The air in the alley behind the Clockwork Spider was thick with the chill of impending night, but the tension radiating off Jaxon and Lena was far colder. Anya's directive — crash the Founders' Ball for a biometric key — had landed with the subtle grace of a thrown brick.
"You're out of your mind, Anya," Jaxon muttered, running a hand through his perpetually disheveled hair. "The Founders' Ball isn't some backroom brawl. It's the cleanest, tightest security in Grimstone. And believe me, after the last few months, they're probably on high alert."
"He's right," Lena added, her voice a low, precise murmur that carried more weight than Jaxon's bluster. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, swept over Anya, then Caspian, who remained a silent, hooded presence. "CID's been tightening the screws everywhere, but especially on the 'Upper' events. Whispers say they've rolled out a new facial recognition system at all high-profile gatherings. Designed to pick up anyone with even a vague association to... undesirable elements."
Anya's jaw tightened. "Undesirable elements like us, you mean."
"Precisely," Lena confirmed, a ghost of a bitter smile touching her lips. "And for you two, ex-CID, it's even worse. Our faces are probably flagged. Getting in is one thing. Getting close enough to a VIP to snag a biometric is another. And getting out with it... that's the real trick."
Jaxon pulled out a dented comm-link, his fingers already flying across its cracked screen. "I might have a contact, a fixer who deals in the kind of high-end forged invites that could get us past the first tier of scanning. But it'll cost. A lot. And it'll flag us in a different way – a high-value black market purchase that CID watches just as closely."
"We don't have time for a subtle approach, or for arguing price," Anya stated, her voice firm. "Caspian's network indicates they're moving on The Scribe now. We need that key. What's the fastest way in?"
Lena considered, her gaze distant as if sifting through layers of encrypted data in her mind. "Fastest… and riskiest. The new facial recognition system is cutting edge, but it has a blind spot. A very specific, very old, and very expensive type of chameleon cloth. It scrambles visual signatures, but it's rare. And highly illegal."
"So, we're talking about wearing literal disguises to a black-tie gala?" Jaxon scoffed.
"Not just disguises," Lena corrected, her eyes meeting Anya's. "An optical illusion. It requires precise calibration, and it's almost impossible to maintain for extended periods. But for a quick ingress and egress... it might work." She paused, then added, "There's also the problem of the guests. If we stick out, if we look out of place even with the chameleon cloth, we're done. We need to blend."
"We blend," Anya confirmed, her mind already racing. The Founders' Ball, with its ostentatious displays of wealth and power, was a world away from the gritty reality of the Lower Spires. She'd worn a uniform, not a tuxedo.
"We need the chameleon cloth, then," Anya decided. "Jaxon, put out feelers. Lena, where would we even find something like that on such short notice?"
Lena gave another, almost imperceptible, smirk. "There's a black market dealer in the Floating Markets, down in the old docks. He specializes in exotic tech, highly illegal. He's called 'The Weaver.' If anyone has chameleon cloth, it's him. But he's notoriously unpredictable. And demanding."
The Floating Markets. Another notorious underbelly of Grimstone, a maze of ramshackle barges and repurposed cargo containers, where anything could be bought for a price, and trust was a foreign concept. It was a plunge from the frying pan into another, perhaps even hotter, fire.
"Alright," Anya said, looking at Jaxon and Lena. "Jaxon, you get your forged invites in motion. Lena, you and I are going to the Floating Markets. We get that cloth. Caspian, you stay here, keep an eye on CID movements. We meet back here in two hours. And pray The Scribe is still there when we get to him."
The team scattered, each member disappearing into the shadows of the alley. The weight of Grimstone's corruption, a force as oppressive as the smog-choked sky, seemed to press down on Anya. But now, she wasn't alone. And for the first time in a long time, that thought brought with it a fragile spark of hope.
Anya and Lena are heading to the Floating Markets to acquire the chameleon cloth.