"You're bleeding on my coat."
I shoved him off and hit the emergency panel again. Nothing. The sublevel door stayed shut, red warning strip pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
"Your coat's the least of our problems," I said. The air already tasted thin. Recycled. Wrong.
Kael straightened, one hand pressed to his side where the bullet grazed him topside. His shirt was dark with it, but he wasn't limping. Wasn't slow. That kind of control made my skin crawl.
"The facility locks down on infection protocol," he said. "We have maybe four hours before the scrubbers stop."
"Great. You trap me in a coffin and now you're timing it."
"I didn't trigger the lockdown."
"No, you just chased me into it."
He looked at me then, really looked, and I hated how steady his eyes were. Gray-blue. Cold enough to make you think he didn't care, sharp enough to catch every lie.
"If I wanted you dead," he said quietly, "I would've let them finish upstairs."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I didn't need his protection or his bullets or whatever game he thought he was playing. But my wrist burned, the chip interface flickering at the edge of my vision, and the air was already starting to feel like sucking through a wet rag.
"Fine," I said. "Then help me open it."
Kael moved past me, close enough I could smell gun oil and something clean, like cold rain. He pulled a slim toolkit from his coat—actual metal, not printed junk—and popped the panel cover.
"You always carry lockpicks to a kill job?" I asked.
"I don't do kill jobs."
"Right. You just follow people into sublevels and take bullets for fun."
His hands didn't stop moving. "The contract was recovery. Alive."
"Recovery of what?"
"You." He glanced up. "And whatever's in your head."
The chip pulsed. I felt it like a second heartbeat, hot and insistent, and a new line of text scrolled across my vision:
[SYSTEM ALERT: Hostile scan detected. Recommend evasive compression.]
I blinked hard. "It's talking to me."
"What's it saying?"
"That you're scanning me."
Kael's jaw tightened. He pulled a small black square from his pocket, thumbed it off, and tossed it to the floor. "Not anymore."
I stared at the scanner. "You've been tracking the system this whole time."
"I've been trying to figure out why a dead woman is walking around with military-grade bioware."
"I'm not dead."
"According to the city registry, Raina Holt flatlined three years ago in a gray-market clinic. No next of kin. No recovery." He stripped two wires, twisted them together. The panel beeped once, angry. "So either you stole her face, or someone went through a lot of trouble to bury her."
My throat closed. I remembered waking up in that clinic. The lights too bright. Jon's voice saying *don't ask questions you can't afford to answer*. And my brother's med-bill countdown, always counting, never stopping.
"I didn't steal anything," I said. "I just need the credits."
"For what?"
"None of your business."
Kael looked at me again, and this time something shifted behind his eyes. Not softer. Just less like a wall. "The brother."
I went still. "How do you—"
"Your drop pattern clusters around one hospital. You take the jobs no one else wants, the ones that pay fast and dirty, and you don't spend a single credit on yourself." He turned back to the panel. "It's not hard math."
I wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to ask how much he knew and how long he'd been watching and whether any of this was real or just another layer of the trap.
Instead I said, "If you know all that, then you know I'm not walking out of here without that case."
Kael's hands stopped. "What case?"
"The one the system keeps pointing me toward. The one that got locked down here when the infection protocol tripped." I pulled up the interface, let him see the map overlay glowing faint against my palm. "It's thirty meters that way. Behind a medical quarantine door."
He stared at the projection. Then at me. "That's not possible."
"Yeah, well, tell that to the rogue AI in my nervous system."
Kael stood, slow, and for the first time since I met him, he looked rattled. "If that case is what I think it is, opening it will flag every hunter in the network."
"Good thing you already found me."
"Raina." My name in his mouth sounded wrong. Careful. Like he was defusing something. "If we open that door, we don't get to walk this back."
"I never got to walk anything back." I pushed past him, heading deeper into the corridor. The emergency lights barely cut the dark. "You coming or not?"
He followed. Of course he did.
The air got worse the further we went. Stale. Metallic. The kind of air that meant the scrubbers were already dying. My vision swam a little, and I put one hand on the wall to steady myself.
"Here." Kael pressed something into my hand. A breather cartridge, compact, expensive. The kind you didn't waste on strangers.
I looked up at him. "Why?"
"Because you're no good to me unconscious."
I bit down on a dozen responses and twisted the cartridge into my mouth. The air came cool and clean, and I hated how much better it felt. Hated that he knew I needed it.
