By midday, Waza felt the pull of the Vein stronger than ever. Every street, alley, and neon-lit corner of Glora had already whispered its secrets to him, but today was different. Today, they were leaving the familiar zones, creeping toward the edges the neighborhoods the city didn't advertise, the ones that existed in shadow, where power shifted in whispers and unseen deals.
Selene walked beside him, the familiar calm in her stride. She had been his anchor since the docks confrontation, and though Waza felt no love, no attachment beyond respect and acknowledgment, her presence carried a weight a subtle warmth he hadn't realized he needed.
"This side isn't clean," Selene said, gesturing toward the low-rise buildings ahead. "Watch and listen. You'll learn who controls what by the way they move, not by what they say."
Waza scanned the streets. Movement was quiet but intentional a woman with a sharp gaze handing over a small package to a hooded figure, a group of men counting cash in a doorway, and another woman leaning against a motorbike, smoking slowly while observing the corner. Each carried influence, and Waza cataloged them like a scholar reading texts only he could decipher.
"Names," he whispered, almost to himself. "They all have names… and territories."
Selene's eyes caught his glance. "You're learning fast. But remember names are power. Streets remember, and so do people."
They approached the narrow bridge over the canal a crossing between Glora and the adjacent district, a place known only to those who moved in shadows. That's where Waza first saw The Crimson Circle: three women, dressed in dark red, their movements synchronized like dancers. They were powerful, dangerous, and deliberate.
The hum in Waza's veins resonated at a higher frequency. The Vein was guiding him, showing him who mattered and who was merely noise. Selene noticed. "Good. The Vein chooses what to show you. Watch closely."
One of the women, her hair tied back in a tight braid, stepped forward. Eyes sharp. "You're new," she said. Voice smooth, commanding.
Selene placed a hand on Waza's shoulder, subtle but protective. "We're visitors," she said. "Observing, nothing more."
The woman tilted her head, sizing him up. Waza stayed silent, calm, letting the Vein guide his posture, his energy. He didn't flinch, didn't step back. In those seconds, unspoken respect passed.
As the sun dipped toward evening, Waza and Selene mapped the edges of Glora's influence, noting who controlled what, who feared who, and where power could shift. Each figure, each interaction, was a lesson the city itself teaching him without words.
When they finally returned to Selene's usual vantage point a rooftop overlooking the industrial sector Waza exhaled. "The city… it's bigger than I thought," he said.
Selene leaned against the railing, watching him with a faint smirk. "It always is. But today, you moved through it like you belonged. That's progress."
Waza looked at her, not with romantic thought, but with awareness. Selene was his first constant in this expansion a reference point in the chaos. And though others would come, the women he would encounter in Glora and beyond, Selene had a space he wasn't yet ready to share.
And in the distance, beyond the industrial district, the faint flicker of lights in a neighboring city whispered possibilities new streets, new factions, and new questions waiting for him to answer.