The maintenance corridor stays narrow and dim, the distant door still spilling one thin blade of light across the floor. Cyndar kremshelli eases toward the exit, but the shadow ahead shifts first.
A man steps out and takes the center of the passage. South Blood colors mark him, plain and deliberate. His hand rests near a holstered weapon, not drawn, but ready.
Kaelen
Wrong hall. South Blood turf. You lost?
Behind Cyndar, the maintenance terminal remains dead. Somewhere deeper in the arcade, the hum of the public floor vibrates faintly through the walls. The corridor has become a choke point.
Kaelen
Tell me what you were doing in the restricted node, and maybe we keep this quiet.
Kaelen watches her closely, weighing whether she is a thief, a spy, or merely unlucky. His stance stays calm, but his shoulder tightens over the holster.