The alley chose a shape that made bad ideas look reasonable. Narrow mouth. Wider gut. Three exits that lied about being exits. Rain threaded down in straight lines that didn't reach the ground.
Kael set the first anchor under a rusted fire escape and taped it in place like a medic dressing a wound that kept debating whether to bleed. Olli stood in the mouth of the alley with a dampener case open and his shoulders squared against second thoughts. Amara counted windows. Callum counted ways to leave if leaving became the only honest answer.
Arden walked the length of the bricks with a finger out, tasting the static where the zone would live. The air pricked her skin as if the city had grown stubble. The Codebook sat heavy at her hip, sulking. She kept her hand away from it the way you keep your hand out of your own mouth when you're trying to break a habit.
"Two blocks," Kael said. "Their patrol cuts through here on the even hour."
"Kids?" Arden asked.
