The city looked different when you stopped pretending you were just passing through.
I realized that somewhere between the second checkpoint and the third alley turn, when Grim slowed his pace and didn't bother checking whether I was still behind him. Not because he didn't care. Because he already knew I would be.
Neutral territory wasn't neutral in the way the word implied. It wasn't safe, or quiet, or undecided. It was simply owned by everyone and no one at the same time, a shared lie upheld by mutual exhaustion. No gang claimed it outright because claiming it meant defending it, and defending it meant bleeding for streets that didn't give anything back.
The buildings here leaned inward, like they were listening. Storefronts were shuttered, windows blackened, doors reinforced with metal plates scarred by old damage. Signs hung crooked, their lettering faded to half-meanings. Everything felt paused, like the city had taken a breath and forgotten to release it.
I kept my hood down.
Cager had told me not to hide.
"Blending in works until it doesn't," she'd said earlier that morning, her voice level, eyes sharp. "After that, it just makes you look afraid."
So I walked exposed. Not defiant. Not careless. Just present.
Grim led, broad shoulders cutting a path through the narrow streets. Mako walked to my left, silent as always, his gaze never settling in one place for too long. Faye lagged slightly behind, pretending disinterest while clocking every movement in our periphery.
I wasn't muscle today.
That was made clear.
"Watch," Cager had said, before sending us out. "Listen. Remember where people hesitate. Remember who talks too fast."
She hadn't come with us.
That bothered me more than I expected.
The first exchange happened outside a boarded-up butcher shop that hadn't seen meat in years. A man stepped out from the shadows, hands visible, posture loose but measured. He smiled like he'd practiced it.
Grim didn't smile back.
They spoke in half-phrases, names I didn't recognize, references that meant nothing to me yet. I listened anyway, noting tone more than content. Who deferred. Who interrupted. Who held eye contact longer than necessary.
The man glanced at me once.
Just once.
His eyes flicked down, then up again, assessing. He didn't ask who I was. That told me enough.
We moved on.
By the second stop, the glances lasted longer.
By the third, someone asked.
"Didn't know Creepers were bringing new blood through here," a woman said, leaning against a rusted railing. Her voice was casual, but her eyes were sharp.
Grim answered without slowing. "Observation."
Her gaze slid to me. "You got a name, or are you just decoration?"
I felt the moment stretch, thin and taut.
"Vale," I said.
Not loud. Not soft. Just enough.
Something shifted.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just a tightening, like the word had weight she hadn't expected.
"Vale," she repeated, tasting it. Then she smiled again, but it wasn't the same smile. "Huh."
We didn't linger.
But I felt it follow us.
The deal that went wrong wasn't loud either. It never was. It was a pause that lasted a second too long, a hand that didn't move when it should have, a voice that pushed when it should have pulled back.
A Saint sympathizer. I recognized the tell too late. The way his eyes flicked toward the alley mouth, the way his shoulders stayed loose even as the tension climbed.
He smiled at Grim. "You're asking for a lot."
"You're offering very little," Grim replied.
The man shrugged. "That's the market."
He looked at me.
"Is she supposed to scare me?"
I didn't move.
I didn't speak.
But I met his gaze and held it.
I let him see that I wasn't guessing.
That I wasn't waiting for permission.
That whatever he thought this interaction was, I was already somewhere else in my head, somewhere quieter and colder.
Mako shifted.
That was enough.
The man's smile faltered, just barely. He opened his mouth again, probably to say something clever, something final.
He never got the chance.
I stepped forward, closing the distance by half a step. Not an attack. Not a threat. Just a correction.
"You're misreading the situation," I said calmly. "This isn't negotiation. It's assessment."
Silence.
"You've been assessed," I continued. "And you're wasting time."
Grim glanced at me.
Not warning.
Not approval.
Recognition.
The man swallowed. He laughed, but it sounded forced now. "Alright," he said. "Alright. No need to get tense."
He backed off.
The deal concluded quickly after that.
Too quickly.
By the time we returned to Creeper ground, the air felt different. Heavier. Charged. Like something had been set in motion that couldn't be pulled back.
Faye walked closer to me than usual.
"Careful," she murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "Names stick."
"So do silences," I replied.
She smirked. "You're learning."
Cager was waiting when we got back.
Leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her gaze found me immediately. Not scanning. Not searching. Just locking.
"Report," she said.
Grim spoke first, efficient and direct. Mako filled in the gaps. Faye added context where it mattered. I listened, noting what they omitted as much as what they said.
Cager didn't interrupt.
When they finished, her eyes returned to me.
"You spoke," she said.
"Yes."
"Without being prompted."
"Yes."
She studied me for a long moment. The room felt smaller under her scrutiny.
"Why?"
I didn't flinch. "Because he was pushing for leverage. And because waiting would have made it look like uncertainty."
Another pause.
"And?" she pressed.
"And because he needed to know someone was paying attention."
Her jaw tightened, just slightly.
"Reputation," she said quietly, "is not something you control once it starts."
"I know."
Her eyes sharpened. "Do you?"
"Yes," I said. "But silence would've been read as weakness. And that would've spread faster."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Or maybe the right one.
She turned away abruptly, pacing once, then stopping with her back to me.
"Your name came back before you did," she said.
That landed heavier than any reprimand.
I absorbed it. "Was that a mistake?"
She didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was controlled. Too controlled.
"It was inevitable," she said. "That doesn't make it harmless."
She turned then, closing the distance between us until we stood too close for comfort. I could feel the heat of her, the tension coiled beneath her stillness.
"You don't get to be invisible anymore," she said. "Do you understand what that costs?"
"Yes."
"Say it again."
"Yes."
Her gaze searched my face, like she was looking for hesitation. Finding none.
"Good," she said softly. "Then don't make me regret letting your name travel without my permission."
The words should have scared me.
They didn't.
They grounded me.
As she stepped back, I realized something else had changed too.
People were watching me now.
Not with curiosity.
With calculation.
And somewhere in the city, my name was moving through mouths I'd never see, shaping expectations I hadn't agreed to.
Cager knew it.
So did I.
And neither of us said what it meant.
Not yet.