The city felt… quieter.
Or at least quieter than it had been in months. The neon advertisements still flickered lazily against the night sky, the hum of distant traffic still whispered through the streets, but for the first time in a long while, Ren felt the absence of chaos pressing against him like an empty void. A month had passed since Solarius had been deployed to the city, his golden aura a constant threat to anyone daring to step out of line. The Hero Academy had tightened patrols, mid-rank heroes were moved to strategic posts, and the Black Market's once-thrumming heart had slowed to a faint, hesitant pulse.
For the Cloaks, the Veil's orders had been explicit: lay low, blend in, avoid unnecessary attention. For Ren, it was like being shackled. His nights, once filled with calculated movements, strikes, and the thin, almost artistic application of purple smoke, had been reduced to almost nothing. Occasionally, a minor surveillance assignment would appear—an errant shipment, a low-profile figure moving at night—but nothing like the adrenaline-fueled chaos that had defined his life for years.
And yet, he moved with purpose, even in inactivity.
---
The sun filtered lazily through his bedroom window, the faint light outlining the dust motes in the air. Ren adjusted his uniform carefully, tying the tie just so, as if the perfection of outward appearances could mask the emptiness of the day. His sister, Mariko, had already left for her school, her scarred left cheek glowing faintly in the morning sun. The apartment was quiet now, filled with the lingering smell of breakfast she had prepared hours ago.
Ren moved through the motions mechanically: brushing teeth, checking the locks on the door, confirming his two Cloak companions were in position for subtle day surveillance. Their presence was always at the perimeter—a silent guarantee that no curious eyes would approach too close. The skeletal one had taken his usual position atop the neighboring roof, the broad one lingering in the shadow of a building's corner. Neither would speak, neither would interact. Their existence was pure function: a living cloak of silent observation.
Stepping onto the streets, Ren was just another student in a sea of uniformed children. His notebook was under his arm, his eyes scanning, recording, and analyzing—but outwardly, he walked with the same careful detachment he had perfected over years.
---
His civilian school was mundane, deliberately so. Teachers droned on about civics, mathematics, literature—all subjects that demanded attention but were ultimately irrelevant to his night operations. He kept his head down, answered questions when prompted, and walked the thin line between visible presence and obscured observation.
Two classmates, however, refused to let him fade entirely. They were persistent, friendly, and, unintentionally, a source of irritation.
"Ren! Hey, you left early yesterday again. Where'd you go?" Toma asked, tilting his head with innocent curiosity.
Ren froze for a fraction of a second. His mind calculated every possible answer, every shade of truth and lie. Finally, he let a small, effortless chuckle escape. "Ah… just an errand. Normal family stuff. You know how it is."
Kaori frowned slightly, skepticism in his eyes. "You're always busy, huh? Don't forget to rest. We don't want our resident genius collapsing, right?"
Ren smiled faintly, shrugging. The warmth in their voices grated against him, a reminder of everything he had lost, everything he could not allow himself to feel. Friendship was a façade—a necessary mask to navigate daytime society, a trapdoor into weakness he couldn't afford. He nodded, accepted their concern, and walked away, leaving the lingering scent of faint cologne and classroom chalk behind him.
Inside, he hated himself.
Not for the work he did, nor for the missions, nor for the kills. He hated himself for wanting… something as trivial as friendship, for even briefly imagining the life he could have had if fate had been kinder. But that thought was fleeting, quickly replaced by cold practicality: he had a mission, a role, and lives—like Mariko's—depended on his ability to suppress every human desire.
---
Between classes, Ren kept his notebook open, but not for schoolwork. Every movement in the streets outside, every civilian interaction, every whisper caught on the wind—everything was logged, categorized, and analyzed. The Cloaks' low-profile phase had forced him into this new rhythm: observe, anticipate, wait.
Even in quiet moments, his senses remained sharp. A vendor arguing over the price of fish, a street performer ignoring traffic, a man hurriedly shoving a package under his coat—all these became data points, potential leads, or at least patterns to study. Ren's hands moved automatically, sketching subtle symbols and codes alongside mundane notes, each mark a silent thread connecting the city to the Cloaks' web.
During lunch, he sat alone, deliberately at the edge of the courtyard. Kaori and Toma waved, tried to pull him into conversation, but Ren kept a neutral, almost polite distance. His food went mostly untouched; attention was elsewhere, calculating, scanning, anticipating. A faint flicker of worry passed through him—this boredom, this idleness, it was suffocating.
---
Later that evening, as he prepared to leave for minor surveillance missions, Ren's mind returned to the Veil's words from a recent briefing:
> "Patience is a weapon. Smoke can hide in plain sight, and waiting is often deadlier than striking. Blend in, observe, and let the pieces move themselves. Pawns exist in every sector; heroes, officials, even students… nothing is truly free from our reach."
The advice was simple, yet heavy. Ren had never been patient; he thrived in action, in execution, in movement. Now, waiting was forced upon him. It was an itch he could not scratch, a body craving adrenaline but forced into restraint.
And yet… restraint was survival.
---
By night, the city breathed differently. Shadows stretched, muted lights flickered, and the scent of damp asphalt mixed with smoke from distant chimneys. Ren moved atop rooftops, checking alleys, scanning for any abnormality, any hint of an operation gone awry, any trace of the Cloaks' enemies.
But there was almost nothing. A broken storefront window here, a missing shipment there—minor disturbances, nothing significant. It was frustrating, but also a test. Every movement he made, every observation, had to remain invisible, silent, perfect. One wrong step, and their low-profile phase would crumble.
The skeletal companion and the broad one remained at their posts, silent observers as always. They did not interfere; their presence was purely deterrent, purely strategic. Ren felt the quiet tension radiating between them, a shared understanding: this was a waiting game.
---
On the balcony of his apartment, Ren finally allowed himself a brief exhale, staring at the faint glow of the city below. Mariko's apartment across the hall was quiet, the warm light a sharp contrast to the cold streets beyond. He felt the weight of inactivity pressing against his chest, an itch that could not be scratched.
If he were honest, boredom was dangerous. It made thoughts sharp and bitter, edges of memory and vengeance cutting deeper. The silence of the city, the absence of missions, and the lull in activity were a vacuum—one that threatened to pull him in, threaten his discipline, and awaken desires he could not afford.
Still, he reminded himself: he had a purpose, a duty, and a mission. Even in stillness, his mind was active. Every observation, every subtle interaction, every minor fluctuation in the city's rhythm—these were tools, pieces, and pawns. When the Veil commanded action again, Ren would strike, precise and deadly, as he always had.
---
As the night deepened, Ren noticed subtle irregularities. A man shadowing another on a dimly lit street, a delivery van stopping briefly without purpose, whispers of activity in alleys far from the main roads. The city was quiet, but beneath that quiet, movement simmered.
The Veil's words echoed: "Pawns exist everywhere." The thought carried weight. Even during a lull, threats could arise, and the Cloaks would need to react swiftly. Ren's hands tightened on his coat, knuckles white, eyes scanning the streets like a hawk.