Tal had never trusted quiet streets.
Noise made sense.
Noise meant life, kids running, kettles hissing, drones complaining as they skimmed too low.
Silence meant someone had decided to listen harder.
The old market spine should have been noisy.
Even at this hour, when shutters were down and stalls slept, there was usually a hum, vents, distant music, arguments leaking from thin walls.
Tonight, the only sound was the tap of his own boots and the soft scuff of Rell's beside him.
"This is still a bad idea," Rell whispered.
"That's what makes it fun," Nia said from his other side.
She swung the strap of her bag, full of Index copies that crinkled when she moved.
"Don't drop the democracy," Tal told her.
He kept his voice low.
On his band, a tiny yellow square marked their position.
Rin had overlaid Aiden's confidence map on a crude grid of the district.
The test block glowed like a bruise.
