Tired makes you sloppy, after all, and sloppy gets you caught.

  I check the lock twice, then peel off my leathers. Sweat clings to me, stale from the uniform that hasn’t breathed all day. I drag myself to the shower. The pressure’s weak, but the water’s warm enough, and I wash quickly.

  The towel is scratchy, but the sheets are soft as I slide between them. My head barely touches the pillow before a deep and dreamless sleep pulls me under.

  The smoky scent of cooking meat rouses me, and I blink toward the window, where the day is coming to an end. The sun is still strong but sinking, throwing long shadows across the room.

  My mind feels sharper after the rest. I stretch slowly, arms overhead and back arching with a quiet groan.

  I pull on jeans and a plain t-shirt, feeling more like myself as I head downstairs. No one spares me a second glance this time without the uniform.

  Monsters and humans mix in the now-crowded pub, clustered at tables or propped along the bar, and low conversation hums under the clink of glasses.

  Leif catches my eye from behind the counter and tilts his head toward the kitchen, one brow raised in question. When I nod, he gestures towards the tables, so I slide into a booth that gives me a clear view of the door.

  He appears a minute later with a plate of sliced beef and noodles in a rich, buttery sauce, and sets the bowl in front of me.

  “Did you get settled in all right?” he asks, assessing my clothes with a subtle nod.

  “Yeah,” I answer as stir my food, watching the steam rise. “Slept like the dead.”

  He plants his hands on his hips, waiting like he knows something’s coming, so I don’t drag it out.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “You mentioned that,” he says as he glances at the bench opposite me. I tip my head in invitation, and the booth creaks under his weight as he slides in. “What kind of someone?”

  “The kind who doesn’t want to be found.”

  He grunts and drums his fingers on the table. “That describes half the people I know. Who is he hiding from?”

  “The military, for sure,” I say, keeping my voice hushed. “Though if we’re being honest, he’d probably be just as unhappy to see me. Wherever he is, he’ll be lying low.”

  I take a bite, and hum happily at the first taste of a warm meal in several days.

  Leif purses his lips, crinkling his nose in thought. “There’s a growing crowd here in the city who are uncomfortable with the military’s grip. They keep things quiet, mostly underground. But you showing up as a fresh face with a military past? Even if you track them down, they won’t trust you.”

  My eyes flick around the pub, taking in the mix of faces chatting in clusters. “Something tells me a lot of those ‘uncomfortable’ folks are in the room with us right now.”

  Leif shrugs and leans back in the booth, his fingertips still tapping on the table. He doesn’t deny it, which is answer enough.

  “Anything helps,” I add. “Even the smallest bit of information you can share.”

  “Who is this person you’re after?”

  My gaze drops to the table for a second. “Someone who meant a lot to me once.”

  “Ah,” he says, with a knowing edge to his voice. “A scorned-lover story.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, shifting in my seat. “Something like that.”

  “You’re sure they’re in the city?”

  I study Leif for a moment, weighing how much he already knows. It’s enough to bury me if he wanted to, so I tilt my head from side to side.

  “He’s been here for the last four years. Last I heard, he was spotted in the markets about six months ago.”

  “Spotted by who?” Leif asks, suspicion sharpening his tone.

  I chew my lip, gaze flicking once more around the room. “I had a contact in the city who kept an eye out for me.”

  “Then why pull me into this?” he demands as he sweeps his hand up my frame. “Why not lean on them?”

  I shake my head with a sigh. “He can’t know I’m still alive. It’s too dangerous.”

  A burst of laughter erupts near the bar, and Leif’s gaze snaps that way until he’s satisfied it’s just noise, not trouble. His attention returns to me, and I take another bite and let the silence sit until I can’t bear it anymore.

  “It’s important that I get his help,” I say at last.

  His lips press into a thin line as he studies me, so I keep eating and give him room to think.

  Something tells me he won’t be rushed.

