I dropped off the footage at the Sector 47 precinct without fanfare. Grant wasn’t in—likely handling a different leg of the case—but the night shift officer took the drive with both hands and a stiff nod. I signed off on the chain of evidence, then stepped back into the city.
The cold evening air nipped at the edge of my coat, a whisper of rain threading through the wind. I walked.
I needed to think.
Not about what ca next, not yet. Just about what I’d seen.
Lea said the intruder was thin. Their skin very pale with long, ssy hair. Soone who didn’t talk. Soone who stood still in the dark and smiled.
The girl in the footage?
She wasn’t thin. Not bulky either—just... solid. Broad-shouldered. A strength to her stance that made her stand out even in the blurred edge of the fra. Her hair wasn’t tangled; it was long, yes, but brushed to one side, concealing part of her face like she ant it that way. Intentional.
And her skin—definitely not pale.
It was beige. Warm-toned. A little sun-kissed, even.
So who was wrong?
Lea?
Or ?
It could’ve been bad lighting. mory distortion. The way a child’s brain turns fear into exaggeration.
Or...
It wasn’t the sa person.
My jaw tightened. Two stalkers. Two different people, both watching the sa girl from the shadows. That wasn’t paranoia. That was escalation. And escalation ant patterns. If this girl was caught on tape, we could cross-reference her face—even if pixelated—against the district database. Facial proportions. Hairline ratios. Gait analysis.
Sothing had to give.
I walked faster.
The crowd thinned the closer I got to the A-Rank housing sector. Most people didn’t have clearance to be near this level of the city without a reason. Even the air felt heavier here—denser security presence, automatic scanners, more caras tucked into glass awnings.
As I approached the tower, sothing felt off.
The lights outside were brighter. Wider sweep arcs.
The front gate guard didn’t just glance at and wave—he stood upright, scanned my ID tag a second ti, and nodded with a level of caution that hadn’t been there before.
Then I saw them.
Three new guards on the periter. One near the elevator core. Two inside the lobby, speaking into short-range comms and keeping their backs to the glass.
Even the desk at reception had changed. Sa woman, different tone.
"Good evening, Mr. Vale," she said, standing.
I paused. "Sothing happen?"
Her eyes twitched to the side. "Not directly. Just an increased security notice issued after the security cara was accessed and after your request for it. The Ministry reallocated assets to this block. Standard asure."
"Reallocated from where?"
She didn’t answer.
But I could guess.
Probably from the floor just below mine. Or the one under that. Lower-tier A-Rankers who didn’t have the sa footprint I did. I’d been on the news again last week. So outlet ran a segnt speculating on my job’s hidden benefits. Another did a breakdown on the exact date my title first registered with the Central Registry and what it might imply for post-human evolution.
Theories, everywhere.
And the cost of all that attention?
Other people’s comfort.
A-Rankers were rare. On paper, our tower housed twenty-seven individuals across a total of 75 floors. But active, local, and fully governnt-cleared? Maybe four and that’s being fairly generous.
Sotis I forgot how scarce we really were.
I’d been around the governnt for too long I guess. It still amazed how many resources the governnt poured into tracking down A-Rankers.
Every single individual working for the governnt is A-rank with so possibly being B-rank with signs of promotion being prominent.
The only exception to this rule were soldiers who were all B-rank individuals though even they had an A-rank to command them in tis of combat.
In reality A-rank individuals were rather rare. You’d see a total of maybe 10 across your lifeti if your only C-rank or lower.
The elevator opened with a soft chi. I stepped inside.
Each floor I passed felt like peeling back another layer of insulation from the noise. By the ti the doors slid open to my level, silence returned. Polished stone. Reinforced paneling. A gentle hum of filtered air.
Ho.
I unlocked the door, stepped in, and let it click shut behind .
No shoes in the entryway. No coats on the rack. The lights were on low, sensing my presence and brightening subtly as I entered the kitchen.
The air slled faintly of cinnamon tea—Sienna’s favorite—and I could hear the soft whir of a ventilation system correcting the humidity in the far room. Camille had probably opened a window again. She liked the city slls even when she pretended she didn’t.
But tonight, I didn’t look for either of them.
My mind went sowhere else.
Evelyn.
A-Rank Evaluator.
Silent. Private. Fierce.
She’d been quiet the past few days. Not out of malice or distance—just how she was. She stayed near when things were chaotic. Protected what she could, then receded when the dust settled.
But I hadn’t made ti for her.
Not really.
Not after the tournant. Not after the island. Not even since we got back.
I moved past the kitchen, down the hall. The guest room doors were closed. The lounge was empty. I took a breath and stood in the stillness.
Everything was safe now. Or... as safe as it could be.
And yet that image wouldn’t leave .
A young girl. Smiling too widely. Standing in a schoolyard alley just long enough to be seen.
Was it her?
Or a pawn?
Or soone else entirely?
It didn’t matter.
She had a face now. And that ant she had a na. And nas could be found.
But not tonight.
Tonight, maybe I could find sothing else.
I turned down the hall and knocked lightly on Evelyn’s door.
A second passed.
Then another.
And then—
"...Co in," her voice said, quiet but firm.
I opened the
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