The safehouse felt different now. Not quite comfortable—that would take time—but functional. Like a machine that had been repaired and was running smoothly again, even if some of the parts still showed stress fractures.

  Kass “Riot” Vex sat at the gear table, methodically cleaning Drujment for the third time this week. The ritual was soothing, familiar. She ran her fingers across the word “DRUJMENT” that she had etched into the slide after filing off the Red Memory sigils. It always made her smile.

  As she reached for the cleaning cloth, her shoulder gave that familiar twinge—the gunshot wound had healed into yet another angry scar, but it still reminded her of its presence with occasional buzzes of phantom pain. A souvenir from when she took on a synth and four Red Memory operatives in a mad dash to save her unkillable partner.

  Velira Nocturne occupied her usual chair by the window, pale eyes watching the Undercity’s afternoon shift to dusk. They’d fallen back into their old patterns, but carefully. Like dancers learning to trust their partner’s steps again.

  Kass’s communicator buzzed against the table. Jeks’s contact flashed on the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “Kass.” His voice carried that mix of relief and urgency she was starting to recognize. “Can you and Velira meet me at the old depot? East block, near Lita’s place.”

  “What’s wrong?” Kass was already reaching for her jacket.

  “Medical supplies. We’ve got people hurt, and I don’t have the connections to get what we need.”

  Velira looked up from the window, pale eyes focusing with predatory interest.

  “How hurt?” Kass asked.

  “Three vendors got roughed up yesterday. Nothing life-threatening, but one’s got a busted rib and another needs stitches. And that’s just this week.” Jeks’s voice tightened. “It’s getting worse, Kass. The vultures are getting bolder.”

  “We’ll be there in twenty.”

  Kass ended the call and looked at Velira, who was already at the door.

  “Medical supplies,” Velira said. “Routine.”

  “Nothing’s routine anymore,” Kass replied, checking her weapons. “But yeah. Should be straightforward.”

  “We should take the medical vehicle.”

  The medical vehicle sat where they’d left it, still missing its driver’s door but otherwise functional. Kass ran her hand along the armored side panel, noting the scratches and bullet holes.

  “We need to give her a proper name,” Kass said, patting the vehicle’s flank. “Can’t keep calling it ‘the medical vehicle’ forever.”

  Velira raised an eyebrow. “Her?”

  “Vehicles are female. It’s tradition.” Kass walked around to the front. “She’s saved our asses more than once. Deserves some respect.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Kass thought for a moment. “Something simple, like Medic, Patch Job, Whambulance, or Doc.”

  “Doc,” Velira repeated thoughtfully. “There was a famous gunslinger in the old American West named Doc Holliday. Known for being fast with a gun and having a… complicated relationship with violence and healing.”

  Kass’s face lit up with genuine delight. “A gunslinger? That’s fucking perfect!” She slapped the hood enthusiastically. “Doc Holliday it is. A healer who could fight when she had to.”

  “The historical Doc Holliday was male. And I think he was also a dentist.”

  “Our Doc’s better,” Kass grinned.

  They drove off into the Undercity’s perpetual haze. Around them, the familiar chaos of street vendors and scavengers felt almost normal—if normal was a word that applied to anything in their world.

  ———

  The old depot sat at the intersection of three sector boundaries, a neutral ground where different communities could meet without crossing territorial lines. Jeks had chosen well—it was public enough to be safe, but private enough for serious conversation.

  They found him waiting beside a stack of shipping containers, but he wasn’t alone. Two young men flanked him, both carrying themselves with the careful alertness of former gang members who’d learned to watch for trouble.

  Kass recognized the type immediately—kids who’d been forced into criminal life by necessity, not choice, exactly like Jeks had been. The way they positioned themselves around Jeks suggested loyalty, but also competence.

  “Kass, Velira,” Jeks said as they approached. “This is Dev and Rey. They’re helping me keep the peace in the lower sector.”

  Dev was tall and lean, with intricate tattoos on his arms that looked like former Iron Viper ink worked over with new designs. Rey was shorter, stockier, with the kind of scars that came from street fights and the quiet confidence of someone who’d survived them.

  “Riot,” Dev said quietly, his voice carrying genuine reverence.

