The apartment was quiet. The desk was covered in paper. Maps of Neo Ashford. Printed reports. Handwritten notes. Red ink connected the dots. Kaito stood back. He looked at the wall. The lines crossed. They intersected. They formed a shape. It was not random. It was not chaos. It was geometry.
Kaito said: "It is a pattern."
Kuro said: "It looks like a circuit."
Kaito said: "Or a key."
Kaito stepped closer. He traced the line with his finger. The cracks were not leaks. They were points. Nodes. They were placed with precision. The Grey District. The Commercial Zone. The Academy. The Old Theater. The Financial District. Seven points. Seven cracks.
Kaito said: "Seven."
Kuro said: "Significant number."
Kaito said: "Or coincidence."
Kaito did not believe in coincidence. Not anymore. Not after the twenty breaches. Not after the voice in the alley. The entities were being directed. The cracks were being placed. Someone was drawing on the city. Someone was using reality as a canvas.
