Kaguya had infiltrated military compounds before.
She had spent weeks living among soldiers who never knew her name, sharing meals with officers whose schedules she would later use to plan their deaths, and walking through headquarters that vanished in fire only days after she left them behind.
Infiltration was never about disguises.
Disguises were temporary.
People noticed faces.
People remembered uniforms.
What they rarely remembered was presence.
The woman carrying supplies.
The mechanic eating lunch beside the motor pool.
The quiet survivor standing near the edge of a crowd listening while everyone else spoke.
People saw what they expected to see.
Kaguya had built an entire life around that truth.
BASA, however, was proving unusually difficult to understand.
Not because it was secretive.
Not because it was heavily defended.
Not because information was impossible to obtain.
Ironically, the problem was the exact opposite.
The city wanted to be seen.
