It was a small thing, at first: a coded message slipped under the door, written in a cipher Soren recognized from his days as a runner on the south wall. He opened it, scanned the contents, then burned it in the bathroom sink.
He caught Lady Caladwen's gaze in the mirror. "It's nothing," he lied.
But she saw the way his hand tightened on the sink edge. "They're coming for me?"
"They're coming for both of us."
She nodded, unafraid.
That night, Mira checked in by comm bead. "You see anything?"
Soren whispered, "It's in play. Quiet for now."
Mira's voice was thin with static. "Don't improvise."
He smiled, then killed the line.
On the third day, the world changed.
Soren woke before dawn, the city outside hushed and silvered by fog. He checked the window, nothing but the dance of early contact drones, mapping the air for irregularities.
Then, a single knock at the door. Too soft, too measured for a service call.
He opened it a crack, ready for the worst.
