Dockside Service Exchange stays quiet except for timed shutters cycling toward closure. Nyx waits beyond locker seventeen, alone; the woman behind the gun counter, the protected relay witness, and the chamber woman remain at the harbor house with the restrained agents and sealed evidence. A ceiling camera pivots toward the meeting point.
A masked adult courier, a human adult of indeterminate gender with a sealed matte-black mask concealing every facial feature, enters beneath the failing fluorescent strips, lean and rain-dark in a charcoal utility coat. A silver latch marks the sealed service pouch at their hip, while a payment token glints between black-gloved fingers.
The courier checks locker seventeen without opening it, then scans the corridor’s empty angles. The camera finishes its turn and begins transmitting, its lens settling directly above the exchange.
The Masked Courier
No contact. No delay. Deposit, verify, disappear.
The masked courier raises the payment token toward the locker reader. Glasshouse routing marks pulse once across its surface, bright enough to betray the handoff to anyone watching the camera feed.
The shutter above the far exit descends another segment. The corridor offers Nyx only a narrowing window before the masked courier opens the locker, while the camera continues to hold the meeting point.
Intercept the Glasshouse courier