Tim sat on the floor of Avery’s room, his back against the side of the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. The room was dim except for the strands of LED lights stitched along the wall, giving everything a faint blue tint. A half-eaten box of rice and chicken sat on the table next to two bottles of soda that had gone warm hours ago.

  He glanced up. “You know,” he said, “for a guy with access to the entire upper city, you live pretty plain.”

  Avery smirked from where he sat on the bed, one leg up. “I don’t need a fancy place. Besides, I’m never here long enough to care.”

  “Hey, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. You sound like one of those old guys who marry their job.”

  “Maybe I am,” Avery said, leaning back with a soft sigh. “Job doesn’t argue, at least.”

  Tim laughed under his breath. “True. Hey, but your job also doesn’t sneak into prison wings to check on inmates.”

  Avery didn’t flinch. “I had to do what I had to do.”

  Tim sighed, running a thumb over the side of his soda bottle. “Hey, I hope he’s okay.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tim cracked open his drink and took a sip. It was flat. “Hopefully, we don’t get in trouble. Especially you. Sneaking behind SCAR’s back isn’t—well—good.”

  “Probably. But that’s not something I have to worry about.”

  Tim let out a chuckle and leaned his head back against the bed. “Hey. Then at least finish the rice before it turns into heavy blobs.”

  Avery laughed and reached for a plate. They’d ordered way more food than either of them could handle. Tim watched him poke at it. The rice had gone stone cold, flavorless. He could tell Avery wasn’t really eating; it was more like he was pretending to eat.

  Tim stared at the ceiling. “Hey, back in the outside world, Roger used to walk miles to find merchants who sold Ionian items, you know, the tech that somehow made it past the walls. Owen and Jill never went with him. They didn't care for it. I didn’t either, not really. But watching Roger light up like that…” He smiled faintly. “It made me feel nice. Like things were normal, even if they weren’t.”

  Avery didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

  “I hope things go our way,” Tim said quietly. “But if they don’t… I hope he’ll be okay wherever he ends up.” He pushed himself to his feet and met Avery’s eyes. “He’s not a bad guy. Just a guy who made a mistake. But I can’t shake the feeling that whatever’s coming… it won’t be fair.”

  Avery didn’t say anything right away. The silence hung between them.

  Finally, Avery stood up and motioned for Tim to follow. “Come here.”

  Tim blinked. “Uh… where are we going?”

  “Everything will be okay. In the meantime, let me show you something that’ll blow your mind away.” He walked over to the wall and tapped a black panel beside his closet door. The lock clicked, and the door slid open with a low hiss. “This is a new door, by the way.”

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  “You have a walk-in?”

  “Something like that.” Avery stepped inside and turned on the light. At first, it appeared to be a standard closet with clothes on hangers. But what drew Tim’s attention wasn’t the room. It was the figure standing in the middle of it.

  The armor loomed in the dim light, its shape human yet inhuman. A honeycombed visor, glowing a faint yellow, cut through the dark. The armor was deep lapis blue, thick, and plated for battle. Black strips ran down each arm, ending in the infamous insignia: SCAR.

  Tim froze. “Hey, is that—”

  “Yeah,” Avery said quietly. “A-tier SCAR suit. Galactic-tier defense, B to C offense, depending on what loadouts are installed.”

  Tim stared. “You own one of these?”

  “Unfortunalty.”

  Tim stepped closer, eyes drawn to the faint hum of the power core beneath the plating. “I’ve seen SCAR patrols wear these. Never this close, though. It’s… terrifying.”

  “That’s the point.” Avery’s voice was low, tired. “Fear keeps the city in check.” He glanced back at Tim. “But it also keeps people like Roger from ever standing a chance.”

  Tim looked at him, unsure how to respond. The room suddenly felt smaller; the armor’s presence pressed down on them both.

  Tim stepped closer to the armor, unable to resist. “Can I…?”

  Avery didn’t stop him.

  Tim brushed his fingers across the plated chestpiece. The surface was smooth but cold, like touching something that was never meant to be human. “It’s heavier than I thought,” he said, “Feels indestructible.”

  “It is,” Avery muttered. “You could fall off a building in this thing and walk away with bruises.”

  “Hey, I get why people fear SCAR. Whoever wears this isn’t just enforcing rules, they’re a walking tank.” He fiddled with the helmet, lifting it slightly. The honeycombed visor glowed faintly even when detached, pulsing like a living thing. “Crazy tech,” Tim said, his tone softer now. “You ever wear it?”

  Avery shook his head. “Never.”

  “Why not?”

  Avery hesitated. His eyes stayed fixed on the armor. “Because it’s the same kind they used the night my mother was taken.”

  Tim froze. “…What?”

  “She was exiled. My father tried to fight it, but once SCAR marks you, that’s it. That same type of armor dragged my mother away from me. Same armor. Same visor. I can still see it when I close my eyes.”

  The room went still.

  Tim gently set the helmet down. “I’m sorry.”

  Avery crossed his arms, trying to shake off the heaviness in his chest. “Don’t be. It’s all in the past.” He stepped forward and tapped the suit’s chestplate. “Take it, if you want. I don’t want it.”

  “Wait—seriously?”

  Avery shrugged. “It’s just metal and circuitry. Doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

  “You’re giving away an A-tier SCAR suit like it’s an old jacket.”

  “That’s all it is to me. A reminder of the worst night of my life.”

  Tim looked at him for a long moment, then back at the armor. “You know,” he said finally, “if you’re trying to forget, keeping it locked up in your closet isn’t exactly helping.”

  Avery gave a faint, tired smile. “Maybe. But at least it’s not out there hurting someone else.”

  “Hey… I guess?” Tim said with uncertainty.

  “Want to test it out?”

  How could Tim say no to that?