The loading bay smelled of wet wood, oil, and something faintly metallic like the city itself had left a mark on these walls. Shadows stretched along the stacked crates, leaning as if they were eavesdropping.
clatter… shuffle… drip… hum…
Jonas was already there, clipboard in hand, voice smooth and casual. "Keep an eye on the crates, Dylan. Don't let anything slip." He smiled too perfectly, like he knew exactly how little I'd trust him.
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, fantastic. Supervised smuggling. My favorite Saturday activity." Sarcasm curled through my words, a shield against the tightening coil of awareness in my chest.
A worker fumbled with a crate; two hands brushed over it, almost imperceptibly shifting it. Another crate nearby was slightly miscounted labels scuffed, numbers inconsistent. A minor scuffle broke out, hushed and tense. Not accidents. Patterns. Intent.
clatter… shuffle… drip… hum…
I cataloged everything, each detail filing into a mental ledger. Jonas barked an order, pointing at a crate, oblivious to the tiny chaos unfolding under his nose. Perfect.
I whispered under my breath, letting the sarcasm mask the calculation. "Sure, Jonas. Just a regular day of mayhem. Nothing suspicious here."
With a small nudge an offhand comment about a miscounted crate, pointed just loud enough I watched suspicion ripple through the runners. Glances flicked toward Jonas. He stiffened ever so slightly, thinking he was untouchable.
It was beautiful. Observation as weapon. Chaos as opportunity. People are predictable when they think they're in control.
I moved among the crates, noting which faction was slightly slower, which runner avoided eye contact, which whispered too much. Every movement was a hint, every hesitation a signal. I was learning. Not just surviving. Learning how to bend the system without touching it.
clatter… shuffle… drip… hum…
By the time the exchange ended, I had everything I needed: Jonas subtly blamed, a ripple of uncertainty planted among the runners, and the first taste of real manipulation coating my tongue.
I stepped back, letting the bay hum with the sound of machinery and dripping water, a grin curling faintly across my face. "And they say lying doesn't pay. Please, it's practically a dividend."
The city watched silently, indifferent, while I learned its rules and its weak spots.