The hallways of the Veins felt narrower today, the damp air heavier, almost pressuring me to move faster. Shadows slanted along the walls, shifting with the weak glow of the flickering lights. I had left subtle hints, pieces of misinformation carefully arranged, each one tailored to Jonas' predictable arrogance.
Step… step… echo.
He walked in confidently, as always, oblivious to the web I had spun. His faction had eyes everywhere, but the seed of doubt I planted weeks ago had already taken root. Misfiled reports, slightly altered logs, whispers that carried just far enough they were working for me now.
"You really think you can outplay everyone, Dylan?" Jonas asked, smirk pulling tight across his face. His voice carried more certainty than logic, but arrogance was easy to manipulate.
"I don't think," I said lightly. "I watch."
His gaze flicked to the ledger on the table, a ledger I had nudged into his path. A small inconsistency caught his eye, and for the first time, I saw hesitation. That tiny fracture was all I needed.
Drip… drip.
By the time he realized the threads were pulling him apart, the faction was already moving. Figures emerged from the shadows, not mine, not needing my direction. Jonas stiffened, his smirk faltering, replaced by that spark of realization that he had been outmaneuvered.
"You'll be next. That's how this game ends," he spat, voice sharp, defiant even in defeat.
They dragged him away. The chains of his own faction sealed his fate, his own miscalculations used as leverage. He struggled, cursed, then disappeared into the dark, leaving only the echo of his warning behind.
I let the silence stretch, eyes scanning the empty corridor, mind calculating the next move. Each step he took toward oblivion reinforced the rules I had come to understand: patience, observation, subtlety. In this game, victory wasn't loud. It was quiet, methodical, absolute.
The Veins settled around me again, indifferent to the fall of a man who thought he controlled them. And I moved on, already weaving the next thread.