Before Antoril, before seals and flute players with black eyes, I learned to walk routes like this — where risk lives behind doors no one knocks on. I didn't wear a cloak or carry a weapon. I wore an expensive watch and polished shoes.
I carried folders, memos, and a smile that opened more safes than any key. I worked in buildings with more glass than morals, surrounded by men who knew how to use the word "compliance" to justify anything — including the slow destruction of other people's lives.
I was the middleman.
Modern smuggling, dressed like an executive.
Confidential information. Competitor dossiers. Transfers disguised as consulting. Sometimes people — people who wanted to disappear, or needed to show up under a different name. I didn't deal in weapons. I dealt in data. In logistics. In small lies dressed up as clean appearances.
