Kael did not sleep.
He lay on the broken floor of the back room, staring at the cracked ceiling while the underdistrict breathed around him. Water dripped somewhere far below. Rats scurried in the walls. Every sound felt louder than it should have, sharpened by exhaustion and the weight sitting inside his chest.
The parchment lay folded beside him.
He had not opened it again.
He already knew what it represented.
Choice.
Not the kind he had before, where the only question was how much pain he could endure. This was different. This was direction. Momentum. Once he moved upward, truly upward, the underdistricts would no longer be enough to hide him.
The presence stirred faintly, like it was listening.
Kael sat up slowly. His shoulder protested, a dull ache that reminded him he was still flesh. Still breakable.
Good.
Pain kept him honest.
He rose quietly and slipped into the main room. The fire had burned low. Boros slept against the wall, hammer across his chest. Ise lay curled near the hearth. Ryn sat awake, back against the door, eyes open.
"You're leaving," she said softly.
Kael nodded.
"You didn't even look at the name," she added.
"I don't need to," Kael replied. "If I wait, they decide for me."
Ryn studied him for a long moment. "Mid districts are worse than the pits," she said. "Not cleaner. Just quieter about the blood."
Kael met her gaze. "Then I'll have to be quieter too."
She reached into her coat and tossed him a small bundle. Kael caught it on instinct.
A knife. Short, narrow, well balanced.
"Bring it back," Ryn said. "Means you're still breathing."
Kael slipped it into his belt. "If I don't."
Ryn shrugged. "Then it won't matter."
He left through the back, climbing through collapsed stone and broken beams until the air changed. Less damp. Less rot. The underdistrict gave way to old service tunnels, then to maintenance passages that climbed toward the city proper.
With every step upward, Kael felt it.
The lines grew stronger.
More defined.
Here, people mattered. Not because they were better, but because the system said they were. Their names carried weight. Their deaths echoed.
Kael paused at a rusted ladder leading up to a sealed hatch.
Beyond it lay the mid districts.
He closed his eyes and opened the parchment.
A name. An address. A merchant block near the old aqueduct. Someone who should not be there anymore.
Kael folded it once more and climbed.
The hatch opened into a narrow alley between stone buildings. Lantern light spilled across wet cobbles. The air smelled of oil and cooked meat. Voices drifted from somewhere nearby, laughter edged with drink.
This was not the underdistrict.
People here walked without fear of being dragged away for nothing. They locked doors, not because guards would ignore them, but because guards would respond.
Kael pulled his hood low and moved.
He passed shops with shuttered windows, storehouses with sigils etched above the doors. Each symbol pressed faintly against his awareness. Claimed. Protected. Accounted for.
He reached the address as the city bells tolled the late hour.
The building was unremarkable. Three stories. Stone front. A single guard lantern burning beside the door.
Kael slowed, studying the street.
Two guards. Not city watch. Private. Their posture was relaxed but alert, the kind that came from being paid well enough to care.
Above them, on the second floor, a window glowed with lamplight.
Kael felt the line before he saw it.
Stronger than Soren's had been. Cleaner. Tied upward to something official.
This was not a broker.
This was someone embedded.
Kael slipped into the alley across the street and waited.
He counted breaths. Watched patterns. One guard paced. The other leaned against the wall, rolling his shoulders occasionally. Every few minutes, one of them glanced up at the lit window.
Protective.
Kael needed one inside.
He reached inward.
The presence responded cautiously.
He did not force it. He nudged.
A faint pressure rolled outward, subtle enough that even Kael barely felt it move. The lantern by the door flickered, dimming for a heartbeat before flaring bright again.
The leaning guard frowned. "Did you see that."
The other shrugged. "Probably oil."
They resumed their positions.
Kael waited, then nudged again.
This time, the lantern guttered and went out.
Darkness swallowed the doorway.
"Damn it," the pacing guard muttered. "I'll relight it."
He stepped inside the entryway, torch in hand.
Kael moved.
He crossed the street in a breath, slipped into the doorway behind the guard, and drove the knife into the base of the man's skull.
The guard collapsed without a sound.
Kael caught him, lowering the body gently to the stone. He pressed himself flat against the wall as the second guard turned.
"What was that."
Kael stepped back into the shadows.
The guard approached cautiously, torch raised.
Kael struck again, faster this time. Knife across the throat. A sharp pull. Blood sprayed hot across Kael's hand.
The guard choked, eyes wide, then fell.
Kael dragged both bodies inside and closed the door.
His heart hammered, loud in his ears.
This was different.
These men mattered to someone.
Kael climbed the stairs, every step measured. The presence stayed quiet, coiled and watchful.
The second floor door was unlocked.
Kael opened it and stepped into a study.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and bound books. Maps were spread across a central table, weighted at the corners. A man stood with his back to the door, hands braced on the table, studying something intently.
He was well dressed. Not noble silk, but tailored wool and leather. A sword rested within reach.
"You're late," the man said without turning. "I told them I wanted updates by midnight."
Kael closed the door.
The man stiffened.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they took in Kael's clothes, the blood on his hand, the knife.
"You're not my runner," he said calmly. "Who sent you."
Kael felt the line surge, reacting.
"People you burned," Kael replied.
Recognition flickered.
"You're the one," the man said. "The broker fire. Interesting."
He did not reach for the sword.
"You've made a mess," the man continued. "But you're not wrong. Soren was a liability."
Kael stepped closer.
"Then you won't be missed either," Kael said.
The man smiled faintly. "That depends who notices."
He reached into his coat and produced a medallion, holding it up.
Authority flared.
Kael staggered as pressure slammed into him, heavy and absolute. His knees buckled. The presence recoiled violently, then surged back, furious.
The man frowned. "You're not trained. That should have crushed you."
Kael forced himself upright.
The room trembled as the presence pushed outward, meeting the medallion's power head on. Books rattled on the shelves. Maps slid from the table.
The man's smile vanished. "What are you."
Kael lunged.
The man drew his sword at last, steel flashing in the lamplight. They collided hard. Kael barely twisted aside as the blade cut through the air where his neck had been.
He slashed low, catching the man's thigh. Blood spilled.
The man snarled and kicked Kael backward. Kael hit the table, maps scattering.
Authority pressed down again, heavier this time.
Kael screamed as pain lanced through his chest. The presence surged in response, wrapping around the pressure and pulling.
The medallion cracked.
The man froze, eyes wide.
Kael stepped forward and drove the knife into his heart.
The line snapped.
Kael collapsed to his knees as weight poured into him, heavier than anything before. Not just one man's standing, but his connections. His permissions. His place.
The presence settled, deeper, colder.
Kael gasped for breath, vision blurring.
Below, someone shouted.
Footsteps thundered outside.
Kael staggered to his feet, grabbed the medallion, and smashed the study window. Cold night air rushed in.
He climbed out as shouts filled the stairwell.
As he disappeared into the darkness, bells began to ring again.
Louder this time.
Not an alert.
A warning.