  After a long exhale, he mutters under his breath, “Why does ol’ Nelly always send me trouble?” He sits forward, leaning his elbows on the table. “I’ll ask around. Can’t promise anything, though.”

  “Every little bit helps,” I say earnestly.

  I don’t dare become hopeful, not with the size of the city, but the knot in my chest loosens by a fraction.

  “You don’t have any idea where he might be staying?” Leif asks.

  “No. My old contact would watch the mid-city markets, but knowing where someone picks up groceries doesn’t narrow it down much. If I know him, he wouldn’t shop at the same place twice in a row. Could live nearby, could be all the way across town.”

  “Travels solo?”

  “Mostly,” I say with a nod, “but he’s been seen with a couple of other humans before. A big redheaded man and a petite woman with blue hair.”

  A flicker of something that looks like recognition flits across Leif’s face as his brows lift. “Blue hair’s a bold choice if you’re trying to stay invisible. Might give me something to work with.” He pauses as he scratches his beard. “Name?”

  “Back then he went by Sebastian. Bash, usually. He’s a human scientist.”

  “Military?”

  I tilt my head from side to side. “Used to be.”

  Leif grunts, folding his thick arms across his chest. “And how is it both of you ‘used to be’ military? They don’t exactly hand out discharge papers with a pat on the back.”

  My guard goes up, and I mirror his crossed arms. “Like I’ve already explained, they believe I’m dead.”

  “That explains you,” he says with another sweep of his eyes down my frame. “Doesn’t explain him.”

  I lean forward, tapping my fingers on my thigh. “Joining wasn’t his choice, and neither was leaving. That’s all you need to know.”

  He lifts his chin, eyes narrowing in challenge, but I set my jaw and hold his stare. After a few heavy seconds, he gives a curt nod toward the back of the building.

  “Most of the real pushback happens out here on the edges of human territory. Don’t wander too deep, though. It doesn’t matter how much sympathy you have when you’ve got military ink in your past. You’re still the enemy. Best I can tell you? Watch, wait, and look for the ones trying hardest not to be noticed. I’ll put out feelers in the meantime.”

  “Thanks,” I say quietly. “I mean it.”

  He waves it off as he stands, brushing his hands on his apron and scanning the room once more. “Yeah, yeah. Finish eating. And since I’m doing you a favor, you can wash your own damn plate.”

  He stomps off toward the bar, and I hide a small grin behind another bite.

  Bash

  Current time

  The scrape of the scalpel has left an itchy, irritated line on my hip, but I’m used to ignoring it by now. My breath fogs the microscope, so I pull away and wipe it clean before leaning back in and adjusting the dials until the sample comes into focus.

  Same studies, different world.

  Cells that appear immobile to the naked eye are full of life. Under the lens, they wiggle and shift in a secret dance of light I’ve been trying to decipher for years. No longer the twinkling glow of a fresh mark, these have the unique ivory-veined connections that are just as beautiful, and stronger by multitudes.

  Everything looks the same as last time… and the time before that. But something is different, even if there’s no evidence of a change.

  A low whistle from the door breaks my concentration, and I reluctantly pull my face from the microscope to find Ego leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and that trademark smirk already in place.

  “Damn,” she calls over, “all those workout sessions are finally paying off. You scared the sleeves right off your shirt.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say with a rueful laugh, running a palm over my hair.

  The light catches on her short, bright blue strands as she saunters closer and grabs my upper arm, giving my biceps an exaggerated squeeze.

  “These shirts are normally peak douchebag territory… like, have you ever seen a guy actually pull off a cutoff? Bunch of turkeys strutting around like they invented protein and bragging about their bench press. But you? You’re making it work. It’s unfair, honestly.”

  “Are you done yet?” I ask, fighting a grin as heat creeps up my neck.

  She taps my cheek with mock sympathy. “All these muscles and that pretty face too? Criminal. It’s an absolute waste that you only like dudes.”

