The weight of his revelations pressed down upon her, but the legate’s courage in seeking her out made it impossible to say no.

  “I’ll meet him,” she said. “But this isn’t about reconciliation. I need information. Nothing more.”

  “I understand.” Steath nodded, relief evident. “I’ll arrange it and send instructions through secure means.”

  “Make sure he understands my terms.” Meera moved toward the exit, then paused. “If this is some elaborate manipulation ...”

  “It isn’t.” His voice carried modest certainty. “Whatever your father’s failings, he truly fears what’s coming.”

  Meera slipped back into the maintenance shaft, her mind reeling. The truth about Arliss’s imprisonment confirmed what she’d always suspected, but hearing it spoken aloud reopened a gaping hole.

  As she navigated the dark corridor, memory pulled her backward through time. On the day news of her mother’s death reached Meera, Kip was two years old, babbling in his makeshift pen, unaware of her grief. The official notice delivered by a temple courier who wouldn’t meet her eyes:

  “The ceremony is restricted to those in good standing with the Breath.”

  She wasn’t permitted to attend.

  That night, she sobbed in Arliss’s arms, her tears soaking through his shirt. He stroked her hair, his voice soft.

  “She knew you loved her, Meercat. You don’t need a ceremony to confirm it.”

  His sweetness made her cry harder. While her father stood before the Wind Readers reciting the Passing Rituals at his wife’s dissolve, Meera conducted her own private farewell, burning a small offering of her mother’s favorite incense as Arliss held Kip.

  The memory faded as Meera returned to the familiar chaos of the Servo District. The evening crowds pushed past, hurrying toward their next obligation. She scanned for Kip as she wandered through the Market Strip dazed. No sign. Less than two urns had passed.

  At least allow him the time I guaranteed. He promised!

  Meera quickened her pace, weaving through the throng. Her mind raced ahead, debating what to tell Arliss about Steath’s revelations. Would he want revenge for the years stolen from him? Or would he choose caution for Kip’s sake? Or was it too soon to reveal anything?

  Dare she keep this quiet until after she saw her father?

  She entered the apartment and called Kip’s name. Silence answered.

  She checked his room. Empty. The kitchen. Untouched.

  He’s had enough fun. Time for him to come home anyway.

  Meera opened the tagger to press the contact button. The reciprocal beacon did not glow. Kip had turned off his comm.

  I knew it. I knew it!

  She paced the small living area, recalling his eagerness to get away. The convenient timing. The supposed “pact” with Arliss that her husband had never mentioned. When the door hissed ten minups later, she braced for a welcoming sight.

  Instead, she stared at her husband, who greeted her with a somber grin.

  “You’re home early,” she said.

  “I hit my first-day quota. Hagen, my domo, said I could jag. To be honest, I didn’t have the heart to keep cleaning.” He pulled her close. “Saw some things today. EQ raid. They took three Blends away. Snatched them off the crossway. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Meera had no better segue, but she held her tongue.

  “I know. It’s bad. It’s …” She closed her mind to all but one subject, the most pressing. “What kind of pact did you make with Kip?”

  Arliss blinked, trouble replacing his smile.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That you made a deal. That he could be with his friends when we’re not here.” She crossed her arms. “He’s not home, Arliss. I went out for a while. Gave him permission and a tagger. He turned it off, and he’s not back.”

  Arliss’s cheeks fell. He cursed under his breath, moved to the kitchen table and sank into a chair, his fingers tapping his thighs.

  “We need to talk,” he said, his voice dropping to that careful, measured tone she recognized from before prison. When he revealed the nature of his work to keep the family in good stead.

  Meera remained standing, arms crossed.

  “Yes, I made a deal with him,” Arliss admitted, not meeting her eyes. “He was so ... broken, Meera. He’s not the boy I knew before, and I made a choice. You’re not going to like it, but it can work if we play it the right way.”

  Meera sagged under the weight of today and joined her husband at the table. Steath’s revelations. Her father’s betrayal. Vega’s plans. And now Arliss keeping secrets with their son.

