Helix stopped sniffing around and finally bared its teeth.
At dawn, the vans rolled out—gray, plain, and quiet. Agents in neat coats moved through the market, pulling people aside with polite words and hands that already knew how to restrain. No banners. No shouting. Just calm, cold efficiency.
They called it interviews. Everyone else called it what it was—a net.
---
I watched from the shop's balcony. Below, a boy barely older than sixteen was led away, wrists bound. His mother begged, voice cracking, but the agent only murmured something about "questions" and pushed him into the van.
The Lexicon pulsed under my ribs, steady and warm, like pages being weighed before they turned. Threads of fear twisted in the street, tight ropes dragging everyone down.
"They're biting," Mara muttered behind me. She leaned against the doorframe, blade hidden in her sleeve, eyes sharp.
Jonas stood at the railing, broad as a wall. "Where?"
"Depot near the canal," Mara said. "Old Helix offices. One door in, too many not out."
I nodded slowly. "Then we listen before we move. People don't die from interviews. Not yet."
The Lexicon warmed again, heavier this time. Waiting was its own risk.
---
By noon, Helix agents stepped into my shop.
The bell coughed weakly as two men entered—one tall, face calm, the other short, eyes sharp, blinking too much.
"Antiques?" the tall one asked.
"Or what's left of them," I said, not looking up right away.
"We're investigating incidents," he continued. "Arson. theft. Interference with order."
"Busy city," I said.
The short one drifted between shelves, fingers brushing over broken frames. He paused at the melted spoon in the window, its shadow bent wrong. "This is new."
"A memory," I said. "Bought and paid."
He didn't smile. "Do you know the word Umbra?"
"Shade," I said. "Also a mushroom."
The tall one studied me. "If you hear anything that could help keep people safe, the depot by the canal is open."
"Safety in a depot," I said lightly. "Convenient."
They left, bell coughing again. The Lexicon pressed against me, thrumming like a reminder.
Mara slipped out from the back. "They'll be back."
Jonas rumbled, "Next time with a bag."
---
That evening, we watched the depot.
Brick walls, windows neat as teeth, vans idling outside. Agents moved in and out, never hurried. People went in looking afraid, came out looking hollow.
One boy left pale and shaking. An old man stumbled without his hat. The baker's wife walked out empty-handed, her eyes searching the ground for something she'd never find.
"They don't cut with knives," Mara said softly beside me. "They cut with time."
Jonas folded his arms. "Then how long before people break?"
"Too long," I said. "And too late."
---
The next transfer was our chance.
Four detainees marched out with two agents. One van waited. No banners, no fuss—just boots and silence.
Jonas stepped into the road. The driver swore, brakes screeched, the van swerved into stacked crates. Wood crashed down in a planned accident.
Mara slid from the roof, knives flashing, slicing one prisoner's cuffs in an instant. "Run," she hissed, shoving him toward the alleys. He sprinted like a hunted thing.
I hurled a smoke pouch onto the street. It burst, greasy clouds choking the air. The agents coughed, shouting. In the confusion, the boy vanished into the city.
The other three were shoved into the van again. Helix drove off, smoke trailing behind. They had their prisoners. They didn't know they'd lost one.
---
That night, the shop smelled of smoke. Jonas cleaned his hands in a basin, Mara smirked as she flicked soot from her hair.
"They'll tighten the net," she said. "Next time they'll come with teeth."
"They already did," I said. "And we cut one strand."
The Lexicon pulsed steady under my ribs, like it approved. Pages turned, weighty, sure.
I opened the ledger and wrote:
Helix tightens. Umbra loosens one thread.
Jonas asked, "The boy?"
"We'll find him at dawn," Mara said. "Under the bridge, probably. Rats don't keep secrets."
I nodded. "We'll give him bread. And a name that isn't ours."
"Umbra?" she asked.
"No," I said firmly. "He needs to be boring. Only boring lives long."
Mara's smile sharpened. "I can teach boring."
"Hardest skill there is," I said.
The candle guttered, smoke curling into the ceiling. Outside, rain began to fall, stitching night to the city.
The net had closed tighter. But we were still slipping through.
---
Author's Note (Relic):
Smoke Pouch (Common Tech Relic): Simple clay spheres filled with chemical powder. Break on impact to release thick smoke. Used for escapes or confusion.