The corridors smelled of ash and fear, a perfume the city wore like a crown. Shadows clung to the walls, curling around scorched panels and twisted metal, framing the chaos in slow-motion detail. I lingered, letting it settle just enough to be useful.
Soft clink… distant scrape…
Krain barked orders at a half-circle of lieutenants, each motion exaggerated, a performance of brute strength over precision. Carrow lingered near a collapsed panel, murmuring promises, weaving alliances like a tailor with delicate threads. Drama queens with armor.
I whispered a name into the darkness, a fabrication delicate yet sharp: Carrow had betrayed Krain. The idea was small, seemingly insignificant but I knew how seeds grew in paranoid soil.
Rattle… hum…
I watched their reactions. Krain's eyes flickered, suspicion sharpening them into knives. Carrow's lips twitched as she scanned the perimeter, feigning calm while tension tightened around her like a glove. I smiled faintly. Subtlety never hurt anyone except when it did.
Click… soft hiss…
The corridors seemed to breathe around them, groaning as they shuffled, uncertain of who they could trust. I cataloged every twitch, every sidelong glance, every pause in their speech. This was the new game: invisible hands, moving pieces without being seen.
Pop… soft clatter…
I traced my fingers along a scorched railing, thinking of Kara, of Elliot, of every misstep that had brought me here. The thrill wasn't just survival anymore it was control. The irony was sharp, delicious: those who had tried to manipulate me now danced to my tune, unaware their strings were mine to pull.
Drip… distant groan…
A flicker of light caught Krain's eye, making him jerk instinctively. Carrow's whisper of a warning came too late by the time suspicion reached her, doubt had already taken root. I almost laughed. "Gossip works better than guns," I muttered under my breath.
The thrill of it seeped into my bones, a warmth I hadn't expected. Watching them unravel, seeing the patterns I'd orchestrated, I realized the true power of observation and patience. Each movement, each hesitation, each heartbeat was data fuel for the next move.
Rattle… soft scrape…
I smirked, letting the words echo just enough for the shadows to carry them. "A whisper here, a doubt there… perfection in subtlety." The city's chaos was no longer a hazard. It was my instrument.
Not survival anymore. Not rebellion. Just control.