  “It’s just Kass now,” Jeks corrected quickly.

  “It’s alright.” Kass felt that familiar discomfort at the nickname, but she nodded acknowledgment. “Jeks, you’re having trouble?”

  “More like growing pains,” Rey’s voice was practical. “Word’s getting out that someone’s protecting the vendors. That’s bringing attention we don’t want.”

  “What kind of attention?” Velira’s green eyes studied both men.

  “Blood Syndicate’s been sniffing around,” Jeks replied. “They’re trying to move into Red Memory’s old territory, but they keep running into corpo enforcers. So they’re looking for easier targets.”

  “And we’re easier targets?” Kass asked.

  “Maybe not you two, but we are if we don’t have proper supplies,” Dev said. “Yesterday’s fight could have gone a lot worse. We need to be able to patch people up, not just slap bandages on everything and hope for the best.”

  Velira tilted her head slightly. “You’re planning for war.”

  “We’re planning to protect people. But yeah, that might mean war.”

  Kass studied the three young men, seeing the determination in their faces, the way they’d positioned themselves as a unit. Jeks wasn’t just playing protector anymore—he was building something.

  She glanced at Velira, who nodded.

  “We’ve got assault rifles from a job we did a while back. Armor-piercing rounds too. Even a few long range rifles. All military grade. Still stashed. If things heat up…”

  Dev’s eyes flicked briefly to the skeletal walkways overhead as the implications hung in the air.

  “We’d appreciate it,” Jeks said carefully. “But we’re not looking to start a war. Just survive one if it comes.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll get them to you.” Kass lit her cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But weapons don’t mean survival. What else do you need?”

  “Basic trauma supplies,” Rey pulled out a handwritten list. “Surgical sutures, antibiotics, pain meds, blood clotting agents. Nothing fancy, just the essentials for patching up knife wounds and beatings.”

  “Where are you getting medical care now?”

  “There’s a street doc in Sector 9,” Dev replied. “But he’s expensive, and he won’t come down to the lower sector anymore. Too dangerous.”

  “Smart of him,” Kass flicked ash onto the ground. “Stupid of you to stay.”

  “Someone has to,” Jeks said simply. “These people don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Kass looked at him for a long moment, seeing something in his expression that reminded her of herself at that age. The stubborn idealism that refused to accept that the world was just broken and always would be.

  “Alright,” she said finally. “We’ve got Doc Holliday and some supplies. Park her somewhere out of sight. We’ll see what else we can find. But this isn’t a long-term solution, Jeks. You need to build sustainable connections, not just rely on us to solve every problem.”

  “I know,” He nodded. “But right now, people are hurting. Right now, we need help.”

  “Right now is all we ever have,” Velira said quietly.

  Dev and Rey exchanged glances, clearly unsettled by Velira’s presence but trying not to show it.

  “Are you Wrath?” Rey asked nervously.

  “Sorry, Velira,” Jeks apologized. “That’s what they’ve been calling you down here.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  She looked at Kass, who gave a slight nod.

  “We’ll talk with Skiv, find your medical supplies,” Kass said. “But after that, you’re on your own for a while. We’ve got bigger problems brewing.”

  “Bigger than gang wars?” Rey asked.

  “Corporate wars.”

  The three young men absorbed this, understanding that they were small fish in a much larger pond.

  “Just get us what we need to keep people alive,” Jeks said. “We’ll handle the rest.”

  “You’d better,” Kass replied. “Because the alternative is watching everyone you care about die. Trust me—you don’t want that on your conscience.”

  As they prepared to leave, Dev called out: “Uh, Kass?”

  Kass turned back.

  “Thank you. For giving us something to fight for that isn’t just survival.”

  She nodded once.

  “Jeks.” Velira turned, expression serious. “Be afraid of…stuff.”

  “Uh… what?” Jeks blinked. “Did you just tell me to be afraid of stuff?”

  “…Yes. That’s what humans say.”

  “She means ‘be careful’,” Kass said as she turned to leave.

  “Are you certain?” Velira asked, falling into step beside her. “Because fear seems more practical.”

  ———

  The coordinates Skiv had sent led them to what looked like just another piece of the Undercity’s urban decay—a partially collapsed storage facility in the industrial district, its corrugated walls tagged with graffiti and streaked with rust stains. Broken windows stared out like dead eyes, and weeds pushed through cracks in the ferrocrete foundation.

