The rooftops of the lower district were never meant to be roads.
They were accidents of architecture — uneven planks laid between buildings by generations of residents who preferred climbing above trouble rather than walking directly into it. The tiles shifted underfoot, and the gutters leaned outward at dangerous angles, but people who lived long enough in Novara Prime learned that the fastest way through the slums was often over them rather than through them.
Frankie moved along the ridge of a narrow roofline with quiet confidence, her boots barely disturbing the loose gravel beneath them.
Behind her, Marco followed with the measured balance of someone who had learned to control his weight rather than fight it. The cane rested lightly against the shingles, more tool than support now. Luca came next, Red Oath wrapped in cloth across his shoulder so the divine weapon would pass as nothing more remarkable than a long staff. Callista moved last, slower but careful, her attention shifting constantly between rooftops, alleyways, and the streets below.
From above, the district looked almost peaceful.
Lanterns flickered along the market roads, and the smell of cooking oil drifted up through the evening air. People moved between stalls and doorways with the familiar impatience of a city that had survived too many problems to panic about another one.
But Frankie could feel the lie beneath it.
The warmth under her ribs had not faded since the warehouse tunnels. If anything, it had grown steadier, like pressure building behind a sealed door.
Someone else was moving through the district tonight.
Marco sensed it as well. His posture carried a tension that hadn't been there earlier in the day, and the quiet tap of his cane came a little more carefully than usual.
"Something's changed," he murmured as they crossed to the next roof.
Frankie didn't look back.
"Yes."
Callista stepped down beside them, brushing dust from her sleeve as she studied the streets below.
"People are shifting again," she said quietly.
Frankie followed her gaze.
Callista was right.
Crowds that had been flowing normally through the market district now seemed to thin at certain corners without anyone clearly realizing why. People avoided specific alleys, taking longer paths even when the shorter routes were open.
It was the same instinct the city had shown earlier.
Only now it felt sharper.
"Whatever is happening," Callista continued, "the district feels it."
Luca rested one hand on the wrapped spear.
"That usually means we're about to."
Rafe appeared from the opposite rooftop a moment later, pulling himself up over the ledge with the quiet agility of someone who had spent most of his life climbing places he wasn't meant to reach.
"You all picked a nice view," he said, glancing around. "I've been watching the lower streets for the past half hour."
"And?" Frankie asked.
Rafe wiped his hands on his coat.
"They're moving."
Marco's attention sharpened. "Who?"
"The pale ones."
Frankie's mark flared briefly.
"How many?"
"Three that I saw," Rafe replied. "But they're not hunting the way they were before. They're walking. Slow. Like they know they won't be interrupted."
Callista frowned.
"That isn't search behavior."
Rafe shrugged.
"Well, it isn't friendly behavior either."
Frankie moved to the edge of the roof and looked down toward the street Rafe had indicated.
For several moments she saw nothing but the normal drift of evening traffic.
Then a figure passed beneath a lantern.
Tall. Pale. Moving without hurry.
A Watcher.
Another followed a moment later.
Then a third.
They didn't look up.
They didn't need to.
Their movements carried the calm certainty of creatures that believed the entire city belonged to them.
Luca exhaled slowly.
"They're comfortable."
"They shouldn't be," Marco replied.
Callista's eyes narrowed as she watched the same stretch of road.
"They're not searching," she said after a moment.
Frankie glanced at her.
"What do you mean?"
Callista pointed toward the far end of the street where the Watchers had come from.
"They aren't spreading out. They're walking along the same path."
Frankie studied the road again and realized she was right.
Each of the pale figures passed the same buildings.
Turned the same corner.
Followed the same direction deeper into the district.
Like pieces moving along a route already decided.
"They're establishing control," Callista said quietly.
Luca frowned.
"Meaning?"
"They're not just reacting to interference anymore," she replied. "They're preparing for it."
Rafe scratched his jaw.
"That doesn't sound like good news."
Frankie didn't respond.
She kept watching the street as the last of the Watchers disappeared into shadow.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Then Marco shifted beside her.
"If they're preparing," he said, "then they know something is fighting them."
Frankie nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Luca's gaze drifted across the rooftops.
"Do they know it's us?"
Frankie considered the question carefully.
"They've seen someone," she said. "But not who."
Marco understood immediately.
"The masks."
"Yes."
Callista folded her arms.
"They know they're being hunted," she said. "They just don't know by whom."
Rafe laughed softly.
"Imagine being an angel and getting harassed by ghosts in the slums."
Frankie finally stepped away from the roof edge.
"We keep it that way."
Luca adjusted the cloth wrapping around Red Oath.
"And if they escalate?"
Frankie looked toward the darker quarter of the district where the abandoned warehouses stood.
"They will."
Marco's grip tightened slightly on the cane.
"Then we make sure we're ready when they do."
For several minutes they watched the streets below.
The Watchers did not return.
The crowd resumed its normal rhythm.
A cart rolled past. A lantern was lit outside a tavern door. Somewhere farther away a group of workers began arguing loudly about coin.
The city looked ordinary again.
But Frankie knew better.
The angels knew someone had interfered.
Which meant somewhere in the city they would begin looking for the one responsible.
Frankie pulled her mask higher over her face and stepped toward the stairwell that led back down to the alleys.
"Come on," she said quietly. "If they're searching tonight, we need to stay ahead of them."
Marco moved first.
Then Luca.
Callista lingered on the roof a moment longer.
"Frankie," she said slowly.
Frankie paused halfway down the stairwell.
"What?"
Callista was staring down the road where the Watchers had disappeared.
Frankie stepped back up beside her and followed her gaze.
At first she saw nothing.
Then the lantern light shifted.
Three pale figures stepped back into view.
Not returning.
Continuing.
But this time they were not alone.
Another shape followed them.
Larger.
Taller.
Its silhouette moved through the fogged lantern glow with slow, deliberate weight.
Callista's voice dropped to a whisper.
"They're not searching anymore."
Frankie felt the mark beneath her ribs burn.
Hard.
"They're preparing."
And somewhere deep in the district below them, a bell began ringing the alarm.