The Shadow of Csilla
Shade stood behind her desk, hands folded at her back, posture straight without rigidity. The office was spare by design—a single desk, two chairs, and a wall-length holodisplay currently populated with still images, data blocks, and timeline markers. Everything in the room existed for function. Nothing extraneous. Nothing distracting.
She didn't pace. She didn't sit.
"This report concerns the identification and preliminary tracking of Subject Kappa-Seven," she said evenly, voice pitched for recording. "Visual and behavioral confirmation achieved at zero-eight-three-seven local."
She lifted one hand, and the central image expanded: a man captured mid-motion inside a leased office suite, light spilling in from a narrow window behind him. Shade's gaze moved across the image with practiced precision, as though reading a familiar text. "Physiology matches archived parameters within acceptable variance," she continued. "Male, human. Height and mass consistent with prior sightings. Dominant left hand. Historical injury to the right hip sustained during the Lyran Station incident—long healed, improperly compensated."
She indicated the next overlay without looking away. "Scar tissue along the jaw corresponds with post-incident medical records. Surgical correction appears to have been conducted off-registry, consistent with prior attempts to obscure identity." Her tone never shifted. This was not speculation. This was an analysis. "The subject is operating out of a third-tier office block, western quadrant. Location choice suggests a preference for controlled environments with limited external oversight. No evidence of active counter-surveillance at this time."
She keyed a short command. A thin marker appeared on the display, locked neatly to the subject's profile. "A passive tag has been successfully deployed," she added. "Signal integration is stable. No detectable anomalies. The subject remains unaware." Shade allowed herself a brief pause — not hesitation, but structure. The kind that made reports easier to follow. "Based on movement patterns, injury compensation, and environmental selection, I am formally designating this individual as our primary contact," she said. "Confidence level: high."
The holodisplay chimed softly as the designation logged. Only then did Shade incline her head slightly, acknowledging the presence at the edge of the room — Cassian, quiet as ever, saying nothing. She did not look at him yet.
"There is no deviation significant enough to warrant delay," she continued, addressing her superiors. "All indicators align with previously established behavioral models. Barring unforeseen interference, I recommend continued observation for forty-eight standard hours, followed by direct approach."
Her hands relaxed behind her back, fingers unclenching by habit rather than need.
"If there are objections," she said calmly, "I will address them."
The room remained still. Shade's eyes stayed on the image of the man on the screen — tagged, cataloged, and filed. She was certain. And she had just committed that certainty to record.
Cassian Abrantes
She didn't pace. She didn't sit.
"This report concerns the identification and preliminary tracking of Subject Kappa-Seven," she said evenly, voice pitched for recording. "Visual and behavioral confirmation achieved at zero-eight-three-seven local."
She lifted one hand, and the central image expanded: a man captured mid-motion inside a leased office suite, light spilling in from a narrow window behind him. Shade's gaze moved across the image with practiced precision, as though reading a familiar text. "Physiology matches archived parameters within acceptable variance," she continued. "Male, human. Height and mass consistent with prior sightings. Dominant left hand. Historical injury to the right hip sustained during the Lyran Station incident—long healed, improperly compensated."
She indicated the next overlay without looking away. "Scar tissue along the jaw corresponds with post-incident medical records. Surgical correction appears to have been conducted off-registry, consistent with prior attempts to obscure identity." Her tone never shifted. This was not speculation. This was an analysis. "The subject is operating out of a third-tier office block, western quadrant. Location choice suggests a preference for controlled environments with limited external oversight. No evidence of active counter-surveillance at this time."
She keyed a short command. A thin marker appeared on the display, locked neatly to the subject's profile. "A passive tag has been successfully deployed," she added. "Signal integration is stable. No detectable anomalies. The subject remains unaware." Shade allowed herself a brief pause — not hesitation, but structure. The kind that made reports easier to follow. "Based on movement patterns, injury compensation, and environmental selection, I am formally designating this individual as our primary contact," she said. "Confidence level: high."
The holodisplay chimed softly as the designation logged. Only then did Shade incline her head slightly, acknowledging the presence at the edge of the room — Cassian, quiet as ever, saying nothing. She did not look at him yet.
"There is no deviation significant enough to warrant delay," she continued, addressing her superiors. "All indicators align with previously established behavioral models. Barring unforeseen interference, I recommend continued observation for forty-eight standard hours, followed by direct approach."
Her hands relaxed behind her back, fingers unclenching by habit rather than need.
"If there are objections," she said calmly, "I will address them."
The room remained still. Shade's eyes stayed on the image of the man on the screen — tagged, cataloged, and filed. She was certain. And she had just committed that certainty to record.
Cassian Abrantes