  Kass checked her communicator. “This is the place.”

  “Looks abandoned,” Velira said, studying the building with eyes that missed nothing.

  “That’s probably the point.”

  They approached the main entrance—a loading dock with its metal door halfway stuck in the down position. Kass ducked under it, Velira following with fluid grace. Inside, the space was even more convincing in its abandonment. Scattered debris, puddles of stagnant water, the smell of rust and mold.

  “Skiv?” Kass called out, her voice echoing in the empty space.

  Nothing.

  Then a section of the floor that looked like solid ferrocrete shifted with a soft mechanical hiss. A hidden hatch slid open, revealing Skiv’s grinning face as he emerged from below.

  “Welcome to my Sanctuary,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him down into the hidden space beneath.

  The ladder led to a completely different world. Where the building above was decay and abandonment, the underground space was organized efficiency. Mismatched monitors lined the walls, connected by cables that had been routed with precision. Every piece of equipment bore coded labels that looked like inventory tags for random supplies.

  “Impressive,” Velira said, taking in the organized chaos.

  “Had to have somewhere to go if things went sideways,” Skiv explained, sealing the hatch above them. “Been setting this up for years. Good thing too—spent most of the last week down here.”

  The space was cramped but functional, every inch used efficiently. Servers hummed quietly in custom-built racks, their cooling fans creating a steady white noise. Data storage units were stacked and labeled with the same cryptic system as everything else.

  “This is where you’ve been analyzing the Red Memory data?” Kass asked.

  “Trying to.” Skiv’s expression grew tired. “Shit, you two really stirred up a hornet’s nest. I’ve got terabytes of intelligence here, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  He moved to one of his workstations, fingers dancing over a keyboard connected to three different monitors. “Project Hemovite, surveillance files on both of you, research notes from someone called Dr. Thorne. And that’s just the stuff I can decrypt easily.”

  “How far back?” Velira asked.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Skiv pulled up a timeline, data points scattered across the screen. “Harrow’s compound. That’s where it really started—they found security footage of the whole thing.” He glanced at Velira. “Seeing you survive that UV array, I can see why they got interested. No synth could take that much heat.”

  “They were watching us even then?” Kass asked.

  “Probably not, but after finding Nex dead and this footage…” Skiv’s cybernetic eye whirred as he scrolled through files. “Gets worse. That weapon cache mission at the depot? Also a setup. Long-distance surveillance drones, probably testing your capabilities.”

  “How bad is it?” Velira asked.

  “Bad. Corporate funding from VantaCorp and SynTech, joint research initiative. My guess? They want to find out how to replicate whatever makes you different from other synthetics.”

  “What about the third facility? The one I…didn’t hit?”

  “Not sure,” he said grimly. “VantaCorp secured it twelve hours after you destroyed the second one. Full corporate response team, military contractors, the works. Whatever was there, they’ve got it now.”

  “Any idea what they found?”

  “Working on it, but their security is a lot tighter than Red Memory’s was. Could be backup research data, could be samples…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

  “Samples of what?” Kass pressed.

  “Blood. Tissue. Whatever they managed to collect from your previous encounters. The point is, they’re not done with either of you. If anything, losing Red Memory just made them more interested.”

  The weight of corporate attention pressed down on them.

  “Oh, and that synth you killed. His name was Apex. Apparently he was hired to kill you and your crew, Kass. By VantaCorp. That’s how he became the leader of his own syndicate. The megacorps just handed it to him.”

  Anger and pain flared deep in Kass. “Of course they did. Always sticking their fingers in the shit.”

  “Speaking of megacorps,” Skiv said, pulling up another screen. “There was a murder in the Spires last night. Corporate exec, messy job.”

  “Gang retaliation?”

  “That’s what I thought at first. Blood Syndicate trying to send a message after losing territory to corpo enforcers.” Skiv shook his head. “But it’s not any gang signature I’ve seen. And this happened in the Spires, not down here.”

  “New synth moving in where Red Memory left off?” Velira asked.

