The rain had finally eased, though East Marrow still carried the taste of it in the air—a damp, metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat. The streets were slick with puddles that mirrored fractured neon signs, their reflections breaking apart whenever a gust of wind rippled the water's surface. Far above, a few stubborn storm clouds still dragged themselves across the skyline, heavy and dark, but the worst had passed.
Keller moved through it all with his hood drawn low, not because he feared the security cameras—most of them had been blinded by the storm's power surges—but because he didn't want to meet the eyes of the people lurking in the shadows. In East Marrow, a lone figure walking empty-handed could still be a target. Desperation here didn't care whether you were dangerous; it only cared if you were vulnerable.
