Othello strolled through the front gates of the Investigation Authority building as if he owned the place.
His dark hair was cropped neat, his face clean-shaven, and his… borrowed uniform perfectly pressed. The insignia of an Authority agent gleamed on his chest.
To anyone watching, he was just another tired officer reporting for his shift.
He blended effortlessly into the rhythm of the place.
At the first checkpoint, he nodded at the guards, trading a weary joke about long nights.
At the second, he signed his name on the duty ledger without hesitation, his handwriting identical to the one he had lifted days before.
No one blinked.
The building was a maze of corridors, but he walked with ease. The trick wasn't to sneak. The trick was to belong.
At last, he reached the cell block.
His boots clicked against the cold stone floor as he passed through the final gate.
The dim glow of the lanterns lined the hallway, casting pale light over the barred doors.
