Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"Don't touch that door." Knox's hand slammed over mine before my fingers reached the latch.
A thin red line lit up beneath the metal frame. Then another. Then six more, crisscrossing the safehouse entrance like a laser net.
"You could've mentioned the murder door," I said.
"You were busy stealing my access card."
"Borrowing."
"You put it in your boot."
"That's where I keep borrowed things."
His grip tightened around my wrist. Warm skin. Hard fingers. Too close. His chest brushed my shoulder when he leaned over me, and the shared health bar hovering at the edge of my vision dipped from 43 to 41.
Knox noticed.
His gray eyes snapped to mine. "Stop fighting me."
"Stop grabbing me."
"Then stop trying to get us killed."
"If I wanted you dead, Officer, I'd let go."
The red lines flashed brighter.
Knox shoved me back. His armored shoulder hit the wall beside my head, trapping me between him and the old concrete. He didn't press hard enough to hurt. He didn't need to. His hand still locked my wrist, and his access card hung from the cable at his belt, just out of my reach.
"Listen," he said. "This place has three active defense grids, a pressure floor, and a purge relay buried under the kitchen. One wrong move, and the city tags this room as compromised."
"You know an awful lot about a place you're pretending not to know."
His jaw flexed. "I said I knew the traps. I didn't say I built them."
"Same difference."
"No. It's not."
The health bar flickered again.
39.
My pulse kicked hard. The bar matched it. Every beat felt like a tiny electric shock behind my ribs.
Knox looked down at my throat, then quickly back to my face. "We have six minutes before the safehouse checks the link."
"And if it doesn't like what it finds?"
"It cuts the connection."
"Which means?"
"We hit zero together."
He said it like a report. Like we were discussing a broken elevator.
I yanked against his grip. "You knew that before you dragged me in here?"
"I dragged you in here because the street drones were about to burn you through the spine."
"You were the one chasing me."
"I changed my mind."
"That's not how arrest works."
"You're not under arrest."
"Your hand says otherwise."
For one second, his thumb stopped against my pulse.
Then he released me.
The moment he did, the health bar dropped to 36.
Knox swore and caught my hand again. This time his palm covered mine. Bare skin met bare skin, and blue light snapped between our fingers.
The bar climbed to 38.
Neither of us moved.
His hand was rougher than it looked. A small scar crossed his thumb. His fingers curled around mine with careful pressure, as if he hated needing to hold on and hated even more that he knew exactly how.
"Don't get ideas," I said.
"I was about to say the same thing."
"You were staring."
"At the interface."
"My interface is not on my face."
His eyes lifted. "You sure?"
The words landed low and rough.
I pulled my hand back. "Careful."
"You started it."
"I start everything worth surviving."
A sharp click came from behind us.
Knox shoved me down just as a metal spike punched through the wall where my head had been. It buried itself in the concrete with a vicious snap.
I landed on one knee. He came down beside me, one hand braced against the floor, the other still locked around mine. His shoulder pressed into my side. His breath touched the skin below my ear.
"That was your trap?" I whispered.
"No."
"You sound offended."
"I am. Mine are cleaner."
Another click.
"Move," he said.
"Where?"
"Left. Three steps."
"The floor is covered in red squares."
"The red ones are safe."
"Why would the safe ones be red?"
"Because whoever designed this had a sense of humor."
He pulled me left. I followed his lead for two steps, then stopped.
"That tile's cracked."
"It's still safe."
"No, it isn't."
"Mara—"
I kicked the cracked tile.
The floor split open.
Knox swore and yanked me backward. A row of needle-thin wires sprang from the gap, slicing through the air where my boots had been.
"You said it was safe!"
"It was supposed to be safe!"
"Great. The murder house is malfunctioning."
"Welcome to my life."
The wires snapped back into the floor. A pale warning appeared across my vision.
SAFEHOUSE DEFENSES: UNSTABLE LINKED HEALTH: 31% FAILURE RATE: 72%
Knox saw the numbers too. His face went still.
"Why is your failure rate showing on my screen?" I asked.
"It isn't."
"I can see it."
"You're seeing the link overlay."
"Your failure rate is seventy-two percent?"
"Keep your voice down."
"You're the city's best enforcer. You fail almost three times out of four?"
His hand closed around the back of my neck. Not hard. Just enough to turn my face toward his.
"Say that again," he said.
His voice had lost its edge. That made it worse.
I should've looked away. I didn't.
"You heard me."
"You have no idea what that number means."
