The scream didn't come from a person. It was the bells.
Usually, they had this deep, steady toll that you just tuned out after a while. But this morning, they were hitting the air with a frantic, clashing mess that set your teeth on edge. It was the sound of a city trying to dress up a full-blown panic as an "official emergency." Yesterday's little disaster was over, but it had left a sour taste in the administration's mouth—a kind of public embarrassment they couldn't just explain away with their usual logic.
Elias felt the vibration rattling the stones of the hideout long before he stepped outside. The Clarity wasn't a clean, white line anymore. It had turned into this jagged, pulsing headache in the back of his mind, reacting to a world that had given up on even pretending things were under control.
When he finally emerged, the city had been chopped into pieces.
Those massive black-iron gates—the ones left over from the old wars—had been slammed shut across every main road. The "Compression" had turned into a "Cordon." The guys at the top weren't trying to manage the crowds anymore; they were trying to choke them out.
"They aren't looking for a shadow," Elias muttered, tucked into the doorway of a boarded-up bakery. "They're looking for a reason to break someone."
The streets were ghost-town empty. The few people out were moving with this twitchy, terrified speed, white-knuckling their permits like they were holy relics. Every hundred yards, there was a new kind of patrol. These weren't the usual grumbling grunts; these were the "Overseers." Long grey coats, collars pulled up, hoods pulled down. They didn't talk, they didn't give directions. They just stared.
The Clarity spiked—a cold, sharp warning. These guys in grey weren't even checking papers. They were watching the way people walked, hunting for that same "perfect" composure Elias had used to slip past them the day before.
Being normal wasn't enough anymore. Now, being too composed was a death sentence.
The magistrate's wounded pride had birthed a new rule: if you aren't shaking with fear, you're guilty of something.
Elias felt the walls closing in. He couldn't play the model citizen again—not when the city had flagged "perfection" as a weapon. But he couldn't act clumsy or slow either, or they'd nail him for "interference." He was stuck in this impossible middle ground, trying to be a ghost in a place where even the air felt watched.
He saw the first "adjustment" happen at a corner.
A kid—a messenger—was standing a bit too still, just waiting for a gate to open. One of the grey-coats drifted toward him. No words, no "ID please." The man just tapped a heavy bronze rod against the cobblestones. Clink.
The kid started to stammer out an excuse, his voice cracking midway through. In that split second of hesitation, the Overseer lunged. It wasn't an arrest; it was a kidnapping in broad daylight. They hauled the kid into a black-curtained carriage before anyone could even blink.
The message was loud and clear: if you stayed silent yesterday, you're going to pay for it today.
Elias backed away, his heart thumping against his ribs. The Clarity was screaming at him to run, to bury himself underground and never come back. But he noticed something the hunters were missing.
In the eyes of the people watching that carriage pull away, it wasn't just terror anymore. There was this cold, quiet realization. The magistrate had traded his last bit of authority for a moment of bullying, and in doing so, he'd given the city a common enemy.
By the time he got back to the hideout, Elias was gasping for air. Sarah was already up, a short, nasty-looking blade resting on the table in front of her.
"They're grabbing people off the street," she said, her voice like flint.
"It's not random," Elias said, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "They're picking up anyone who doesn't look scared enough. They're trying to manufacture guilt because they don't have any actual leads."
She picked up the knife, checking the edge. "How long until they find the tunnels? If they're squeezing this hard, they're going to start looking under the floorboards."
"They're already looking," Elias said. "But they're looking for an army. They expect a headquarters, maps, uniforms."
He walked over to the map on the wall and stabbed a finger right into the center of the district—the heart of the Cordon.
"We have to stop hiding in the shadows," he said, the Clarity finally narrowing down into a single, dark point of focus. "The machine is already red-lining. We just need to be the thing that breaks the gears."
Sarah looked at him, her face unreadable. "You want to walk straight into the Cordon?"
"The magistrate overplayed his hand," Elias replied. "He wanted to show off his power, but all he did was show us exactly where he's vulnerable. He's the only one who can authorize these orders. If he stops signing them, the whole net falls apart."
The bells finally cut out, leaving a silence that felt heavy enough to crush you. The city was holding its breath.
Elias looked at the blade in her hand, then at his own empty, shaking palms. He wasn't a killer, but he was the only one who could see how the whole thing was about to snap.
"Tomorrow," he said, "the Cordon doesn't just fail. It breaks backward."