  “I’m listening,” she said, though every instinct screamed to go searching for Kip instead.

  8

  KIP

  KIP PRESSED HIS BACK against the warm, vibrating metal wall, his fingers tracing the yellow streaks in his hair. The corridor outside the nest hummed with the distant rumble of atmospheric processors. Scar stood beside him, taller and more imposing, his burly arms gleaming under the soft lights.

  “You’ve been ghost-mode for four cycles, String,” Scar said, his voice echoing in the empty passage. “TimBob’s been asking where you flowed to.”

  Kip stared at the floor grating. Four days since the med supply heist. Four days of avoiding the Pikers while trying to keep his promise to Dad. The memory of his father’s face in the Sky Gardens, helpless as those Pure Breathers mocked them, burned in his mind.

  “Had some family static,” Kip mumbled. “Dad-unit’s back and everything’s all ... complicated.”

  Scar’s fingers clicked as he flexed them.

  “Heard you pulled prime work at the Northern Drop. Zero says you flowed true when the drones came in hot.”

  “Just did what needed doing, for true.”

  “That case you grabbed – TimBob was spark-happy about those meds. Says they’re worth serious chee on the circuit.” Scar nodded toward the entrance. “He’s waiting. Been asking for you special.”

  Kip swallowed hard. The promise to his father hung heavy: Stay away from trouble. Focus on family. We need to stick together. But after what happened with Roe Vega, how could Dad expect him to abandon the only people who had his back?

  Sorry, Dad. I can’t be the null-jack you’re looking for.

  The nest buzzed with activity. Zero hunched over a workbench, his cybernetic eyes glowing as he disassembled a security node. Emilie sat cross-legged on a storage crate, rewiring a comm unit. She looked up when Kip entered, drawing a sly smile before she returned to her work.

  TimBob stood at the center of the nest, his fire-red ponytail cascading down his back. His catlike eyes found Kip and fixated.

  “Look what the current dragged in,” TimBob said, his voice carrying the edge that often made Kip’s stomach turn. “String finally decided to flow back to us.”

  The other Pikers paused their activities, sensing the moment. Kip stepped forward, forcing himself to meet TimBob’s gaze.

  “Been dealing with processor-slag at home.”

  TimBob circled him.

  “Heard. Ex-con Blend with a chip on his shoulder. Must be real current having a null-jack like that back in your crash space.”

  Kip’s hands balled into fists.

  “Don’t talk about my dad-unit like that.”

  A dangerous smile spread across TimBob’s face.

  “Defensive, String? Maybe you’re flowing more Tet than Blend these days. Maybe that’s why you ghosted after the drop. Maybe you’re thinking of turning null on us.”

  “That’s crimp and you know it,” Kip snapped. “I brought you that case. I jammed those drones when things went sideways.”

  “Then where you been flowing the last four cycles? Em says she pinged your comm. Zero tried to track you. Nothing but static.”

  Kip glanced at Emilie, who was watching him now with an unreadable expression.

  “Had to lay low. EQ’s been crawling all over D-Block since the heist.”

  “And everywhere else.” TimBob leaned in close enough that Kip smelled synthetic protein on his breath. “Scar spotted you at the Sky Gardens today. With your parentals. Looking real cozy with the same people who let you get ratworm-handled by those Pure Breather null-jacks.”

  Heat rushed to Kip’s face.

  “You had Scar on my tail?”

  “We look after our own. Question is … are you still a brother?”

  The nest turned silent. Even the constant hum of machinery seemed to fade. Kip perceived every eye on him, judging, waiting. His promise to his father felt like a tithium chain around his neck, but the memory of Roe Vega’s sneering face burned brighter.

  “Whatcha want me to do?” Kip asked. “Prove I’m still flowing true?”

  TimBob’s expression softened.