  “Maybe. But the MO is… different. More personal. Like whoever did it wanted to make a statement.” Skiv’s expression darkened. “Could be nothing. Could be everything. With VantaCorp stirring the pot, hard to tell what’s connected anymore.”

  “Keep an eye on it,” Velira said. “If there’s a new player in the game, we need to know.”

  “Back to immediate problems,” Kass said, forcing herself to focus on the mission at hand. “We need medical supplies. Basic trauma kit stuff for Jeks and his crew.”

  Skiv’s expression shifted to something more familiar—the professional information broker considering a request. “Medical supplies. Legitimate or off-the-books?”

  “Whatever’s easiest to acquire without drawing attention.”

  “I’ve got a contact,” Skiv said, moving to another workstation and pulling up files. “Street doc named Chen, operates out of Sector 12. Decent guy, doesn’t ask too many questions if you pay in advance.”

  “Trustworthy?” Velira asked.

  “As much as anyone down here. He’s been running black market medical supplies for years without getting corporate attention. Careful, professional, keeps his mouth shut.”

  Skiv pulled up more information—contact details, typical inventory, pricing structures. “Tell him I sent you, mention the blue shipment from last month. He’ll know you’re legitimate.”

  “What’s his security situation?” Kass asked.

  “Clean. No gang affiliations, no corporate entanglements. He stays neutral by being useful to everyone and threatening to no one.” Skiv paused. “Though given what happened to Red Memory, he might be nervous about new customers.”

  “We’ll handle it. Anything else we should know about the corporate situation?”

  “Yeah,” Skiv replied. “Red Memory survivors. No way to know how many, but some of them got away during Velira’s rampage. Some human, some synth. And with VantaCorp backing, they might be regrouping. Or they might join the Blood Syndicate. Or go rogue.”

  The Sanctuary’s organized efficiency suddenly felt fragile against the scope of what they were facing. Corporate research, surviving enemies, ongoing surveillance—the medical supply run was starting to feel like the calm before a much larger storm.

  “One problem at a time,” Kass said, breaking the silence. “First we get Jeks equipped, then we figure out how to deal with VantaCorp.”

  “Watch yourselves,” Skiv warned. “I didn’t quit my day job to watch you get burned.”

  ———

  Dr. Chen’s clinic occupied the ground floor of a converted apartment building in Sector 12, tucked between a noodle shop and a cybernetics repair booth. The facade was deliberately unremarkable—faded signage advertising “Medical Consultation” in three different languages, security grating over windows that had been painted black for privacy.

  Kass pressed the buzzer beside a reinforced door, noting the discreet security camera that tracked their approach.

  “Dr. Chen?” she called into the intercom. “Skiv sent us about medical supplies. Something about a blue shipment from last month.”

  A pause. Then the sound of multiple locks disengaging.

  The door opened to reveal a compact man in his fifties, wearing scrubs that had seen better days and wire-rimmed glasses that reflected the street lights. His hands were clean despite the grime of his surroundings, and his eyes carried the alert wariness of someone who’d learned to assess people quickly.

  “You’re not Skiv’s usual type,” Dr. Chen said, taking in Kass’s tactical gear and Velira’s predatory stillness. “But then again, nothing’s usual these days.”

  “We need trauma supplies,” Kass said directly. “For a protection operation in the lower sector.”

  Dr. Chen studied them for a moment longer, then stepped aside. “Come in. But leave the weapons by the door—house rules.”

  The clinic’s interior was a study in controlled chaos. Medical equipment lined the walls in varying states of repair, some clearly salvaged from corporate facilities and jury-rigged for street use. But everything was clean, organized, functional. The smell of antiseptic couldn’t quite mask the underlying odors of the Undercity, but it tried.

  “Protection operation,” Dr. Chen repeated, moving to a locked cabinet and examining his modest inventory. “That’s a euphemism I haven’t heard in a while. What kind of trauma are we expecting?”

  “Knife wounds, blunt force, maybe some bullet holes if things escalate.”

  “Standard gang violence, then. How many people are we equipping?”

  “Three primary, maybe a dozen secondary,” Velira said quietly. “People who know basic first aid but need proper supplies.”

  Dr. Chen glanced at her, and Kass caught something in his expression—not fear, exactly, but recognition of something dangerous.

