“Why don’t we go cheer you up?”

  I lift my head off hers and raise a brow in her direction. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I was going to suggest going out to the bar and getting sloppy drunk, but that’s more my scene than yours.”

  “Oh?” I ask, letting her hear my sarcasm. “What’s my scene, then?”

  She scoffs and gestures at my equipment, then weaves her arm though mine.

  “Come on,” she says, tugging me along. “Let’s get you one of those fancy coffees you like so much, and if you’re a good boy, we can swing by the comic book shop and let you pick something out.”

  A reluctant smile spreads over my mouth. “I’m always a good boy.”

  She laughs again as we walk towards the door with our arms linked. “You’re sure you don’t like women?”

  “Positive, doll.”

  “Damn. Was worth another shot.”

  “It was a good effort,” I admit, grudgingly letting her lift my spirits as we wander into the sunny streets.

  Xeni

  My temples throb with a dull, insistent ache that pounds inside my skull. Tension from too many sleepless nights has caught up to me, and endless worries only exaggerate the pain. I close my eye for a moment, willing the headache to ease.

  The morning sun is warm against my skin as I sit back and watch people pass. I discovered this human cafe by accident, though I’m tempted to make this a daily stop. The velvety bite of my cappuccino is the best thing I’ve tasted in years. On base, they brewed a bitter sludge and called it coffee, but I’m still convinced it was poison.

  I take another slow sip, letting the warmth spread through me. It grounds me in this quiet moment amid the bustle of the street. People mingle in a blur of conversation and footsteps, oblivious to the storm in my head, and for once, that feels like a mercy.

  Three days of searching have yielded more slammed doors than useful leads. Most humans here seem content enough behind the walls, going about their lives without complaint. Those are the people who ignore me outright, and they’re not who I need.

  I’m looking for the angry ones.

  Those who tense or sneer when black uniforms pass by, or grit their teeth through forced exchanges with soldiers. The ones with eyes that flick nervously before they slip into alleys or duck behind closed doors, and whose conversations cut off the moment a stranger gets too close.

  They guard their secrets fiercely, and I don’t blame them, though I still gamble and dig for information. Those interactions aren’t as civil. Threats come either in low, angry mutters or outright shouts that don’t care who overhears. Too many of the latter means word of my presence is spreading, and the wary glances tracking me serve as confirmation.

  It might be time to retreat and formulate a new battle plan.

  The barista smiles in my direction as I return my empty mug to the counter. It lights up her freckled face as I glance at the handwritten ‘Eliza’ scrawled on her nametag in looping cursive.

  She’s young, barely out of her teens, with that wide-eyed innocence the world hasn’t yet chipped away. Her ponytail bounces as she wipes down the counter, humming softly to herself.

  There’s something refreshing about the unjaded brightness, like she still believes kindness is the default rather than the exception. It makes me almost envious, because I was never allowed to view the world that way.

  “Thank you,” I say as I hand over the empty cup and a few spare coins for a tip, sliding them across the counter with a smile. “That was honestly the best coffee I’ve had in years.”

  She beams as her cheeks flush a soft pink at the compliment, and she tucks the tip into her apron pocket with a quick, grateful nod.

  I lean in a touch closer, keeping my voice casual. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “Oh… uh, sure,” she says, glancing toward the kitchen and making sure there’s no one in line before giving me her attention again.

  “I’m trying to track down an old friend. He’s a total coffee addict, so I figured this place might be on his regular route. I was wondering if you’ve maybe seen him around?”

  Her shoulders ease a fraction, and she nods for me to continue.

  “His name’s Bash. A little shorter and thicker than me, pretty chestnut skin, and some dreamy hazel eyes.”

  She giggles in a light, bubbly sound as she ducks her head for a moment. “Sounds like you have a crush on him.”