  “We got the download on an EQ sweep-path. Same null-jacks who been stomping Blends. The same scrappers who snatched Wrench’s cousin.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Nothing fancy-like. Just a lil’ payback, ya gel?” TimBob pulled out a small device, one of Kip’s modified jammers. “Your tech, our timing. Show those null-jacks they can’t just scoop away our peeps without getting some static back, true-true.”

  Kip thought about his father’s words, about keeping his head down, about family first. But how well did that work when Roe Vega went on the attack?

  Head down was a smart plan until it wasn’t.

  “I made a deal with my dad-unit. Said I wouldn’t boost anymore. Won’t let me roll free unless I keep my circuit-oath.”

  TimBob took a seat and crossed his legs than demanded Kip join him. Kip knew better than to resist, not with everyone watching. He sat beside TimBob, who wrapped an arm around him.

  “Tell me true, String. Are you one of my revs?”

  “For true. The Pikers are my flow-family.”

  TimBob’s grip tightened around Kip’s shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to hurt.

  “Flow-family means something, String. When a Tet stomps on one, we all feel the boot.” TimBob’s voice dropped lower. “Your dad-unit spent five revolves in the dark. You think he kept his head down there? You think that saved him?”

  Kip fought the lump in his throat.

  “Ain’t-a the same. He’s trying to protect …”

  “Protect what? Your future-flow?” TimBob laughed, the sound hollow against the metal walls. “If Patchies play by the rules, their future’s got no flow.”

  The other Pikers formed a loose circle around them.

  TimBob reached into his pocket and pulled out a short-rod shock baton: Smaller than standard EQ issue, modified for concealment. He held it inches from Kip’s face, the weapon humming.

  “Choice time, little rev. Either you’re with us when we hit those EQ slags, or you’re just another null headed for the process heap.” The baton crackled with blue electricity. “And if you’re not true, you can jag. No middle current.”

  Kip gazed at the weapon, watching the energy dance across its surface. He’d been in this position before, during indoctrination. Now he saw many faces beyond the current company. An exasperated mother and father. Roe Vega sneering and leering.

  Lastly, though, he settled on Emilie. Then Kip made a choice.

  “When do we hit them?”

  TimBob’s expression hardened, his pupils narrowing to slits. The other Pikers exchanged glances. Kip’s stomach knotted.

  Then TimBob stowed the baton and loosened his grip.

  “Good little rev, back in the flow.”

  “And we ain’t boosting?”

  TimBob softened his tone.

  “Just disruption. We jam their comms when they try to round up some of our people. Nothing gets taken. Just ... a message.”

  Kip stared at the floor grating. He didn’t see how this plan amounted to “payback.” Any disruption of EQ comms would be brief, a tiny annoyance for those null-jacks. They’d compensate in simps.

  “Your plan sounds like soft gel. Needs more bite.”

  TimBob allowed his Pikers to bring challenges, but only if the challengers were prepared to make a strong case. Kip saw an opening. TimBob must’ve liked the aggressive response, pinching Kip on the cheek.

  “What’s your spark, String?”

  “Jamming’s no good unless you make them hurt. The way we flowed at the Northern Drop was the truth. We got some real current to generate. Make them hurt.”

  His compatriots nodded, but no one spoke before TimBob.

  “Sweet chatter for a little rev, but you promised your dad-unit.”

  “I told him I wouldn’t boost. I ain’t-a promised nothing else. EQ walks around the District wearing the cock, like us blues and freckles won’t fight back.”

  “Big chatter, String. You make my heart flow true.”

  Kip caught on to the vibe; the plan was never just about jammers. They already had something bigger in the works. TimBob was testing his resolve.

  “You got the stones for the big hit, String?”

  “I got the stones, TimBob. I won’t boost, but I’m in full for the rest.”

  “That’s the String I know.” The Pikers’ heart and soul pushed himself up and tightened his ponytail. “We hit soon. I’ll spread the details when Deacon gives the go.”

  With a wink and a nod, TimBob stalked toward the back room and disappeared into his private deliberation chamber, where no Piker dared to join him.

  Zero, Scar, and three other brother Pikers approached Kip with big smiles and slapped him on the shoulders.