  “You’re the one they’re calling the Wraith,” he said, a clinical diagnosis. “The synth who dismantled Red Memory.”

  “It’s Wrath,” Kass said bluntly.

  “My apologies, Wrath.”

  Velira had gone very still. “The name is new.”

  “Street names stick. Especially when they’re accurate. The…survivors have been talking—those few who made it out.”

  “Survivors?”

  “Not many. But enough to spread the word. They’re scared.” He looked directly at Velira. “They say you moved like death itself. That bullets couldn’t stop you, that you tore through their defenses like they were nothing.”

  “I was motivated.”

  “…so it seems.” Dr. Chen gestured around his limited supplies. “I’ve got some supplies here, but not nearly enough for what you’re describing. However…” He paused, considering. “There’s a VantaCorp medical shipment sitting in a depot in Sector 15. Supposed to go up to the Spires first thing in the morning.”

  “VantaCorp?” Kass’s eyes narrowed.

  “Corporate medical supplies. High-grade trauma kits, antibiotics, surgical equipment. Everything your people need and more.” Dr. Chen leaned against his workstation. “Security’s normal—they don’t expect trouble this far down in the city. But I’m guessing it’s more than manageable for you two.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. Well, except it’s theft from a megacorp.” Dr. Chen smiled thinly. “I take twenty percent for the intel. You take the rest to your friends in the lower sector.”

  “And how exactly do we get past corporate security?”

  “I have a feeling you can handle it.” He leaned closer. “Truth is, VantaCorp’s been sniffing around medical circles lately. Asking questions about enhanced individuals, trauma patterns, ways to contain or neutralize people like…you. I declined their very lucrative consulting offer.”

  “Why?”

  Dr. Chen gestured around his clinic. “Twenty years serving people the corporations forgot. I’m not about to help them weaponize healthcare.” His jaw tightened. “But I wasn’t the only one they approached.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning stay out of corporate medical facilities. And if you get seriously injured, come here. I keep my mouth shut.” He met their eyes. “Better their supplies go to people who actually need them than sit in some Spire warehouse.”

  “Works for us,” Kass said. “When do we move?”

  “Tonight. Shipment moves at dawn, so hit it before then.”

  As they prepared to leave, Dr. Chen called out: “The people you’re protecting—they matter. The lower sector has been forgotten by everyone else. What you’re doing… it gives people hope.”

  “Hope’s dangerous,” Kass said.

  “So is despair,” Dr. Chen replied. “At least hope fights back.”

  Outside the clinic, walking through Sector 12’s neon-washed streets, Kass felt the weight of new information. But something else was tugging at her brain.

  “The Wraith, isn’t that what Red Memory called you?” she said finally.

  “Yes.”

  “Wrath’s better than Wraith. But you’ll always be fangs to me,” Kass said with a slight smile.

  “Don’t call me fangs.”

  ———

  The VantaCorp medical depot squatted in Sector 15 like a sterile wound on the Undercity’s flesh—all clean lines and corporate efficiency that looked alien against the surrounding decay. Kass crouched behind a shipping container, studying the facility through her rifle scope while Velira moved like liquid shadow along the perimeter.

  “Two guards at the main entrance, rotating patrol every twelve minutes,” Kass whispered into her comm. “Just like Skiv said.”

  “Service entrance is clear,” Velira’s voice came back. “Motion sensors are active but predictable.”

  They’d left Doc Holliday three blocks away, hidden in an abandoned lot where corporate security wouldn’t think to look. The plan was simple—get in, grab the medical supplies, get out. No complications, no drama. Just professional work.

  Kass checked her watch. “Skiv’s security bypass goes live in thirty seconds.”

  “Copy.”

  She watched Velira position herself at the service entrance, a pale figure that seemed to absorb shadow rather than cast it. Even after everything they’d been through, Velira’s inhuman grace still caught her off guard sometimes. The way she moved like physics were merely suggestions.

  “Bypass active,” Skiv’s voice crackled through their comms. “You’ve got thirty minutes before the system cycles back online.”

  “Moving,” Kass said.

  They flowed into the depot like water finding cracks—Kass through the main loading bay while the guards completed their rotation, Velira through the service entrance in a gap between motion sensor sweeps. No wasted movement, no hesitation. Pure coordination born from trust and refined by recent understanding.

