Leo waited until the first bruises of daylight peeled over Black Hollow before he moved.
The lenses buzzed low behind his eyes, but they didn't hurt anymore. Now they just felt... part of him. Like a new scar he hadn't decided whether to hate or not.
He pulled his coat tight, tucked his chin down, and slipped into the streets.
The Hollow was waking up coughing, choking, dragging itself into another day.
Vendors hammered broken signs into place. Street kids darted through alleys, barefoot and hollow-eyed. The air stank of wet brick and cheap oil.
Leo kept his pace slow.
Low shoulders. Quiet feet. Eyes down.
Same as always.
The key was never looking like you had anything worth taking.
Near Gristwell Lane, a cart had tipped over a few rotten apples spilling into the mud.
People scrabbled over them like dogs. No shame left. Just hunger.
The lenses whispered soft over the crowd:
**Mira Vance — Malnourished — Infection Risk: High**
**Garth Rown — Pickpocket — Previous Arrests: 4**
Leo didn't stop. Didn't stare.
He just slid through them, another shadow among a hundred others.
When he reached Ashmarket, the smell hit him first rust, sweat, blood.
Here was where the real business of Black Hollow happened. Not the shouting over fish carts or the haggling over rotten bread.
Here was where *secrets* sold and secrets were heavier than gold.
He kept to the edges. Eyes flicking. Hands still.
A woman with blade-thin eyes ran a stall under a half-collapsed awning. She nodded at him, barely a twitch of her chin, and laid out a battered data chip on the table.
Leo didn't touch it.
Didn't have to.
The lenses flared faintly:
**Forged Data Tag — Authenticity: 12% — Compromised.**
He just gave a little shake of his head — small, almost lazy.
The woman's mouth twitched.
But she said nothing. Business was business. Pride didn't survive long here.
Leo moved on.
That's how you stayed alive in the Hollow.
You didn't shout when you had something valuable.
You didn't strut around like you mattered.
You *drifted*.
You let them underestimate you.
An hour later, he had three solid finds tucked inside his coat: a real ration voucher, a half-working water purifier, and a coil of true steel wire so fine it could slit a man's throat if you breathed wrong holding it.
No one saw him score any of it.
No one even noticed him leave.
Just before he slipped back into the alleys, a hand brushed his pocket. Fast.
Leo turned slightly just enough to catch a skinny kid, maybe eleven, grime up to his elbows, trying to slip his fingers inside Leo's coat.
**Renn March — Orphan — No Immediate Threat.**
The old Leo might've smacked the kid's hand away. Maybe said something sharp.
But now?
He just palmed a piece of dried meat from his pouch and dropped it into the kid's grubby hands without a word.
Renn froze. Stared at him like he'd handed over the moon.
Leo kept walking.
He didn't need thanks.
Didn't want it.
He disappeared into the smoke and dust, just another nobody with nowhere to be.
But this time, he saw everything.