The service exit smelled like garbage and cleaning supplies. Industrial. Unpleasant. Exactly the kind of place nobody paid attention to.
I left first, wearing Camille's masterpiece outfit. The hooded jacket shadowed my face without looking deliberately concealing. The glasses changed my facial structure subtly. The layering made my build less distinctive. And underneath it all, that subtle emotional manipulation—boring, ordinary, not worth remembering—worked like a shield.
The alley behind the building was empty except for a few maintenance workers on their break. Their eyes slid past me without recognition. Without interest. Just another person leaving through the back.
I walked three blocks before hailing a cab. Gave the driver the airport address and settled into the back seat, keeping my hood up but not suspiciously so.