  “One of life’s great tragedies,” I deadpan, already leaning back toward my microscope.

  She snorts. “Look at you, dying to get back to your nerd toys. I’ve never met anyone who gets that goofy, love-struck grin from staring at bacteria.”

  “If you didn’t want me geeking out over science stuff,” I shoot back without looking up, adjusting the focus with deliberate slowness, “you shouldn’t have bought me a microscope for my birthday last year. Rookie mistake.”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” she says with a casual shrug. “I stole it.”

  “Of course you did,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “Working on anything fun?”

  I glance over at the heap of actual work waiting on the side table. Reports are half-finished, samples have been labeled and bagged, and invoices neatly stacked with deadlines circled in red. There’s plenty of work from clients who pay well and don’t ask questions as long as the results come on time.

  I’m what I like to call an ethical black-market scientist, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Need to cause a small, controlled explosion for… reasons? I’m your guy. Want a detailed list of readily available household chemicals that, when combined just right, make a decent makeshift tear gas? Give me a few hours and a coffee, and I’ll have it ready.

  Something bigger, though, with real potential for large-scale damage? The kind that leaves scars on cities instead of just pride?

  My conscience draws a hard line there, and I won’t touch it.

  There’s a difference between bending rules for the ones who fight back and handing over the keys to the arsenal. Plenty of rebels would do just as much damage as the ones currently in charge. I’ve seen enough of what unchecked power does, and I sleep better knowing I’m not the one who helped light the fuse on anything that could burn the world down.

  “None of my work is nearly as fun as yours,” I say as I gesture towards her lurking figure. “Honestly, you make, what? Two fake IDs a week?”

  A self-satisfied smile spreads wide over her face. “Sometimes three.”

  I scoff. “You make more money than the rest of us combined for an hour of work… half of which is spent coming up with innuendos for the names.”

  “Listen, Haywood Jablome is a classic. It’s not my fault you chose the wrong hustle, honey,” she purrs, then full-on hip-checks me out of the way.

  I step aside with a snort, crossing my arms as she bends over the microscope like she knows what she’s doing.

  She squints dramatically for a second, then straightens up with a theatrical grimace. “Based on my research, I can tell you one thing for sure.”

  Amusement tugs at my lips again. “What’s that?”

  “This is boring as fuck, my man.” She pops her gum with a loud snap, grinning wide. “We need to find new ways to weaponize that huge brain of yours for evil.”

  “Uh, no, we don’t?”

  She waves me off before I can argue further, her hand flicking dismissively like I’m a fly she’s swatting away.

  “Not even like, big evil,” she explains like it's supposed to be obvious. “There’s enough of that to go around. Little evil is fine. World domination starts with baby steps, you know?”

  She pauses, deep in thought before a smile lights up her face. “Like that time you convinced Cato that the dry skin on his beard was crabs that carried a flesh-eating bacteria.”

  I choke, wheezing through a cough while pounding my fist on my chest to clear the shock. “When did I do that?!”

  “Oh, wait, that was me,” she says with a wicked laugh. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”

  She collapses into a howling fit of laughter, brushing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “He believed me, too. Never even bothered to come ask you if it was true!”

  Realization slams into me, and my eyes go wide in horror. “Is that when he shaved his beard last month?”

  “His chin is so slimy without it,” she howls, doubling over as another wave of cackles escapes her, and I lose it completely as the memory of Cato’s suddenly bare face flashes in my mind.

  “Oh… my… gods…” My hand flies over my mouth in mortified disbelief. “I asked him why he shaved. No wonder he looked at me like I was an asshole. He thought I was making fun of him for having face crabs.”

  “Flesh-eating face crabs,” she corrects through fresh peals of laughter, practically wheezing now.

  We laugh until my sides ache and tears stream down my face, and I've decided we're both going straight to hell.

