Two nights later, they crouched on a tiled rooftop overlooking a squat stone building lit by only two oil lamps. The Black Division courier outpost didn't look like much from the outside, but Ara swore it held every intercepted message between the eastern fronts and the Shadow Regent's inner circle.
Kiro peered through his visor's night filter. "Doesn't look heavily guarded."
Ara smirked. "That's the trick. You make it look boring so no one asks questions."
Below, two uniformed couriers leaned against the wall, chatting quietly. Through the visor, faint threads connected them both—threads that almost seemed to pulse with the rhythm of their words.
Ara tapped his arm. "We're going in quiet. No powers unless I say so."
He nodded, but his gut churned. The idea of slipping past them without even a whisper of mental influence felt… wrong. Like ignoring a perfectly good tool.
They descended the drainpipe, landing soundlessly in the shadows behind the building. Ara motioned toward a narrow side door. Locked.
She drew a small kit from her belt and knelt. "Thirty seconds."
Kiro's gaze flicked back toward the two guards. They were laughing now—one gesturing wildly, the other shaking his head. His mind itched with the awareness that he could make them forget the next five minutes entirely.
He clenched his fists. Not unless she says. Not unless—
A third figure emerged from the alley, wearing the dark insignia of the Black Division. The newcomer's voice carried: "Shift change. Inside, now."
The two couriers obeyed instantly, leaving the door unguarded. Ara's lockpick clicked at the same moment.
"Lucky break," she whispered.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint tang of sealing wax. Wooden pigeonholes lined the walls, stuffed with rolled messages, leather satchels, and coded ledgers.
Ara moved quickly, scanning markings. "We're looking for anything tagged with a frost sigil. That'll be your Cryomancer friend's work."
Kiro's eyes roamed over the shelves, but his attention kept drifting to the threads. Even here, in the stillness, they pulsed faintly from mind to mind.
Footsteps. Coming from the hall.
Ara froze, pressing her back to the wall. "Stay here."
She slipped into the shadows, vanishing from sight. Kiro held his breath as the steps grew louder.
A young courier entered, flipping through a ledger. His thread glimmered brightly—unguarded, unaware.
Kiro knew what Ara had said. But if this guy spotted him, they were done.
He reached out—just a touch—and the courier's eyes glazed. Kiro whispered, "You're tired. You forgot why you came in here. Go back to your desk."
The courier blinked slowly, nodded, and left without a sound.
Ara reappeared seconds later, frost-sigil scroll in hand. Her eyes narrowed at him. "What did you do?"
"Kept us alive," he said. "No harm done."
Her jaw tightened. "We'll talk about it later. Move."
They slipped back into the night, rooftop to rooftop. When they finally stopped in an abandoned loft, Ara unrolled the scroll. Her expression darkened with each line she read.
"What is it?" Kiro asked.
"It's an order," she said slowly, "to transfer a prisoner to the Shadow Regent. A prisoner with an unnamed 'cognitive anomaly.'"
Kiro's stomach sank. "Me."
Ara didn't answer. But the look in her eyes said enough.