They hear the Career pack before they see it.
Not voices — the Careers are disciplined enough to have agreed on silence during sweeps, which is itself a kind of communication, the silence of coordinated intention — but the sound of stone under organized boots, the particular rhythm of people who have divided labor without discussion, each moving through an assigned arc. Hamlet registers it from the north catwalk three seconds before he can identify its source, the way he once registered Claudius entering a room before the door opened: something in the quality of the air changes, pressurizes, becomes the kind of air that requires more careful management.
He stops.
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