The logistics warehouse in Sanjaya Consortium territory smelled of diesel and rusted iron, far from the gleam of glass in the boardroom at the top of the building. This was where true territorial power was tested—not at conference tables, but in the narrow corridors where shipping containers were stacked and mid-level capos ran their dirty businesses far from the public eye.
Karel walked between those corridors with a folder in hand, perfectly playing the part of a Cleaner inventorying “assets in need of disposal”—the official excuse that gave him access to nearly every corner of the territory without arousing suspicion. No one greeted him with more than a nod. Arcane Blindness. Harmless. Exactly what he wanted. Behind the Waskitha Glasses, the hidden world lay wide open.
He paused at a corridor intersection, pretending to examine the folder while his eyes traced the warehouse wall ahead. There, faint but clear to anyone who knew how to look, a thin crack of deep violet crept along the concrete surface—the Rift Knot, where the warehouse’s guardian spell script had suffered a minor structural flaw, a gap no one without lenses like his would ever notice.
He moved closer, following the crack with his eyes, reading its flow the way one read the path of blood vessels. The crack led to a single point: a small storage warehouse at the far end of the complex, marked by a steel door loosely guarded by two armed men who seemed more interested in smoking than staying alert.
Karel already knew what was inside before he approached. He could see a thin neon line flowing out from the gap beneath the door, the same kind of line that connected every capo to their Khodam, but dimmer and more diffuse, as if it came not from a single creature but from liquid stored in small containers. Tirakat Opium. This warehouse’s supply. He walked closer, near enough to read its anesthetic concentration through his glasses—high, stable, enough to keep dozens of Khodam asleep throughout Sanjaya Consortium territory tonight.
He had chosen his first target the night before, after seeing the symbol on Don’s desk. A mid-level capo named Wisnu—the manager of this warehouse’s distribution, the person closest in rank to the documents bearing that symbol, but also the least protected of all the capos who had attended yesterday’s meeting. A perfect combination: close enough to the clue he was seeking, weak enough to make a safe beginning.
Karel retreated into the shadows between two shipping containers, crouched down, and began silently assembling his plan. He would not attack the warehouse tonight. Too hasty, too many eyes. All he needed was a small opening—just enough to thin the dose of Tirakat Opium flowing to Wisnu’s Khodam without triggering anyone’s alarm. It would take time. It would take patience. He had already envisioned his route in: not through the guarded front door, but through an old ventilation duct on the north side of the warehouse, the only point not protected by a guardian sigil because it was considered too small for a human to pass through. He was not a large man. That was another advantage he rarely mentioned to anyone.
From a distance, he calculated the guard-change schedule—the two guards in front of the warehouse switched shifts every few hours, with a brief gap during the handoff when their attention was diverted by the exchange of reports. Enough time, if his calculations were right, to enter through the northern vent, thin the seal on one of the Tirakat Opium containers with the small tool he always carried hidden behind his belt, then get out before the next shift truly began.
His greatest risk was not the human guards—that was the easy part. His greatest risk was the guardian entity that might have been stationed inside the warehouse itself, hidden among the shadows of the crates, waiting for anyone reckless enough to enter without permission. Through his glasses, Karel scanned the building once more, searching for any pulse of presence beyond the neon lines of the Tirakat Opium. Nothing—at least, not yet. Distribution warehouses like this were usually not considered important enough to warrant Khodam guards, unlike Don’s private vault at the top of the building.