  Inside, the depot was organized and sterile. Medical supplies stacked in labeled sections, everything catalogued and pristine. Kass moved toward the trauma supplies while Velira headed for the antibiotics and surgical equipment.

  “Section C-7,” Kass said softly, loading emergency medical kits into her pack. “Everything Jeks asked for and more.”

  “Surgical supplies are better quality than expected,” Velira replied, her voice carrying satisfaction. “Dr. Chen will be pleased.”

  They worked in comfortable silence, their movements synchronized without need for discussion. When Kass’s pack reached capacity, Velira was already moving to take over. When a guard’s footsteps echoed near the loading bay, Kass shifted position to cover the approach while Velira continued gathering supplies.

  It was the kind of seamless cooperation that looked effortless.

  “Two minutes,” Skiv’s voice warned through their comms.

  “Done,” Velira said, sealing the last supply case.

  Kass checked the route to their exit. The guards were still following their predictable pattern, but margin for error was shrinking. “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  They moved toward the service entrance, laden with enough medical supplies to keep Jeks’s operation running for months. As they reached the door, Velira paused.

  Kass turned back…

  Velira’s pale eyes met hers in the dim emergency lighting. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Velira simply nodded—acknowledgment of something that didn’t need words.

  “Let’s go,” Kass said quietly.

  They slipped out of the depot as smoothly as they’d entered, disappearing into the Undercity’s maze of shadows and neon. Behind them, the facility remained undisturbed, unaware. In a few hours, someone would notice the missing supplies. By then, Kass and Velira would be long gone.

  “Clean exit,” Kass reported as they reached Doc Holliday.

  “Copy that,” Skiv replied. “Nice work.”

  They loaded the supplies into the medical vehicle’s storage compartments, the cases fitting perfectly among the existing equipment. Doc Holliday had been designed for this kind of cargo.

  “Jeks is going to shit himself when he sees all this,” Kass said, securing the last case.

  “In a good way,” Velira replied.

  “In a very good way.”

  As they drove through the Undercity toward the lower sector, neither spoke about the moment of understanding that had passed between them in the depot. But it sat there between them like a promise—quiet, solid, unbreakable.

  Some things just were.

  ———

  The lower sector felt different with Doc Holliday parked at its heart. Jeks had found a spot between two market stalls where the medical vehicle could serve as a mobile clinic, its emergency lighting casting a steady glow over the narrow street. Vendors moved around it with curious respect, like they were witnessing something they’d never expected to see in their forgotten corner of the city.

  “This is incredible,” Dev said, running his hand along Doc Holliday’s armored side. “Real corporate-grade medical equipment.”

  “Better than corporate,” Kass replied, opening the rear compartment to reveal neatly organized supplies. “This stuff is military grade. Trauma kits designed for battlefield medicine.”

  Jeks examined one of the surgical kits. “We could handle anything short of major surgery with this.”

  “That’s the idea,” Velira said quietly. “Your people deserve proper care.”

  Rey was already organizing the supplies into Doc Holliday’s built-in storage systems, his movements efficient and purposeful. “How often can we use her?”

  “Whenever you need her,” Kass said. “Just keep her fueled and maintained. And if we need her for a mission—”

  “She’s yours,” Jeks finished. “No questions asked.”

  Kass felt that familiar ache in her chest, watching these young men treat Doc Holliday like the lifeline she’d become. Another piece of their world expanding.

  “There’s basic medical training protocols loaded into the computer system,” Velira added. “For emergency procedures you might not know.”

  “You thought of everything,” Dev said with genuine gratitude.

  “We try,” Kass replied.

  They spent another hour walking Jeks’s crew through the medical equipment, showing them how to operate the more advanced systems. It felt good—useful in a way that had nothing to do with violence or corporate conspiracies. Just helping people help people.

  As the dawn crawled its way to the sky, Kass and Velira found themselves walking back toward their safehouse through the Undercity’s familiar neon haze.

  “That went well,” Velira said.

  “Better than well,” Kass agreed. “And I didn’t even get hurt this time. Pretty sure that’s some kind of record.”

  “Your usual approach does tend to be more… direct.”

