The morning sun fought to penetrate the thick, humid haze of the Navigli district. Alex stood at the edge of the canal, his industrial tool belt heavy against his hips. He was focused on the structural sealant of the retaining wall, but his mind was occupied by the presence standing three feet to his left.

  Sasha Vane was meticulously checking the pressure gauges on the canal’s floodgates. She worked with a quiet, practiced ease, her movements graceful despite the 60x environmental drag.

  "The seal looks good here, Alex," Sasha said, her voice warm and unassuming. She looked over at him, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Your parents mentioned you were the best at spotting micro-fissures. I’m glad they paired us up for this sector."

  Alex didn't look up from his work. He kept his head down, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he tapped a brief, two-beat code against the metal railing: Just doing the job.

  Sasha tilted her head, her expression curious but kind. "I’m still learning the hand-code. Was that a 'thank you' or an 'agree'?"

  Before Alex could respond, the sound of rhythmic, purposeful footsteps echoed on the pavement. Natalie Monica approached, her digital clipboard tucked under her arm. She didn't have her usual stern scowl; instead, she wore a look of pleasant, maternal concern that felt entirely out of character to Alex’s 31-year-old sensibilities.

  "How are we doing, children?" Natalie asked, her tone light—almost airy. She stepped between them, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder while her eyes swept over Sasha’s workstation. "I decided to stick around for this sweep. Call it a mother's instinct, but after what happened at the Duomo, I’d feel better keeping my eyes on my favorite team."

  Sasha beamed at her. "That’s so thoughtful, Natalie. It’s a bit intimidating working such a high-pressure sector on my first day."

  "Nonsense, dear," Natalie replied, her smile never reaching her eyes. She adjusted her glasses, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the Guild-standard insignia on Sasha’s tool bag. "We take care of our own in Milan. Especially those with such... distinguished last names."

  Alex felt the tension beneath the words. He knew Natalie. She wasn't being motherly; she was hunting. She was positioned exactly where she could see every move Sasha made, masking her suspicion behind a veil of hovering protectiveness.

  Alex returned to the wall, his fingers tracing a seam in the stone. He could feel Sasha’s gaze on him—friendly, open, and seemingly innocent. But the name Vane hung in the air like a localized pressure cell. He wondered if she was the "inside" the Guild used when their "outside" muscle failed, or if she was truly as oblivious as she seemed.

  He tapped a sharp, rhythmic warning against the stone, hidden by the sound of his scraping tools. It was a code only Natalie would recognize: Observation confirmed. Watching the flank.

  Natalie didn't flinch. She simply patted Alex’s shoulder again. "Exactly, Alex. Let's make sure everything is perfectly secure."

  Alex moved with a calculated, slow pace, his boots crunching on the grit. He reached the master pressure sensor for the canal’s gate—a critical component that regulated the 60x atmospheric weight against the water levels.

  Sasha had just pulled her hand back from the panel, her expression serene. "All clear on the readout, Alex. We can sign off on this sector."

  Alex didn't look at her. He leaned in, his 31-year-old focus cutting through the facade. He saw it instantly: a small, physical bypass pin jammed into the sensor's manual override. It wasn't a "glitch"; it was a deliberate freeze. If a heavy-burst hit, the gate wouldn't compensate, and the Navigli would flood within seconds.

  He didn't fix it. He simply stepped back and tapped a sharp, staccato rhythm against his thigh, catching Natalie’s eye. Check the pin.

  Natalie moved like a hawk. She stepped in, her eyes widening as she saw the bypass. Instead of a quiet correction, she let out a sharp, theatrical gasp that echoed off the stone walls of the canal.

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  "Oh, heavens! Sasha, look at this!" Natalie cried out, her voice unnaturally loud and laced with fake panic. "This sensor is compromised! If you hadn't 'cleared' this, we might have missed a catastrophic failure! How could the readout have possibly looked normal to you, dear?"

  The outburst did exactly what it was designed to do. Two figures paused their work fifty yards down the canal. Carla and Janet, both in their late sixties and wearing worn, grease-stained jumpsuits, turned in unison. They were the "old guard" of Milanese inspection—women who had survived more 60x storms than Alex had been alive.

  Carla squinted, her perceptive eyes narrowing behind thick lenses. "Compromised? On a cleared gate?"

  "That’s a bypass pin," Janet added, her voice a low, gravelly rasp as she began walking toward them. "You don't get those from wind-chatter. Someone had to seat that by hand."

