“That was a bad call,” I mutter under my breath, though the words lack conviction.
The corridor opens slightly as I move deeper, branching into a series of angled intersections that force careful navigation. I keep my pace steady, not fast enough to draw attention, notslow enough to suggest hesitation, and I let my posture loosen just enough to blend into the background of routine movement. A pair of workers passes by ahead, their conversation low and distracted, and neither of them looks twice at me.
That tells me everything I need to know.
I remain invisible.
For now.
I take the lower junction toward the neutral meeting point, adjusting my route to avoid the main patrol lanes. The air grows heavier the further I go, layered with the scent of heated metal and damp insulation, and the lighting dims into that familiar flicker that makes depth harder to judge. Every step echoes differently here, bouncing off uneven surfaces and returning just slightly distorted.
The undercity never lets you forget where you are.
When I reach the junction, I slow, letting my senses stretch outward before I step fully into the open. The space sits quiet, but the stillness doesn’t read as empty.
It reads as watched.
“You going to make me stand here all day?” I say, keeping my voice low but letting it carry just enough to reach the edges.
“She says the same thing about you.”
Her voice comes from my left, controlled and steady, and I turn just enough to catch her stepping out from the shadow of a support column. The dim light catches along the edge of her profile, outlining the tension still held in her posture, even as she keeps it contained.
“You’re late,” she adds.
“I’m right on time,” I reply, closing the distance between us with measured steps.
“You’re never right on time.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It’s observational.”
A faint smirk pulls at my mouth as I stop just short of her space, letting the proximity settle without fully crossing it.
“Miss me?” I ask.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t rise to it, and that tells me more than the answer itself.
“You said you found a problem,” she says. “Start talking.”
I shift my weight, letting my tone drop into something more focused.
“Tury didn’t just get curious,” I say. “He broke into something that was already running.”
Her expression tightens, her attention locking onto mine.
“Explain.”
“He mapped the routes,” I continue, keeping my voice low and controlled. “Supply movement, transfer points, timing overlaps. He wasn’t guessing. He was building a pattern.”
“That lines up,” she says.
“It should,” I reply. “Because it’s bigger than we thought.”
