District Twelve‑Lower smelled like rust and river rot.
Aiden had forgotten that.
Most of Orion's simulations cleaned the air, made it a neutral gray background so analysts would not get distracted. Standing now on a narrow balcony that sagged toward the old drainage canal, he felt the damp stink cling to his clothes and thought: good.
Let the footage show this too.
Below, the district moved as if it knew something was coming but not from where.
Vendors kept their stalls half‑closed, awnings ready to drop at the first sign of trouble. Parents sent kids on errands with strict instructions not to linger. The usual background music of cheap speakers and street preachers ran lower, like everyone had agreed to turn the volume down without discussing it.
Rin checked the small camera clipped to her collar.
"Stream is live," she murmured. "Routed through three mirrors. Harder to shut off all at once."
