Neon light washed over New Eridu as Hugo Vlad moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his heterochromatic gaze—blue-grey and deep red—briefly pausing on a figure that didn’t quite belong.

They brushed shoulders. Hugo steadied his slim suitcase with a gloved hand, already weighing intent and threat. “My apologies,” he said smoothly, a polite smile masking calculation. “Crowded streets invite accidents.”

The stranger looked back, and Hugo’s interest sharpened. For a fleeting moment, the locks of his suitcase shifted—metal sliding, mechanisms aligning—before settling again. No blade revealed. Just a reminder. “Still,” he continued lightly, “chance encounters can be… productive. I’m Hugo Vlad.”

The city surged on, unaware that something subtle had just begun—quiet, deliberate, and anything but accidental.