  When we’ve both calmed down, she gestures at the microscope. “What are you looking at in here?”

  Some of my levity vanishes as I pull the slides out and hold them up to the light. Out here without the magnification, they’re lifeless and still.

  “Not much,” I say with a shrug. “Just doing some research.”

  She reaches her hand out and wiggles her fingers, so I pass the slides to her to inspect.

  “These better not be anything gross,” she warns.

  “Grosser than face crabs?” I ask with a snort.

  She chuckles, extremely pleased with herself as she squints at them.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, watching her tilt them back and forth. “They’re only boring skin cells.”

  She nods towards my hand on my hip, where I’m rubbing at the phantom sensations under my skin.

  “Is it bothering you?” she asks.

  I pull my hand away and cross my arms over my chest, wanting to deny it, but the damage is done. Ego doesn’t miss a thing, and lying to her feels wrong.

  “It’s been bothering me lately,” I admit. “The past couple of days have gotten worse.”

  She hums, taking a step forward as she hands the slides back to me. “Does it hurt?”

  “No, it just…” I bite my lip as I hold them up, staring at the pale white skin cells trapped between the thin glass. “When I first got here, it did this a lot. Back then, yeah, it hurt, but it got better over time and happened less frequently. The sensation changed, too. Sometimes it was a tingle, sometimes more like a tug or a twinge. It hasn’t happened in months, but now it’s going haywire again.”

  She grabs the hem of my t-shirt but pauses, glancing up with a silent question in her eyes. I nod with a resigned sigh, and she lifts the fabric just enough to reveal the ivory mark on my hip.

  “You know,” she starts, voice softer than usual, “I used to think you had really shitty game.”

  My brows flick up in surprise.

  “You have a pattern,” she says with a quiet huff of a laugh. “Get some drinks at the bar, find some hot number to hang onto your every word. Flirt, tease, charm the hell out of them. You could’ve had any of them, but you always went home alone.”

  My pulse kicks up as her fingers drift lightly over the mark, tracing its edges with a gentleness that feels almost reverent.

  When she glances up at me again, the teasing has melted into something tender. “I assumed you scared them off with the nerdy talk,” she says.

  “Some people are into my nerdy talk,” I mutter, the words coming out more defensive than I’d like.

  She chuffs at my tone. “Does it get worse when you think about him?” she asks, and sympathy burns in her eyes as she waits.

  I blow out a long, shaky exhale, and admit the hard truth. “That would imply there’s a time I’m not thinking about him.”

  Xeni consumes my thoughts far too often. Sometimes they’re angry, sometimes sad, but most of the time?

  They make me realize how empty I am without him.

  “What was he like?” Ego asks.

  A faint smile flutters on my lips as I glance out the window. “Stubborn. Gods, he’s so damn stubborn, and gorgeous… so fucking pretty. Charismatic as hell. He could convince anyone to do anything for him just by smiling.” Quieter, I add, “It was exhausting.”

  “For you?”

  “Yeah,” I agree as I shake my head, “but more for him. Constantly wearing that face that wasn’t his. Sometimes I wonder if I knew him at all.”

  “Why?” She lets my clothes settle back into place, waiting with rare patience.

  I lift a shoulder in a shrug as I remember how rigid Xeni was in public, compared with the soft, loose way he was when it was just the two of us.

  “He was bound and determined to show the world the person he wanted them to see. I always thought he was genuine when he was with me. He used to say I was the only one he’d ever turned it off for…. the only person who knew the real him. It felt like such an honor.”

  “You don’t believe it?” she asks.

  My mark tingles under my skin as I absently reach down to rub it. “I used to. Now?” I shrug again.

  She wraps her fingers around my arm in a touch that’s less playful and more comforting and lays her head on my shoulder, staring up through that mop of blue hair.

  “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she says with an apologetic smile.

  I lean my head against hers. “You never make me sad, Ego, and he shouldn’t either. Not after all this time.”