The morning sun did not bring warmth to the city. It merely illuminated the decay that had been hidden by the night. Zeta walked toward the library, his mind preoccupied with the lingering threat of Detective Vane. Every shadow in the street felt like a surveillance device, and every rhythmic flicker of the automated traffic lights seemed to be judging his movements. He had barely slept, his thoughts churning with the realization that Vane was closing in. He kept his head down, his posture slouched, perfecting the image of a man whose life was entirely governed by the grind of his daily labor.
As he reached the perimeter of the library district, he felt a strange, cold tension in the air. The usual crowd of maintenance workers and clerks was absent. Instead, the streets were cordoned of
