Rain-slicked streets reflected the neon above, stretching the city into a maze of light and shadow. Waza pulled his hoodie tighter, feeling the familiar hum in his veins pulse stronger, a quiet warning that something was moving in the darkness. Something alive. Something deliberate.
He kept to the alleys, silent steps on wet cobblestones. The city of Glora never slept; it whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen. And Waza Azen now, in the whispers of the streets, listened better than most.
A flicker at the corner of his vision drew him in. A figure slipped past the crowd, heavy and purposeful, clutching a bundle wrapped in black cloth. Waza froze, assessing the pattern of passersby, the rhythm of the night, the movements of the neon shadows.
The Vein pulsed again, a sharp staccato in his chest, almost like a heartbeat not his own. Danger.
He followed quietly, not out of heroism he had none but out of curiosity. His eyes picked up subtle signs: a spray of gang marks on a wall, a flicker of a knife under a sleeve, an echo of footsteps that didn't belong.
Then a masked figure appeared, cutting off the shadow in the alley. A knife gleamed under the flickering streetlight.
The clash was swift. A gloved hand struck, the shadow fought back, sparks of anger flashing in their motions. Waza didn't intervene; he observed, cataloged, and memorized.
And then, from the darkness behind a broken doorway, someone watched. Draven.
Tall, sharp, movements deliberate, almost predatory. He made no sound but met Waza's gaze as if he had been expecting him. The acknowledgment was small, a nod in the rhythm of the city but it carried weight. Someone else had noticed him. Someone dangerous. Someone who understood what Waza could become.
The shadowed figure broke free and disappeared into the deeper streets. The knife dropped, the rain washed the alley silent again.
Waza exhaled, alone. But the Vein did not quiet. It thrummed like a warning drum: Glora's streets are alive. And they are watching.
He knew, then, that this was only the beginning. Observation had brought him this far, but action would soon be demanded. And the city… the city would not wait.