We reached the quarantine door. It was older than the rest of the facility, reinforced, the kind of lock that didn't open unless you had clearance or a plasma torch.
Kael ran his hand along the seam. "This is military. Pre-war."
"Can you open it?"
"Not without clearance."
The chip flared hot, and my vision whited out for a second. When it cleared, new text burned across my eyes:
[CLEARANCE OVERRIDE AVAILABLE. BIOMETRIC LOCK DETECTED. PLACE HAND ON PANEL.]
I reached for the panel. Kael caught my wrist.
"Don't," he said.
His hand was warm. Too warm. I looked down and saw it—a thin, branching scar across the inside of his wrist, the edges dark, like a burn that never healed right.
It matched the mark on mine.
I jerked back. "What the hell is that?"
Kael didn't let go. "Where did you get that chip?"
"Off a dead runner. I told you."
"What was his name?"
"I don't know. He didn't have ID. Just the chip and a pocket full of debt markers."
Kael's grip tightened, just a fraction. "Describe him."
"Tall. Maybe forty. Dark hair, burn scar on his neck—" I stopped. His face had gone pale. "You knew him."
"He was my partner," Kael said quietly. "And he died stealing that chip from someone who erased you."
The air felt too thin again, cartridge or not. "Why would he steal it?"
"Because I asked him to." Kael's voice was flat. Empty. The kind of empty that meant he'd already decided this was going to cost him. "I've been looking for you for three years, Raina. You were the last person to see the case before the project got shut down."
"I don't remember any project."
"I know." He let go of my wrist, and I felt the cold rush back in. "That's the problem."
I turned back to the panel. Put my hand on it. The interface lit up, green and gold, and the lock disengaged with a hiss that sounded like a last breath.
The door slid open.
Inside, on a steel exam table, sat a single case. Black. Unmarked. The kind of thing you buried and didn't talk about.
I stepped forward. Kael stayed in the doorway, tense, like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
The case sat there, silent, until I got within arm's reach.
Then it clicked.
The lid released on its own, smooth and sure, like it had been waiting.
Inside was a data core, old military make, and a small audio file already queued.
I hit play.
My own voice came out of the speaker. Calm. Cold. Nothing like the voice I used now.
"If you're hearing this, Kael already betrayed you."
"content_en": ""You're bleeding on my coat."
I shoved him off and hit the emergency panel again. Nothing. The sublevel door stayed shut, red warning strip pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
"Your coat's the least of our problems," I said. The air already tasted thin. Recycled. Wrong.
Kael straightened, one hand pressed to his side where the bullet grazed him topside. His shirt was dark with it, but he wasn't limping. Wasn't slow. That kind of control made my skin crawl.
"The facility locks down on infection protocol," he said. "We have maybe four hours before the scrubbers stop."
"Great. You trap me in a coffin and now you're timing it."
"I didn't trigger the lockdown."
"No, you just chased me into it."
He looked at me then, really looked, and I hated how steady his eyes were. Gray-blue. Cold enough to make you think he didn't care, sharp enough to catch every lie.
"If I wanted you dead," he said quietly, "I would've let them finish upstairs."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I didn't need his protection or his bullets or whatever game he thought he was playing. But my wrist burned, the chip interface flickering at the edge of my vision, and the air was already starting to feel like sucking through a wet rag.
"Fine," I said. "Then help me open it."
Kael moved past me, close enough I could smell gun oil and something clean, like cold rain. He pulled a slim toolkit from his coat—actual metal, not printed junk—and popped the panel cover.
"You always carry lockpicks to a kill job?" I asked.
"I don't do kill jobs."
"Right. You just follow people into sublevels and take bullets for fun."
His hands didn't stop moving. "The contract was recovery. Alive."
"Recovery of what?"
"You." He glanced up. "And whatever's in your head."
The chip pulsed. I felt it like a second heartbeat, hot and insistent, and a new line of text scrolled across my vision:
[SYSTEM ALERT: Hostile scan detected. Recommend evasive compression.]
I blinked hard. "It's talking to me."
"What's it saying?"
"That you're scanning me."
Kael's jaw tightened. He pulled a small black square from his pocket, thumbed it off, and tossed it to the floor. "Not anymore."
I stared at the scanner. "You've been tracking the system this whole time."
"I've been trying to figure out why a dead woman is walking around with military-grade bioware."
"I'm not dead."
"According to the city registry, Raina Holt flatlined three years ago in a gray-market clinic. No next of kin. No recovery." He stripped two wires, twisted them together. The panel beeped once, angry. "So either you stole her face, or someone went through a lot of trouble to bury her."
