The city never paused, not really. Even in the narrow alleys and shadowed corners, Glora breathed, whispered, and watched. Waza moved through it like a ghost, hoodie drawn low, hands buried in pockets, eyes scanning everything, taking nothing for granted.
The hum in his veins was faint but insistent, a reminder that the city was more than what it appeared to be. Every flicker of neon, every echo of tires on asphalt, carried a rhythm he couldn't ignore.
He paused at the corner of Evers Street, where the scent of fried bread mixed with exhaust fumes. A group of men loitered under a flickering light, tattoos crawling up their arms, eyes sharp and calculating. Names drifted through the air like smoke: Rico, Malin, Jax… Waza cataloged them quietly. Survival here wasn't about brute strength. It was about understanding the people who moved through the city like currents beneath the surface.
A sleek black car slowed at the intersection. A woman in white gloves waved to one of the men. Waza noticed how the man stiffened not out of fear, but recognition. Influence, unspoken and precise, painted the street like invisible lines.
He stepped aside as they passed, and for a moment, the hum in his veins flared, sharp, like it was warning him: observe. learn.
Silver appeared suddenly, sliding out from the shadows near a doorway. "You notice it, don't you?" she said, voice low but confident.
Waza nodded slightly, eyes still on the street. "They're… different. Not everyone's as loud as they look."
She smirked. "Exactly. And the quiet ones? They're usually the most dangerous."
He followed her gaze to a narrow alley. A figure leaned against the wall, face hidden, posture casual, yet the air around him buzzed differently. The Vein reacted subtly just enough to make Waza's pulse skip.
"Who's that?" he asked.
Silver didn't answer immediately. "Not your concern… yet. But watch. Everything in Glora has a pattern. You just have to learn it."
The streets stretched ahead, full of corners and secrets, laughter and warnings. Waza's notebook felt heavy in his pocket. He wanted to write everything down, every small detail, every flicker of power he sensed.
For the first time, he realized: surviving Glora wasn't about fighting every shadow. It was about knowing which ones would move when, and which ones would wait silently… watching him.
And somewhere in the hum of the city, the Vein pulsed, patient, waiting.