  “Hey, direct works. It’s just messier.” Kass lit a cigarette, feeling oddly satisfied. “But I have to admit, not bleeding all over everything was nice for a change.”

  They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Not quite the same as before—but functional. Good, even.

  “Kass,” Velira said as they reached the safehouse door.

  “Yeah?”

  Velira reached into her coat and pulled out a small bottle—dark glass, expensive-looking label, the kind of liquor that probably cost more than most people in the Undercity made in a month.

  “I thought you might appreciate this,” she said, offering the bottle. “It’s real. Not synthetic.”

  Kass stared at the bottle, then at Velira. “Where did you—how did you even know I could tell the difference?”

  “You mentioned it once. At the Socket. You said the synthetic stuff tasted like burnt plastic and regret.” Velira’s expression was carefully neutral. “Dr. Chen knows someone who can acquire it. I thought… after everything that’s happened, you might want something genuine.”

  Kass took the bottle, noting the weight of it, the way the light caught the amber liquid inside. Real whiskey. Not the chemical approximation they served in most Undercity bars, but the actual thing.

  “V…” she started, then stopped, not sure how to finish.

  “It’s nothing,” Velira said quickly. “Just seemed practical.”

  “No,” Kass met her pale eyes. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Velira smiled. It was slight, but it wasn’t her normal smirk.

  “Want to try it?” Kass asked, unlocking the safehouse door.

  “I don’t really taste alcohol the same way—”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Velira paused, then nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Inside the safehouse, they settled into their familiar spots—Kass at the gear table, Velira by the window. But this time, two glasses sat between them, filled with whiskey that tasted like smoke and time and things worth preserving.

  “To successful missions,” Kass said, raising her glass.

  “To not bleeding,” Velira replied.

  “To Doc Holliday.”

  “To being afraid of stuff.”

  Kass laughed, the sound rough but genuine. “To being afraid of stuff.”

  The whiskey sat between them, amber and warm in the safehouse’s dim lighting. Kass had been quiet for a while, staring into her glass like it held answers.

  “You also told me,” Velira said quietly, “that once you start caring about people, they only die on you. But I know that they’ll die anyway. The only difference is whether or not you care about it.”

  Kass looked up, startled by the sudden break in silence. “What?”

  “Your crew. Phoenix, Torch, Zara, Nico, Juno.” Velira’s eyes met hers. “They would have died whether they knew you or not.”

  “That’s not—” Kass started, but Velira continued.

  “Apex was hunting them specifically. The corporations wanted them eliminated. If you hadn’t been their leader, if Riot had never existed, they still would have been targeted. Because they were threats. They were who they were. They mattered.”

  Kass’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.” Velira leaned forward slightly. “Because I’ve seen what happens to people who fight the system without someone like you leading them. They die faster. They die alone. They die forgotten.”

  The words hung in the air between them.

  “Riot didn’t get them killed,” Velira said, her voice soft but certain. “Riot helped them stay alive longer than they would have otherwise. Riot gave them purpose, direction, a family worth dying for instead of just… existing until the corporations decided they were inconvenient.”

  Kass stared at her, something raw and painful in her eyes.

  “And Riot keeps their memory alive,” Velira continued. “Every time someone in the Undercity hears that name and finds hope instead of despair. Every time Jeks protects someone because he remembers you standing up for people who can’t protect themselves.”

  Kass was quiet for a long moment, turning the glass in her hands.

  “They were good people,” she said finally.

  “They were. And they chose to follow you because you gave them a way to be better.” Velira’s voice carried absolute conviction. “That’s not something to feel guilty about. That’s something to honor.”

  Kass sat in silence again, staring at the whiskey. Finally, she took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn chase away some of the old pain.

  “Sometimes I think you’re too smart for your own good,” she said.

  “Sometimes I think you carry too much weight that isn’t yours to carry.”

  They drank in comfortable silence after that, the weight of old ghosts feeling just a little lighter between them. The Undercity’s morning shift began taking over outside their window. In the distance, Doc Holliday sat ready to save lives. Somewhere else, corporate forces were planning their next move.

  But for now, this was enough. Real whiskey and quiet understanding and the knowledge that some things were worth the risk.

  Some things were worth coming back from the edge to protect.