Iyisha blinked as the rifles lowered, not in sudden trust but in slow recognition, metal easing downward inch by inch as the men beneath the floodlights recalibrated what they were seeing.
Their rigid suspicion dissolving into something older, something that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the scar now illuminated against Waldo's skin.
The gate mechanisms disengaged with a deep grinding hum that vibrated through the soles of her shoes, and in that mechanical surrender she felt the weight of hierarchy shift around them.
She looked at Waldo, waiting for him to explain the mark, the silence, the immediate compliance.
He did not.
He lowered his shirt as if nothing had happened and stepped forward without ceremony, as though he had never left this place.
A guard descended from the tower with his posture straightened not in challenge but in acknowledgment.
"Sir."
"I need to speak with Darius," Waldo said, voice even, unhurried.
The name changed everything.
