By the time the sun disappeared behind Central's walls, Ryn had slipped into a new identity.
Liam Bloodmane's attire was intentionally unremarkable—a dark hooded mantle and a mask, presumably to reduce the smell of corpses.
Ryn adjusted the mantle as he walked, letting it fall just enough to obscure his face.
No one stopped him.
Fritz followed half a step behind, helmet lowered, posture loose in a way that mimicked the guard's carelessness.
He was adapting faster than Ryn thought.
The guards at the holding block barely glanced their way.
A seal was raised.
Ryn mirrored the motion, presenting Liam's nameplate without a word.
The guard nodded immediately and stepped aside.
"Late run," he muttered.
"Ain't that better?" Ryn replied, keeping his voice flat.
That was all it took.
The guard sighed as the gates slid open, iron grinding softly as they parted.
