By the time I stepped out the front door, the early light had matured into something cleaner—mid-morning sharpness paired with the slow crawl of warmth. The streets weren't crowded yet, just enough people to let the day feel like it had started.
I paused.
Breathed in.
Then adjusted the collar of the coat Camille made me.
The mask sat snug against my face, its fibers molding perfectly to my skin. Even without a mirror, I could feel the shift—the way it draped not just across my face but across my presence. Camille's skills weren't just technical; they were atmospheric. Psychological Flair tugged at people's perceptions before I even spoke. Identity Concealment wrapped around me like second skin, quieting the more human tells. Camouflage Weave softened edges, made me feel like a figure half-remembered in the corner of a memory.
It wasn't just a mask.
It was a persona being carried forward through fabric and thread.