  I flash her a grin that’s more genuine than I expected, the corners of my mouth lifting easily. “Guilty as charged. It’s been a few years since I saw him, but his hair is tightly coiled, and he always kept it fairly short… above his ears. Oh, and his eyebrow and nose are pierced.”

  Her mouth pulls to one side in consideration, brows knitting faintly as she thinks, then she exhales uncertainly with a small shake of her head.

  “I… think I might’ve seen someone like that come through, but I can’t be sure.”

  “How long ago?”

  “A few days… a week, maybe?” She glances toward the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “It’s so busy here, it’s hard to keep track of people who aren’t regular customers.”

  “He might’ve been with a woman with blue hair?” I rush to add, leaning in a bit closer.

  Someone shouts her name from the kitchen doorway, and both of us turn towards the sound. A man stands there, his thick arms crossed over his chest as his eyes fix on us with unmistakable suspicion. He aggressively dries a mug with a frayed towel that he twists harder than necessary, knuckles whitening around the fabric.

  “I should get back to work,” she says with an unspoken apology.

  I swallow the urge to press harder as I give her an understanding smile. “How about I stop by again in a couple of days to see if anything has jogged your memory?”

  She’s uneasy now that she’s being watched, but she gives a reluctant nod.

  I offer one last quick smile and step away before I draw too much attention. Grudgingly, I admit to myself that I should probably lie low for a couple of days.

  A few curious humans noticing me isn’t the end of the world, but the military has informants everywhere. Too many people here are loyal, or scared enough to act like it, and if word got back that I’m alive…

  The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the heat.

  Life pulses around me as I hit the sidewalk. People hurry along, walking or jogging to wherever they need to be. I take the long way back, scanning faces as they pass and appreciating the individuality they’re able to show here.

  Every shade of skin, every age, every style. Short blonde hair and a baby-pink dress, tight-woven braids atop a crisp navy suit, and ripped jeans under an oversized black hoodie that makes me sweat just looking at it. They have access to luxuries those in the wilds could barely imagine, and nostalgia tugs hard as memories surface.

  This city used to be my home, though I was rarely permitted to walk these streets. It always felt like such an adventure back then.

  Cafés spilling laughter onto the sidewalks, shops bright with color, and concerts drifting across the park square. Feeling like you’re on top of the world in an apartment in the tallest tower, watching the city lights glitter below. So high in the sky, you can see the dust clouds rolling in the wasteland beyond.

  That’s the point, isn’t it?

  If you’re too busy looking at what you have, you forget the cost.

  You forget you’re supposed to be angry.

  This place is nothing more than a gilded cage. The freedoms inside these walls are carefully crafted illusions most people cling to because the alternative is harder to swallow.

  Every breath you take is permitted by someone else’s grace.

  You live by their whims, not your own.

  Never your own.

  The caffeine buzz sours in my veins, and I keep my head down the rest of the way, shoulders hunched against the weight of it all.

  It’s still too early for dinner, so once I’m back at the inn, I head straight for the stairs and up to my room. It’s become a makeshift war room, with scraps of paper, scribbled notes, and pencil marks pinned across a city map.

  I tear off another scrap and jot a reminder to check back with Eliza at the café in a few days. A sharp knock rattles the door as I’m pinning it in place, and I freeze.

  “It’s me,” Leif grunts from the hall.

  I fold the notes and slide them under the bed, then open the door to find him with another man I recognize from the pub. Auburn hair is wild around his head, and his expression is as guarded as my own.

  “Mind if we come in?” Leif asks.

  I search his face for a second, then step aside to let them enter. Leif closes the door, though the privacy feels unnecessary considering I’m the only inhabitant on this floor. The room is cramped with all three of us inside, and the quiet stretches until it’s bordering on uncomfortable.

  Leif finally breaks it, but his eyes flicker between us like he’s anticipating trouble, which tells me everything I need to know.

  “This is Gideon,” he says, gesturing at the redhead. “He has information about the man you’re searching for.”

  My attention locks on Gideon, and I don't waste time on pleasantries. “What do you know?” I ask.

