The silence that followed Caspian's revelation about The Scribe in the Upper Spires was heavy, broken only by the mournful drips echoing through the abandoned pumping station. Anya stared at the hooded artist, the enormity of his suggestion settling over her. The Upper Spires wasn't just another district; it was a fortress of the elite, a realm of pristine facades and razor-sharp security, patrolled by CID units with far more advanced tech and less leniency than their Lower Spires counterparts.
"The Upper Spires?" Anya finally said, her voice laced with skepticism. "That's a suicide run. Even for me."
Caspian stepped closer, his shrouded form radiating an unusual intensity. "You said you want to find Elara. You said you want to know why they took her. The Scribe is the key. He knows Grimstone's true history, the pieces they want to bury." His voice was low, almost pleading. "My art can only warn, Anya. But you... you can act."
She saw the desperation in his stance, the unwavering belief in his eyes even through the shadow of his hood. It wasn't just about Elara anymore; it was about tearing back the veil Grimstone used to hide its rot. But the Upper Spires… She mentally ran through her limited contacts, her old routes. None would get her close enough to the forgotten archives without triggering every alarm in the sector. She needed help, specialized help, the kind that understood Grimstone's underbelly and its security protocols from the inside out.
An idea, risky and perhaps foolish, began to form. She knew two people who, despite their own fallen status, still possessed an intimate, bitter knowledge of the CID's operations, particularly its blind spots and weaknesses. Disgraced, yes, but also desperate, and fiercely intelligent.
"There might be a way," Anya conceded, her gaze drifting from Caspian to the vast, derelict space around them. "But we can't do this alone. We need two others."
Caspian tilted his head, a silent question.
"Jaxon and Lena," Anya stated, watching his reaction. "They were CID. Good at what they did, before the rot consumed them too. They know the systems, the patrols, the loopholes. If anyone can get us into the Upper Spires without tripping every sensor, it's them."
A flicker of hesitation passed over Caspian. "Ex-CID? You trust them?"
"They were thrown out, not bought out," Anya countered, a faint memory of their defiant faces in the precinct's disgrace file coming to mind. "They've seen the depths of the corruption. They hate it as much as we do." She paused, then added, "Besides, they owe me a favor." It was a slight exaggeration, but true enough in Grimstone's twisted economy of debts.
A tense silence stretched between them. The idea of bringing in two former CID agents, regardless of their current status, was a leap of faith for Caspian, whose entire existence was a rebellion against the force they once embodied. But the urgency of Elara's plight, and the larger threat of "the blueprint," seemed to outweigh his caution.
"Alright," Caspian finally agreed, his voice firm. "Where do we find these... allies?"
Anya nodded. "Jaxon runs a semi-legit comm-repair shop in the Mid-Spires market. Lena usually pulls intel for him, or disappears into the data-streams. It'll take some digging, but they're still in the shadows, just like us." She looked at Caspian, a different kind of alliance forming between them, one forged not just by shared purpose, but by the quiet understanding of mutual risk. The grim reality of their situation, the constant threat of capture or worse, seemed to draw them closer, a silent comfort in the face of Grimstone's relentless pursuit.
"Meet me at the old Clockwork Spider pub in the market's lower level tonight," Anya instructed. "If they're willing to help, I'll bring them. And then we plan how to get into the heart of Grimstone's lies."