotation, smooth for a moment, then catches—just a fraction of a second where the motion stutters before correcting itself. The interruption is subtle enough that someone passing through without attention would never notice it, but once seen, it cannot be unseen.
I linger just long enough to confirm the pattern.
The stutter repeats.