  His smirk unfurls in a deliberate twist of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes, all sharp edges and no warmth.

  “I know enough,” he responds as he learns in a fraction, “and if he’s who I think he is, he runs with a group of rebels. Might even lead them, if my source is to be trusted.”

  My brows flick up in surprise. Bash certainly had the smarts to be a leader, but he was always endearingly awkward when too many eyes were on him.

  Still, I can’t dismiss the intel.

  “How do I find them?” I ask.

  Gideon exhales through his nose, arms folding across his chest. “Information isn’t free, friend.”

  The last word drips with disdain, but I let it slide. I don’t give a fuck if he likes me, I just need what he’s got in his head.

  “And what’s the going rate for secondhand gossip these days?” I ask, just as catty.

  “It’s solid intel,” Leif cuts in as he shoots a pointed glance at Gideon's annoyed face. “You can trust me on that, even if you don’t trust him.”

  “Can you blame me for being careful?” I ask.

  “No,” Leif responds immediately, “I suppose not. But like Gideon said, there’s a price for information in this city, especially with your… circumstances.”

  I purse my lips and let my gaze drift to the window. Part of me itches to reach in and pull the answers straight from Gideon’s mind.

  It’d be easy.

  Quick.

  But he’s glued to Leif’s side, and the risk of Leif seeing what I can do is too high. Too many eyes are already on me, and I’m not exactly one to blend in, even in the city.

  Tempting as it is, I bite back the idea of a brute-force attack on his mind. It could get me what I need, but not without burning bridges I might still have to cross.

  “I’ll ask again,” I say, voice pointedly even. “What’s the price?”

  The two of them share another quick glance. Gideon gives an abrupt nod, and Leif turns back to me, shoulders squared like he’s ready for pushback.

  We’re all bracing for a fight, then.

  Good to know.

  “We’re part of a wider network,” Leif explains. “Been hitting military operations for years. It’s mostly small stuff, but we’ve pulled off a few bigger scores. There’s a convoy route just outside the city we’ve gotten good at disrupting. Supplies, intel… whatever’s on those trucks, we want it.”

  A knot of unease twists in my stomach. “And the drivers?”

  Leif lifts one shoulder in a slow, deliberate shrug. His eyes never leave mine, searching for a reaction.

  “We avoid killing when we can,” he finally answers.

  I let the cryptic response hang in the air. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “We need someone with your kind of access,” Gideon cuts in, stepping forward and straightening his posture like he’s trying to take up more space.

  A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. If he thinks puffing his chest out like some territorial animal is going to intimidate me, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  Pointed boredom seeps into my expression, and I tilt my head just enough to make him feel small, even though he’s looming.

  “Access?” I repeat.

  A muscle in his jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth, but he keeps his voice as flat as mine. “There’s talk of a high-value shipment coming in soon. Regular supply runs aren’t heavily guarded, and we handle those fine if we time it right. But this one’s different. It’s carrying something… valuable.”

  “Why do I have a feeling it isn’t coffee beans?” I mutter.

  He mirrors my smirk, shaking his head. “It’s safer if you don’t know the details. It won’t be easy, but if we pull it off…”

  I chew the inside of my cheek as I consider it. “Alright, I’ll bite. Where do I fit into this plan?”

  “You’ve got a uniform, don’t you?”

  “No,” I snap, the word sharp enough to cut. “Absolutely not.”

  “I get it’s a lot to ask—”

  “You don’t,” I interrupt. “You really don’t have any fucking idea what you’re asking. If they find out I’m alive—”

  “What makes you so special?” Gideon taunts, his eyes raking over me with clear judgment, like he’s cataloging every weakness he thinks he sees.

  “Trust me, friend…” I drawl, and our gazes lock as I throw his words back at him. “It’s safer if you don’t know the details. I’m doing you a favor keeping it to myself.”