  Sasha didn't flinch. Her mask stayed perfectly in place, her eyes filling with a convincing mix of horror and confusion. "What? No, the digital interface said—I must have misread the frequency. I’m so sorry, Natalie, I’m still adjusting to the local equipment. I should have been more thorough."

  She reached out to "help," but Carla’s heavy, gloved hand intercepted her before she could touch the panel.

  "Step back, girl," Carla said, her tone devoid of the warmth Sasha had been cultivating. "Let the adults look at the hardware."

  Janet stood next to Alex, her gaze lingering on his face for a second too long, as if she were trying to read the silence behind his eyes. Then she looked at Sasha. "A Vane, right? Funny how things break when your family is nearby. We'll be staying on this line for the rest of the shift. Just to be safe."

  Sasha kept her head bowed, playing the role of the humiliated junior to perfection, but Alex saw her fingers twitch against her tool belt. The trap was set. Natalie had successfully turned the "perceptive" eyes of the veterans against the new girl, creating a circle of watchers that Sasha couldn't easily break.

  Alex returned to his work, his face a shy mask of indifference. He tapped a final, hidden code against the railing for Natalie: Pressure rising. She’s locked in.

  The shift ended under a heavy, bruised sky. Alex packed his tools with his usual methodical silence, aware of the lingering gazes of Carla and Janet as they packed their own kits. He began his walk home, choosing a route that skirted the edge of the residential district—a quiet area known for its reinforced stone villas.

  He heard the quick, light patter of boots behind him. Sasha caught up, her face flushed, looking distressed.

  "Alex, please, wait!" she called out. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Her hand reached out to grab his sleeve, her eyes wide with what looked like desperate sincerity. "I need to apologize. About the sensor... I feel like everyone thinks I did it on purpose. You don't think that, do you? I just want to be a good partner."

  Alex remained still, his 31-year-old mind noting her surroundings even if she wasn't. She had cornered him directly in front of a heavy, iron-wrought gate topped with the crest of the city of Parma.

  The front door of the villa slammed open. Joseph Parma, the district police chief, stepped onto his porch. He was a barrel-chested man with a voice like a rockslide, and he had seen the Vane name on enough arrest warrants to last a lifetime.

  "Hey! Step away from him!" Parma bellowed, his voice echoing off the narrow street. He marched down his front steps, his face a deep shade of crimson. "I saw you grab him, girl. In this district, we call that harassment—or worse. I know your bloodline, Sasha Vane. We’ve been watching the lot of you since the Duomo incident."

  Sasha jumped back, her mask of kindness momentarily slipping into pure shock. "Sir, I was just—"

  "I don't care what you were 'just' doing!" Parma cut her off, standing between her and Alex like a human shield. "Consider this your only warning. If I see you leaning on this boy or any other honest worker again, you’ll be sitting in a high-pressure cell before the sun sets. There are no more warnings for your kind. Clear out!"

  Sasha turned to flee, but she nearly ran into Carla and Janet, who were walking toward their nearby cottages. They had stopped just a few yards away, taking in the entire scene with grim satisfaction.

  "We heard every word, Joseph," Carla said, her voice steady and cold. "And we saw the way she went for him. Don't you worry, we’re heading straight to Natalie’s. The police and the foster parents will have a full report on this 'apology' by dinner."

  Sasha looked trapped, her eyes darting around as Parma reached for the comms unit on his belt. Just as the situation reached a breaking point, a tall, nondescript man in a tan trench coat stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alley.

  "Now, now, Chief, let’s not get ahead of ourselves," the man said, his voice smooth and weary. He stepped forward, placing a firm, heavy hand on Sasha’s shoulder.

  This was Agent Lombardy. He didn't look like an agent; he looked like a disappointed parent.

  "I am so incredibly sorry, Chief Parma," Lombardy said, shaking his head with a convincing sigh of shame. "My daughter has always been impulsive when she’s embarrassed. Sasha, what did I tell you about bothering people with your mistakes? You’re coming home right now."

  He turned to Alex and the others, offering a respectful nod. "I’ll handle her. She won't be a problem for your son or your district anymore tonight. My deepest apologies."

  Lombardy practically dragged a stunned Sasha away, his grip on her arm far tighter than a father’s should be. Alex watched them go, his expression shy and unreadable, while inside, he was already calculating the shift in the Guild's tactics. The "mundane" chess match was getting crowded.