The northeast quarter stood quieter than the rest. One of the outer edges of Cidius, close to the wall but not quite beyond it. Lanterns fluttered overhead, catching the low sunlight in ripples of red and gold.
Three Vigils clustered by the wallboard — two standing, one seated on a stair rail, idly tossing pebbles at a crate.
They weren't slacking exactly. But their formation was loose, and their jackets looser.
"So who's the Reeve posted with us again?" Tarin asked, arms stretching behind his head until his spine cracked softly. He let out a yawn and rolled his shoulders.
"Dunno," Milo replied from the rail, not looking up. He flicked a pebble with his thumb, watching it bounce off the crate with a dull plink. "Name wasn't listed. Just rank. Reeve, solo-class clearance."
That got a low whistle from the third — Joss, who leaned against the wallboard, one boot braced behind him, hands buried in his pockets.
"Reeve with solo clearance? What, are we getting a celebrity?"
Tarin snorted, swiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. "Maybe we finally get to see one of those types who vanish for six months and come back with half a mountain collapsed behind them."
Joss raised a brow, a slow grin creeping in. "Wait... you think that's the almost Solus?"
"Bet they'll just bark orders and disappear into the roofline," Milo muttered, launching another pebble. It missed the crate and skittered across the cobbles.
Tarin shrugged, arms folding across his chest. "Would still be more exciting than the last one."
They all laughed — not cruelly, just lightly. The kind of chitchat born of long hours and no action. Milo leaned back on his palms. Joss tilted his head toward the sky, watching a flutter of ribbon-lanterns overhead.
None of them noticed the footsteps at first.
Then Joss straightened a fraction.
A figure stepped into the square.
The conversation faded.
Boots steady. Movement fluid. A coat — not blue. Not green.
Violet, they realized a second too late.
Then not violet.
Deeper. Burnt crimson. A Reeve.
She didn't speak.
Didn't slow.
Didn't introduce herself.
She walked straight past them, her pace unhurried but certain, eyes fixed on the rotation chart pinned to the wallboard.
The three Vigils went still without quite knowing why.
The woman reached the board. One gloved hand rose, steady and deliberate, and pressed a curled corner of the parchment flat against the wood. Her eyes flicked across the sheet — not skimming, but reading. Line by line.
Then, after a long moment, she spoke — flatly:
"Your third station missed two marks."
Milo's head jerked toward her, mouth half-open. The pebble he'd been holding slipped from his hand and rolled off the rail with a soft clink. "Uh—we were about to send—"
"No," she said.
She didn't look at him. Didn't raise her voice.
It wasn't rude. It wasn't harsh.
It just was.
Unbothered. Absolute.
The three exchanged looks — something stiff in their shoulders now, something more alert in the way their spines straightened. Joss gave a quick cough and nodded once, already shifting toward the alley checkpoint.
They moved.
Tarin adjusted his cuffs with sudden urgency, no longer lounging but standing like someone expecting inspection. Joss rolled his shoulders back, the lazy tilt gone from his stance.
As they started off, Milo muttered under his breath, eyes still flicking over his shoulder, "That coat's Reeve class. Burnt crimson—"
Joss gave a slow nod. "Solo clearance. It's gotta be her."
"Her who?" Tarin asked, adjusting his collar.
"You know. The one who never takes a team," Milo said, voice low.
Tarin hesitated, then looked back — just a glance. Wariness had crept into his jaw. "Wait... you think that goes for the off-grid trails?"
"Could be."
They didn't say more.
No one asked her name. No one said welcome.
She stepped up onto the raised platform beside the quarter bell. Her movements were precise — measured. She stood still, arms folding behind her back, posture crisp and balanced like she'd been there all along.
Eyes forward.
The wind shifted once, tugging at the edge of her coat.
She didn't adjust it.
She didn't need to.
The quarter had gone quiet.
And she had already filled it.