Adjusting the Scales

Anya's conscience weighed heavily with the knowledge that Henderson had tampered with the evidence. She couldn't ignore it; her own sense of justice wouldn't permit it. However, she was unable to use legitimate channels without revealing both the information's illegal source and herself. She deliberated for a day before choosing calculated risk. She collected the disparities she had discovered, eliminated any connections to her particular search term, and anonymized the data. She mailed the box to Ben Carter, an investigative journalist renowned for his persistence in examining police wrongdoing and his discretion with sources, using a public terminal and layers of obfuscation akin to those Rhys probably used. Casting the information into the wind in the hopes that it will land somewhere useful without identifying her was a risk. She experienced a twinge of discomfort as she purposefully avoided the system she had promised to uphold, employing strategies more in line with the man she had encountered in the shadows of the library.

A week went by. News of abnormalities in evidence handling processes, an internal probe of Clerk Henderson, and hints of a possible reassessment of a number of recently dropped cases, including the assault charge AS-7714, first surfaced quietly before gaining momentum. Henderson was placed on leave while the matter was looked into. It appeared like justice was making its way, although through shady means. Anya had a complicated mix of shame and relief. Although she thought she had made the right decision, the course she had followed felt perilously near the brink.

She had no idea whether Rhys knew what had happened or even cared. She almost expected the unknown sender to never get back to her. Then came another email, just as mysterious as the first.

Hill of Observatory. Dome North.
1 AM tomorrow.
A clear night.

Although it was mostly empty late at night, Observatory Hill provided a broad view of the city and was occasionally visited by lovers and stargazers. An old, disused telescope that was rarely used was housed in the North Dome. Compared to the library, it felt less secret and more open, yet it was still defendable and had obvious sightlines. Perhaps indicating a tiny change in trust, or simply choosing to be more tactically aware, Rhys was picking the spot with care. This time, Anya hesitated barely a moment before making the decision to leave. The dangers were outweighed by the necessity to comprehend and carry on the peculiar conversation they had initiated.

On top of Observatory Hill, the air was clean and chilly. The hazy illumination coming from the huge city below was strikingly contrasted with the stars glittering overhead. The metal framework of the North Dome made a gentle creaking sound in the wind. The air within was calm, with a faint oily and dusty smell. The massive structure of the old brass telescope, silently pointing to the sky, was illuminated by moonlight that came through the gaping hole in the dome.

Anya reached exactly one, her senses sharpened. She was spared a long wait. Rhys emerged from behind the enormous equatorial mount of the telescope, moving silently and fluidly. In the moonlight tonight, she could see his face more clearly, with its sharp features and attentive eyes that seemed to catch everything. He wore similar dark, unassuming clothes. He seemed to have less stiffness in his shoulder.

Anya broke the silence and pointed to the open dome, saying, "Clear night, as requested."

With his eyes sweeping over the city lights dispersed below them like falling constellations, Rhys responded, "Perspective helps sometimes." "Down there... It's simple to lose focus on the wider picture.

For a minute, they stood silently, watching the city that so drastically contrasted their lives.

Anya said, "Henderson was suspended," seeing his response.

Slowly, Rhys nodded. "I watched the news. Even if they require some extra grease, the wheels of justice can occasionally spin. His lips formed a thin, nearly invisible smile. "Did your anonymous source turn out to be trustworthy?"

Anya cautiously acknowledged, "The information led to the right questions." "I'm grateful." Thanking the guy who had breached Thorne Tower for his assistance in redressing another injustice seemed odd.

Officer, don't thank me. Give thanks to your conscience for taking action. He looked away from the skyline to meet her face-to-face. "Most people wouldn't have."

"Is that the reason behind your actions?" Anya grabbed the opportunity and asked. Outside lubricant? Changing the scales?

He leaned back against the stable base of the telescope and thought about the question. "In part. The Narrows is where I grew up. You quickly discover that the scales are weighted down there. As the lenders have dinner with city officials, you witness decent individuals being crushed by predatory lenders. Because the inspectors work for the slumlords, they can disregard safety regulations and remove households. The system frequently works against them rather than just failing them. He made melodramatic, low-key remarks that summed up a lifetime of observation. For instance, someone like Arthur Kovac. West District slumlord of the third generation. Rents drain renters, there are several buildings, and there are numerous safety infractions. Do tenants voice complaints? They experience intimidation and unlawful eviction. Inspectors from the city? His constructions miraculously always pass.

Anya was familiar with the name. Kovac was well-known for constantly eluding the law, and his victims were frequently too weak or afraid to successfully resist through the proper channels.

“I visited Mr. Kovac last year,” Rhys added, his tone becoming a little more stern. Not for his cash. He was skimming the automated maintenance payments for his building, so I transferred them straight into an escrow account run by a tenants' rights organization. secretly and digitally. And somewhere the Fire Marshal couldn't overlook, I posted copies of his actual safety inspection reports—the ones that revealed defective wiring and fire dangers. Kovac now needed urgent repairs that he couldn't afford to put off. He gave a shrug. "There was a slight shift in the scales."

Anya paid close attention. He wasn't boasting; rather, he was elaborating and providing insight into his own strict, if unlawful, code of conduct. Holding onto that line, she retorted, "But you're still breaking the law." "You're not following the rules. Vigilance.

"And when the predators are protected by the system itself?" Softly, Rhys questioned. "When abiding by the rules means allowing others to suffer? Then what, Officer? Do you trust the procedure that has previously let them down and submit another report? Or do you admit that the system is flawed?

His inquiry echoed her own frustrations and struck close to home. Although her voice lacked some of its typical conviction, she stated, "I think we have to try and fix it from within." I wear the emblem for that reason. to attempt to get the system to function as intended.

“A noble goal,” Rhys said in a neutral tone. Maybe naive. but honorable. He turned to face the city. We observe similar issues, Officer Petrova. Simply put, our perspectives on the solutions are significantly different.

Their cultural differences were evident: her strained idealism was based on the faulty legal systems, while his cynical pragmatism was born of the shadows. However, the hostility seemed lessened in this peaceful area, beneath the wide night sky, and was replaced by a reluctant comprehension and a mutual awareness of the city's severe wounds.

Anya's younger cousin, Maya, who resided in the West District, called her a few days later. Maya, who is typically anxious about earning a living, sounded thrilled.

"Anyway, it's unbelievable! Do you recall the hellish landlord, Mr. Kovac? All of a sudden, he is mending everything! The elevator was faulty, the hallway's wiring was suspect, and the roof was leaking! Additionally, a strange credit related to "misallocated maintenance funds" was applied to everyone's rent this month. It resembles a miracle!

Anya's blood froze. Kovac. Money for maintenance was misallocated. She recalled the precise example that Rhys had given in the observatory. It couldn't have happened by accident. He had only targeted Kovac as part of his own plan; he was unaware that Maya was her cousin. However, the outcome—the audible relief in Maya's voice, the minor yet noteworthy enhancement of her life and the lives of her neighbors—was something that Anya, with her badge and procedures, had failed to accomplish.

There was a startling amount of cognitive dissonance. Someone she loved had just been directly and favorably influenced by Rhys, the Ghost, the thief she was legally required to apprehend, the man she was meeting in secret in defiance of all the rules she held dear. He worked in the dark, but he had at least partially illuminated Maya's world.