My throat closed. I remembered waking up in that clinic. The lights too bright. Jon's voice saying *don't ask questions you can't afford to answer*. And my brother's med-bill countdown, always counting, never stopping.
"I didn't steal anything," I said. "I just need the credits."
"For what?"
"None of your business."
Kael looked at me again, and this time something shifted behind his eyes. Not softer. Just less like a wall. "The brother."
I went still. "How do you—"
"Your drop pattern clusters around one hospital. You take the jobs no one else wants, the ones that pay fast and dirty, and you don't spend a single credit on yourself." He turned back to the panel. "It's not hard math."
I wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to ask how much he knew and how long he'd been watching and whether any of this was real or just another layer of the trap.
Instead I said, "If you know all that, then you know I'm not walking out of here without that case."
Kael's hands stopped. "What case?"
"The one the system keeps pointing me toward. The one that got locked down here when the infection protocol tripped." I pulled up the interface, let him see the map overlay glowing faint against my palm. "It's thirty meters that way. Behind a medical quarantine door."
He stared at the projection. Then at me. "That's not possible."
"Yeah, well, tell that to the rogue AI in my nervous system."
Kael stood, slow, and for the first time since I met him, he looked rattled. "If that case is what I think it is, opening it will flag every hunter in the network."
"Good thing you already found me."
"Raina." My name in his mouth sounded wrong. Careful. Like he was defusing something. "If we open that door, we don't get to walk this back."
"I never got to walk anything back." I pushed past him, heading deeper into the corridor. The emergency lights barely cut the dark. "You coming or not?"
He followed. Of course he did.
The air got worse the further we went. Stale. Metallic. The kind of air that meant the scrubbers were already dying. My vision swam a little, and I put one hand on the wall to steady myself.
"Here." Kael pressed something into my hand. A breather cartridge, compact, expensive. The kind you didn't waste on strangers.
I looked up at him. "Why?"
"Because you're no good to me unconscious."
I bit down on a dozen responses and twisted the cartridge into my mouth. The air came cool and clean, and I hated how much better it felt. Hated that he knew I needed it.
We reached the quarantine door. It was older than the rest of the facility, reinforced, the kind of lock that didn't open unless you had clearance or a plasma torch.
Kael ran his hand along the seam. "This is military. Pre-war."
"Can you open it?"
"Not without clearance."
The chip flared hot, and my vision whited out for a second. When it cleared, new text burned across my eyes:
[CLEARANCE OVERRIDE AVAILABLE. BIOMETRIC LOCK DETECTED. PLACE HAND ON PANEL.]
I reached for the panel. Kael caught my wrist.
"Don't," he said.
His hand was warm. Too warm. I looked down and saw it—a thin, branching scar across the inside of his wrist, the edges dark, like a burn that never healed right.
It matched the mark on mine.
I jerked back. "What the hell is that?"
Kael didn't let go. "Where did you get that chip?"
"Off a dead runner. I told you."
"What was his name?"
"I don't know. He didn't have ID. Just the chip and a pocket full of debt markers."
Kael's grip tightened, just a fraction. "Describe him."
"Tall. Maybe forty. Dark hair, burn scar on his neck—" I stopped. His face had gone pale. "You knew him."
"He was my partner," Kael said quietly. "And he died stealing that chip from someone who erased you."
The air felt too thin again, cartridge or not. "Why would he steal it?"
"Because I asked him to." Kael's voice was flat. Empty. The kind of empty that meant he'd already decided this was going to cost him. "I've been looking for you for three years, Raina. You were the last person to see the case before the project got shut down."
"I don't remember any project."
"I know." He let go of my wrist, and I felt the cold rush back in. "That's the problem."
I turned back to the panel. Put my hand on it. The interface lit up, green and gold, and the lock disengaged with a hiss that sounded like a last breath.
The door slid open.
Inside, on a steel exam table, sat a single case. Black. Unmarked. The kind of thing you buried and didn't talk about.
I stepped forward. Kael stayed in the doorway, tense, like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
The case sat there, silent, until I got within arm's reach.
Then it clicked.
The lid released on its own, smooth and sure, like it had been waiting.
Inside was a data core, old military make, and a small audio file already queued.
I hit play.
My own voice came out of the speaker. Calm. Cold. Nothing like the voice I used now.
"If you're hearing this, Kael already betrayed you."