From where I perched, Kara moved with the precision of someone used to being watched—but her eyes flickered too often, too fast, for comfort. Every glance over a ledger, every pause mid-step, was a breadcrumb, and I was the wolf sniffing them out.
No sound cues needed. Just the quiet pulse of calculation and misdirection.
She leaned over the table, flipping through pages I'd already memorized, fingers tracing numbers with an almost conspiratorial delicacy. I let her think she was clever. Cute, I thought. Trying to make me believe you're the mastermind of shadows. Adorable, really.
A misaligned symbol caught my eye barely noticeable unless you were paying attention to patterns the way I did. The tilt of a "7," the overextended tail on a scribbled loop. Kara's signature move: hiding truth in plain sight. She thought she was passing intel to Lyric, slipping secrets like a ghost through the cracks. I cataloged it all, inwardly rolling my eyes at her theatrical subtlety.
Theatrics aren't crimes, darling. But predictable ones? They're a death sentence.
I traced the path of her glance to the small stack of ledgers I'd "forgotten" to secure. The ones she'd covet, thinking they held the keys to chaos. Perfect. I let her reach, let her touch. She moved with quiet satisfaction, certain of her deception, unaware that she was already inside the snare I'd set.
A faint twitch in her jaw told me she knew she was playing a dangerous game. Or maybe she was proud. Hard to tell when pride comes coated in fear.
I leaned back, hidden in the shadow of the scaffolding, and smiled. Oh, sweet, predictable Kara. You've done exactly what I wanted.
The ledger she'd pinched wasn't a secret at all it was a lure. Controlled misinformation, dressed as truth, handed on a silver platter. Lyric would bite, and the pieces would scatter just as I'd calculated. The trap was elegant, simple, and delicious.
I allowed a small smirk to surface. Really, she's making this too easy. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.
Her eyes caught mine for a split second as she passed the stack to a waiting operative in the shadows. There was a flicker of recognition, maybe a warning. I didn't flinch. I let her think she had leverage. You'll find, my dear, the leverage is mine and always has been.
I exhaled slowly, cataloging every movement, every hidden glance, every micro-tremor of hesitation. The dance of betrayal was one I'd choreographed long before she even stepped onto the stage. And like every well-timed performance, the payoff would be exquisite.
Nice try, shadows. I'm already ten steps ahead, and you're dancing to my tune.