  He runs his tongue along his teeth in a slow, annoyed swipe, chest rising with a measured breath that does nothing to hide the tension coiling in his shoulders. After a strained few seconds, he retreats half a step. The movement is stilted, like he’s physically fighting every inch of ground he gives up.

  His voice is more level as he says, “Can we put the dick-measuring contest aside for two minutes and actually talk?”

  My brow arches high, and I let my gaze flick deliberately to his crotch for a pointed beat before dragging it back up to his face, slow enough to make sure he feels it. A mocking huff of laughter escapes me, and it hits its mark. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles whitening as his jaw ticks.

  “Sure…” I stretch the word until it drips with sarcasm, hanging it between us like bait.

  The corner of his mouth twitches in a tiny, involuntary spasm, while irritation floods his cheeks in an angry crimson that clashes with his red hair. His fuse is burning shorter by the second, and I savor the explosion brewing behind his eyes as he tries to calm himself.

  After what feels like forever, he takes a deep breath, though his words barely contain his temper. “The shipment details are stored in an office on the edge of the central district. It’s quiet. During the day there are a couple of guards and a handful of bored staff. The guy in charge is only a three row, and the higher-ups rarely show. It seems like a dead-end place where the workers don’t give a damn. The place empties at dinner and stays that way till morning.”

  “So break in at night,” I counter, glancing between them. “You keep bragging about your amazing network, so use it.”

  Gideon shrugs. “Night shift still has guards, and we don’t want them to know what we’re after. Someone in uniform could walk in, flash a fake requisition, and walk out with the files in less than five minutes.”

  My fingers drift to the eyepatch, tracing the edge as my unease coils tighter. “I’m not exactly forgettable.”

  He glances at the patch, then dips his head in reluctant agreement. “Take it or leave it, but that’s the price for what I know.”

  Once again, I consider finding a way to separate them so I can steal what I need from his egotistical little brain. My gaze drifts to the top of his head, then over to Leif as I imagine the fallout.

  This is a stalemate.

  I’m out of moves without sacrificing my queen, and Gideon’s slow smirk says he knows I’m cornered.

  “Can I have some time to think it over?” I ask after a heated pause.

  He nods and reaches for the doorknob. “Don’t take too long. Clock’s ticking.”

  Xeni

  “Clock’s ticking, yeah,” I mutter under my breath as I weave through the streets, head dipped so my hair shadows the eyepatch. “Stupid fucking saying. Of course it’s ticking. What else is a clock supposed to do? Damn redheaded idiot.”

  A woman beside me huffs, and when I glance over, her eyes are narrowed on me.

  “Not you,” I grunt as I gesture around us. “Not even him, really. I’m the idiot here.”

  She only looks more alarmed.

  I groan and pick up my pace, putting much needed space between us. The streets are packed, which is exactly why I timed this escapade for the lunch rush. Workers are more interested in their break plans than in whoever walks through the door. It’ll be easier to slip in, slip out, and be forgotten.

  These side streets aren’t as crowded, and there are even fewer pedestrians when the office comes into view at the end of the block. It’s an unremarkable two-story brick building, just like Gideon described. A six-foot metal fence rings the perimeter, but it’s more decoration than defense.

  No razor wire or humming current.

  Nothing that would give this place away as being anything special, but I don’t drop my guard.

  I draw one last steadying breath, then let the mask settle. My shoulders loosen, my expression turns unbothered, and a hint of a flirtatious grin tugs at my mouth. The weight of the old disguise presses against my chest, sharp for a moment, but I’ve been wearing it for so long it’s familiar.

  The guard at the gate looks up as I approach. She returns my smile with one that’s professional and brief, then barely glances at my ID before waving me through.

  Inside, the lobby is concrete floors and a stretch of redwood counters manned by bored employees, and a few heads lift as I step closer. A Ramves male at the far end tilts his head curiously, but the Aidresh right in front of me gestures me over with a practiced, weary smile.