Chapter 10 · Coordinates for the Dead

The lock ate Senna's code like it had been waiting for her.

Mine bounced. Red. Twice. Third try and the panel chirped at me like I was some dock rat trying to boost a crate.

"Don't," I said, when her thumb hovered over it again. "That's his. Isn't it."

She didn't look at me. Just keyed the rest in, two short bursts, no hesitation. The hatch popped with a wet hiss. Stale air hit me in the face. Recycled. Old. Sweet underneath, like coolant that had sat too long in a cracked line.

"Kira."

"Don't Kira me. You said they shot him. You didn't say his ghost still opens black-site doors."

She stepped through first. Sidearm low. Shoulders tight like she expected the corridor to bite. I followed because the alternative was standing in a service alley with a stolen data core in my pocket and fleet drones sniffing the last three blocks we'd crossed.

The lights came up in strips. Half of them didn't. The ones that did were the cheap yellow kind they use in cargo holds so you don't notice the rust. The floor had that rubberized grit that never quite dries. My boots stuck a little.