*The Veiled Hand* Translated from sealed records. Clearance uncertain. We are House Delaque. You already know us—though you cannot remember when you learned our name. We listen where others boast. We watch while others sleep. Every corridor casts a shadow, every data-slate carries a whisper, and all of it reaches us in time. Information is our blood; secrecy, our shield. We do not rule with banners or brute strength. We rule by knowing when to move—and when to let others ruin themselves. We walk the underhive wrapped in coats and silence. Our rifles speak once, if at all. Our blades strike where armour, faith, and courage fail. Some of us touch the empyrean. Others tend the flow of data, favors, and rumor. All serve the same truth: nothing in Necromunda stays buried forever. You will not know which of your allies reports to us. You will not know which message you sent, which deal you made, or which secret you kept marked the beginning of your end. By the time you realise you are being watched, the board has already been set. Gangs disappear. Leaders fall. Witnesses recant. Records change. House Delaque remains. We are loyal, because betrayal is inefficient when outcomes are known. We are patient, because time belongs to those who plan beyond a single battle. We are Delaque. You can keep your guns. We decided you were dead long ago.