The streets above were chaos incarnate. Smoke clawed at the sky, factions clashing like insects over spilled sugar. Perfect cover.
Metal… hum… distant scuffle…
Beneath it all, the Veins whispered their secrets. I traced the conduits, feeling the pulse of the city's nervous system beneath my fingers. Every vibration, every hidden panel, every misaligned bolt they were instructions written in steel. I just needed to read them.
A guard rounded a corner, his boots echoing too late for him to realize I had already been three steps ahead. I tilted a crate to check a code plate, the metal groaning under the weight, soft enough to be mistaken for another machine groan.
Clink… shuffle… muffled whir…
C-13. Right where I remembered from the armory sketch. The label stared at me like it knew its fate, clean and almost smug compared to the rusted chaos around it. I lifted it with a precision that felt almost lazy, but each movement was deliberate. One wrong tilt, one miscalculated step, and Carrow would have a reason to blame someone else.
Sliding the crate into a hidden alcove, I left a minor misplacement of adjacent boxes subtle, easy to dismiss, perfect for framing. Patterns matter. People only see what they're meant to.
Metal… hum… whisper of fabric…
I crouched, listening to the machinery's low complaint as the crate's weight settled. A distant shout from above probably someone realizing something was missing, or maybe just panicking over a botched skirmish. Either way, it was music.
I paused, letting my fingers trace the conduits again. Every pipe, every panel, every drip… the city was alive, breathing through steel and rust, and I was its interpreter. Stealth wasn't just hiding. Stealth was teaching everyone around you to make mistakes they'd never see coming.
Click… scrape… faint metallic sigh…
C-13 secured. Stash marked. Misdirection left behind. I could almost hear the paranoia spreading through the Syndicate like wildfire in dry grass. Carrow would notice, panic, suspect, and blame. Perfect.
And me? I vanished into the veins as silently as I'd entered, leaving only the quiet hum and a single thought behind:
"Nothing screams competence like making everyone else look like fools."