The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds in narrow slits, cutting pale lines across the classroom floor. Students shuffled about—the scrape of chairs, the rustle of notebooks, the soft murmur of conversation—but to Ren, the classroom was just background noise, a stage upon which he performed.
Near the back, hood drawn low, he pretended to copy notes while his gaze drifted toward the window. Beyond the walls, the city stirred. Pedestrians, vendors, delivery carts—all moving in predictable patterns. Observing, recording, noting the smallest deviation, he fulfilled his "assignment," as usual.
Though he attended school like any other student, it was little more than a cover. Today, as always, he was here not for lessons but to watch, catalog, and gather information. Every gesture, every interaction, even mundane chatter could later feed into the Cloaks' web.
---
"Ren, wait up!" a cheerful voice called.
Ren looked to see two classmates approaching: Kaori, a bright-eyed girl whose Idol allowed minor manipulation of sound, and Toma, a lanky boy with rudimentary control over low-level kinetic pulses. Neither was extraordinary, but both were sincere and friendly.
"You left early yesterday," Kaori asked, frowning. "Did something happen?"
Ren forced a smile, shrugging. "Just an errand. You know, family stuff." His voice was casual, light, practiced. Inside, he knew it was all a lie. He couldn't risk revealing the truth. Not to anyone.
Toma grinned. "Don't get into trouble, okay? You worry us."
Ren nodded, letting the conversation pass, though a bitter part of him whispered that it was meaningless. He had no right to friendship, no right to happiness. This facade—the student, the attentive classmate, the friend—was a mask as carefully crafted as the one he wore at night.
---
The rest of the morning passed with shallow civics lessons and group exercises. Ren observed more than he participated. He tracked minor interactions: a pair of students whispering, a teacher glancing at the clock, the subtle timing of footsteps in the hallway. Every motion could be relevant.
He noted Kaori and Toma moving about the room, innocently curious about the world, unaware of the shadows looming over it. A pang of something almost like envy flickered, immediately smothered by resolve. He couldn't allow himself to desire their normalcy.
The bell rang, signaling lunch. Ren rose, careful to remain unobtrusive. Kaori and Toma trailed him briefly, chatting about trivialities—homework, weekend plans, jokes. He smiled faintly, offering nods and short answers, but the warmth felt hollow.
This is all a performance, he reminded himself. No one sees the real me. No one can.
---
After lunch, Ren slipped into the streets beyond the school, blending into the flow of pedestrians. Today's assignment: track a small group of civilians connected to the political figure the Cloaks had flagged. Nothing flashy, nothing violent—just observation, ensuring that subtle manipulations could occur without drawing attention.
He noted everything: the positions of nearby security cameras, the habits of the street vendors, the way the civilians adjusted their pace at intersections. Every detail was data. Every glance and gesture fed into a larger map of potential opportunities.
Fang and Grave were absent in this civilian space, leaving Ren alone in the shadows. He welcomed it. Silence allowed him to move with precision, to act as an unseen force guiding events without ever being seen.
---
By late afternoon, the civilians dispersed, and Ren returned home. Mariko's small smile greeted him as he slipped inside.
"You seem tired," she said. "Did anything interesting happen today?"
Ren placed the small bag of groceries on the counter, shrugging casually. "Not really. Just errands."
Her eyes lingered on him, faint worry visible. "You're sure you're okay?"
He nodded, forcing a soft smile. Inside, though, the mind never rested. Calculations, observations, contingencies—all waiting for the night, when he would shed this schoolboy disguise and become Shade, the Cloak assassin.
He glanced at Mariko's scar, faintly catching the lamplight. Her safety remained his anchor. The warmth of the moment—the brief illusion of normalcy—was fleeting, and he knew it. Happiness was a luxury he could not afford. Friendship, laughter, casual smiles—they were all lies he wore for her sake.
---
When darkness finally draped the city, Ren prepared for the night. The apartment quiet, Mariko asleep in her room, he checked his gear. The pistol, the sickles, the small tools he carried for silent work—everything ready. The Cloaks' orders for tomorrow were waiting: transport harvested products to a buyer at the docks, a job requiring discretion and precision.
The streets were quieter now, shadows stretching longer. Ren moved with practiced grace, blending into the night. Every corner, every alley, every flicker of light was noted, accounted for.
The purple haze would soon follow him, not as a display, but as a tool—a silent cloak wrapping him into the shadows. The city slept, but the wheels of the Cloaks continued to turn.