  “Now you’re true,” Scar said.

  Emilie held back until the others had their moment. She moved beside Kip and blew in his ear.

  “You flowed true when it mattered, String.”

  “I almost fringing screwed up.”

  She scoffed at the idea.

  “TimBob was playing. You never left his heart. Deacon vouched for you days ago. TimBob was spark-talking about those meds you grabbed. Said you had the current when the circuit got hot. He believes in you, for true.”

  Kip’s chest lightened.

  “Come on,” Em tugged his sleeve, leading him toward a small alcove. “Got something to show you.”

  As they moved away, Kip sensed the others’ eyes following them: Some curious, some maybe envious. Em pulled him behind a partition where salvaged screens created a makeshift private space.

  Emilie’s hideaway was a marvel of scavenged tech. Salvaged projection screens formed three walls, their edges stitched together with tithium wire. A portable atmos lamp cast an otherworldly glow over the workspace.

  “What do you think?” She gestured to her private corner with pride. “I added on while you were ghosting.”

  Kip took in the details, which included a small sleeping pad and folded blankets. She sleeps here? His eyes widened at a familiar object.

  “Is that my jammer?”

  “Improved the design,” Em said, tracing the device with her finger. “Added a frequency modulator so the nulls can’t track it. Zero helped with some parts, but the core concept? All yours, String.”

  Her voice carried admiration that made his chest swell. When she looked at him like there was no one else, the world beyond the nest faded away.

  “You really kept working on it?”

  Kip studied her modifications.

  “Course I did.” Em’s blue-freckled hand brushed against his as she pointed to specific components. “Your designs have real current. TimBob sees it too, even when he’s running hot.”

  She put down the device and sat on her sleeping pad, patting the space beside her. Kip did not hesitate to join her. Their knees touched.

  Em softened her voice.

  “Must be jacked having your dad-unit back after so long.”

  Kip stared at his hands, wishing she’d grab one.

  “He’s trying to make up for time, but he don’t know what it’s like.”

  “Not his fault he got sent up,” Em said, surprising Kip with her defense of his father. “System’s rigged against our kind.”

  “Yeah, but ...” Kip struggled to articulate the knot of feelings in his chest. “Today at the Gardens, these Pure Breather null-jacks started slag-talking us. Mostly me. Dad just stood there. Didn’t fight.”

  Finally, Em’s fingers found his, intertwining.

  “Maybe he was protecting you the only way he could.”

  Her touch sent electricity through Kip. He studied her face: The constellation of freckles in patterns so much like his own, the subtle curve of her lips, the way her dark hair fell with those beautiful purple streaks.

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “But a null-jack ain’t-a helping me. I got to stand up for myself.”

  “For all of us,” Em corrected, squeezing his hand. “The Pikers are family too, String. We flow together.”

  The way she said it made his heart race. Family. Belonging. More than just lectures. Everything he’d been searching for.

  “What’s TimBob really planning with the EQ slags?” he asked.

  Em’s expression grew serious.

  “He’s keeping it hush, except to say we’ve never gone this big.”

  “That’s the vibe, Em. Like I said, we got to stand for ourselves.”

  She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sweet whisper.

  “I know you’ll flow true when it counts, String.”

  Em’s smile was radiant. She moved closer until her breath warmed his cheek.

  “I knew you wouldn’t abandon us.”

  When her lips touched his, Kip’s world contracted to a single point of contact. Soft, warm pressure that sent his pulse racing. The kiss was gentle at first, then deeper as Em’s hand cupped his face. His inexperience made him clumsy, but she guided him, her thumb stroking his cheek, then her tongue searching inside his mouth.

  Time stretched and compressed. Was it simps? Minups? Kip couldn’t tell. His senses overloaded with the scent of her – recycled soap and something uniquely Em – and the taste of nutrient paste still sweet on her lips.

  When they broke apart at last, Kip swooned. Em’s yellow eyes studied him, a teeny smile playing at the corner of her mouth.