The shadows of the Veins stretched long, twisting around corners and pooling beneath low-hanging pipes. Every step I took seemed louder than it should be, echoing off concrete like a confession I hadn't made.
Drip… drip…
Elliot moved ahead, calm, deliberate. Too deliberate. His steps didn't carry the weight of someone who had been hunted; they carried the ease of someone who might have set the trap. I traced the walls with fingertips, noting the faint scratches, symbols, and occasional numbers breadcrumbs or warnings? Or a signature? My stomach twisted at the thought.
A metallic scrape somewhere close, somewhere distant made me freeze. My eyes darted to Elliot, watching for the twitch, the flicker, the slight misstep that would betray him. He didn't flinch. Didn't even glance back.
I spoke lightly, almost as if to myself. "So… you're still saving me, right? Or are you auditioning for the Syndicate's next shadow play?"
He tilted his head, a slow, measured smile curving at the edge of his mouth. "I'm… making sure you survive."
But the pause that followed, the careful choice of words, the way his eyes glinted just a touch too sharp, whispered something I didn't want to admit. Trust no one. Not even the familiar.
Footsteps echoed again. I counted them, measured them, compared them to Elliot's. One extra step, or one missing enough to make my mind reel. Was it my imagination? Or had I already stepped into someone else's game, one layer deeper than I realized?
The corridors narrowed. Pipes overhead groaned as if complaining at our intrusion. The air smelled faintly metallic, warm with the pressure of unseen machinery. Every shadow felt like it carried eyes, every whisper of movement a warning.
I slowed, letting Elliot take the lead. Watching him. Not following blindly, not trusting blindly. Every instinct screamed that the line between ally and enemy had blurred. He could be protecting me, or he could be leading me straight into the teeth of the Syndicate.
We reached a junction. Elliot stopped, hand resting lightly against the wall. "This way," he said, voice neutral, calm.
I nodded, but the nod felt hollow. Inside, every memory, every breadcrumb, every half-truth I'd gathered flared into sharp suspicion. Elliot wasn't giving me answers he was testing me, gauging how far I'd let paranoia reach before it consumed me.
I fell in step behind him, silent. Watching. Calculating. Every choice mattered. Every word, every step, every glance could be a trap. I had survived this far by reading the signs no one else noticed. And yet, for the first time, I wondered if the signs themselves were misleading me.
Drip… metallic click… a distant echo.
I swallowed the unease. There was no room for certainty here, only observation, only vigilance. And trust well, that had become a luxury I couldn't afford.