The Veins felt tighter today, narrower, as if the tunnels themselves were testing me. Shadows clung closer to the walls, stretching and twisting with every flicker of the dim lights overhead. Drip… hum… click… The city whispered around me, patient, watchful, calculating.
Jonas appeared ahead, casual, smooth as always, his grin a thin slice of mischief. "Miscommunication yesterday, right?" he said, voice honeyed, like nothing had happened. "All sorted. No hard feelings?"
I followed, boots silent on the grime-covered floor. Observation first, patience second, sarcasm always. The ambush had left its mark not in bruises or cuts, but in the cold weight of awareness. I didn't just survive yesterday. I cataloged it. And now, I'd play the next move.
shuffle… scrape… hum…
I let him speak, letting his words fill the silence, letting him believe he controlled the narrative. Every hesitation, every twitch of muscle, every glance away from me became data. Patterns emerged: who walked ahead, who hung back, who avoided eye contact. The Syndicate's routines weren't chaos they were rehearsed, predictable. And knowledge was a weapon.
I dropped a casual line about a shipment I "heard" was vulnerable. Jonas nodded, too quick, too eager. Perfect. The seed was planted. Let him think he was untouchable while the rumor spread through the veins, a ghost of information only I knew had a tail.
drip… hum… scrape…
The tunnels curved, narrow, forcing careful steps. Shadows shifted like liquid, revealing small tells: a whispering pair of runners, crates stacked at odd angles, a flickering light revealing a hidden door for just a heartbeat. Each detail cataloged, filed away. Survival was no longer instinct. It was rehearsal.
I smiled under my breath, dry and faint. "This isn't survival anymore. It's rehearsal," I muttered, letting the words hang between me and the concrete walls. The sarcasm shielded more than irritation it masked the thrill of control.
click… drip… shuffle…
A flicker of movement in the corner another Syndicate runner, eyes wary, shifting blame through half-heard conversations. Every lie repeated back to me hours later confirmed the web. Rumors were currency. Missteps were profit. And I? I was learning the ledger of this city by shadow and whisper.
Hum… scrape… drip…
Jonas grinned again, thinking he still held sway. I let him. Let him believe he'd won the minor victories. But I had already won the real one: understanding the game. And as the tunnels swallowed our steps, I realized something darker, sharper. I wasn't just inside the game anymore. I was beginning to move its pieces.
"Rehearsal or survival… either way, I'm learning the steps faster than anyone else."