The Veins hummed beneath me, pipes sighing under pressure, carrying the city's lifeblood in quiet rebellion. Every corridor smelled of cold metal and damp oil. My boots traced familiar lines along grated walkways, each step calculated, each echo cataloged.
drip… hum… metallic sigh…
Above, distant chaos seeped from the streets shouts, cursing, the occasional crash. But down here, below the surface, the world moved slower, measured, like it was holding its breath. And someone else was here, moving slower still.
Soft shuffle… scrape… distant clank…
The Detective emerged from a shadowed recess, just long enough to be seen, too fleeting to be caught. His eyes scanned me, sharp, assessing. Not a challenge. Not yet. Just presence. Permission. Threat. Observation. A mixture that kept me intrigued and wary in equal measure.
"You're being allowed," he said, voice low, deliberate. No inflection, no hint of jest just a statement layered with intent.
I let the words sink in. Cataloged them. Measured posture, angle, distance. He could vanish in a blink, but I'd seen enough to know how he thought. Permission, observation, a test. Maybe all three.
Whir… drip… faint metallic echo…
I tilted my head slightly, smirking under my hood. "Oh, how generous," I muttered to myself. "Permission granted by the ghost of authority. I'll be sure to cherish it." My tone didn't carry, of course. He had vanished already, like mist sliding off stone. Perfect.
I traced the edge of a panel, noting the weak hinges, the subtle gap between metal and masonry. If someone else came hunting Carrow, Krain, or a third party they'd follow patterns I'd leave, clues carefully planted and impossible to decode in time.
Shuffle… faint clink… low hum…
The Detective had left no trail, only intention. And intention, as I knew, was more dangerous than presence. My mind mapped the corridors, cataloged exits, calculated the best vantage points. I wasn't being followed. I was being measured. And the measure would serve me.
A whisper of air, a shift of shadow. Nothing else.
I pressed my palm to the cool railing, feeling the vibrations run through metal and concrete. Every footstep above, every shiver in the pipe, every faint metallic resonance became data. And data, when used right, could topple empires.
I allowed myself a small, sardonic grin. "Being watched is fun," I muttered under my breath, letting the words float through the corridor. "Being uncatchable is hilarious."
Soft hum… fading drip…
I disappeared into the veins, unseen, cataloging everything, turning observation into advantage. The Detective thought he left me a puzzle. I left him a blueprint for chaos. And me? I was already ten steps ahead.