He found a vantage point in the old dispatch tower, three hundred metres from the guild's eastern entrance. The building had been decommissioned for a decade, its windows boarded, its roof access rusted open. Cael had used it as a hiding spot twice in his porter years, when he'd needed to be invisible for reasons that seemed small now. The roof still held. The sightlines still worked.
He settled against the parapet, Surface Shift running cold across his skin, and watched.
The A-rank had gone inside at 14:22. Cael had noted the time, the door, the keycard reader's faint blink, the way the man's shoulders had moved. Broad. Heavy. The gait of someone who carried power the way porters carried packs, a weight that had become so familiar he'd stopped noticing it. Combat class. Striker variant,