"Then explain it."
"No."
"Because it's embarrassing?"
"Because it's classified."
"Everything about you is classified. Your name, your rank, your cute little kill switch."
His gaze dropped to the black line at the base of my spine, visible through the torn back of my jacket. The kill code sat there like a thin strip of ink under my skin. One command from him could lock my muscles and shut down my nervous system.
He could end me.
He knew it. I knew it. The room knew it.
"You want dirt on me?" he asked.
"I want leverage."
"Same thing, coming from you."
"Good. We're finally agreeing."
A low alarm started somewhere under the floor.
Knox released my neck and turned toward the kitchen. "The relay."
"You know where it is?"
"Behind the sink."
"Of course it is."
He moved fast. I stayed linked to him, our hands still touching, and the connection dragged at my arm like an invisible cable. Every time he stepped too far, the health bar dipped.
"Don't pull," I snapped.
"Then keep up."
"I am keeping up. Your legs are just obnoxiously long."
He glanced back. "You're complaining about my legs now?"
"I'm complaining about your pace. Don't flatter yourself."
We crossed the room in three red tiles and one narrow strip of black flooring. Knox used his boot to push aside a rusted chair. A small drone unfolded beneath it, its glass eye glowing yellow.
"Down," he ordered.
I ducked.
Knox fired once.
The shot cracked through the safehouse. The drone burst into sparks. A hot fragment clipped his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
He didn't react.
I did. My fingers tightened around his.
The health bar climbed from 28 to 30.
His eyes cut to our hands.
"Don't," I said.
"Don't what?"
"Look at me like you just learned something."
"I did learn something."
"Try keeping it to yourself."
"Your health responds to contact."
"So does yours."
"Not the same way."
"You tested it?"
He said nothing.
I stepped closer. "You tested it before we came in. With somebody else."
"Mara."
"Who was it?"
"Not your business."
"You dragged me into a sealed district, chained my life to yours, and put a kill code in my spine. I think I get to ask a few questions."
His expression barely changed, but his thumb pressed once against the center of my palm.
"You weren't chained to me by choice either," he said.
"You had a choice. You could've let the drones take me."
"And you would've died."
"Maybe I would've preferred that to this."
The words hit him harder than the bullet had.
His hand went completely still.
The bar dropped.
27.
"Don't say that again," he said.
"Why? It makes you uncomfortable?"
"Because I won't let you die."
He stepped into me. My back met the kitchen counter. His body blocked the room, the alarms, the glowing warnings. All I could feel was the heat of his palm around mine and the hard line of his chest inches away.
"You don't get to decide that," I whispered.
"I already did."
"You don't own me."
"No."
His eyes held mine. "But right now, I'm the only reason your heart is still beating."
The answer should've made me furious.
It did. Mostly.
I shoved at his chest with my free hand. His armor didn't move, but the contact made the link flare blue. The health bar jumped to 29.
Knox looked down at my hand.
"That worked," he said.
"Don't sound so pleased."
"You keep finding ways to touch me."
"You keep standing where I need to hit."
"Sure."
"Say it again and I'll break your nose."
"You'd have to let go first."
The alarm changed pitch.
A panel behind the sink slid open.
Knox turned, dragging me with him. Inside the wall sat a black memory drive and a small screen. The drive carried a city seal I recognized: Internal Enforcement, restricted failure logs.
My pulse jumped.
"There," I said. "That's your dirt."
Knox reached for it.
I caught his sleeve. "No."
"Let go."
"You want to hide it."
"I want to keep us alive."
"Then answer one question. Why does a safehouse have your failure logs?"
His eyes hardened. "Because I used this place before."
"How many times?"
"Enough."
"For what?"
"Mara, move."
"Were you hiding from the city?"
"Move."
"Or were you helping the people you were ordered to erase?"
He grabbed both my wrists and pinned them against the cabinet beside my head. The drive remained between us, one inch from my fingers.
His breath came faster now. Mine matched it. The interface flashed with every beat, two bars rising and falling together.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"Then prove me wrong."
"I don't owe you proof."
"You owe me the truth."
"I owe you survival."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is when the walls are armed."
A panel above us blinked red.
PURGE CHECK IN: 00:41
Knox saw it. His grip tightened.
"We have forty seconds," he said. "Give me the drive."
"Take it."
"You know I can."
"Then stop talking."
His stare dropped to my mouth for half a second.
That tiny pause cost us three seconds.
The health bar fell to 24.
He swore and pulled me away from the cabinet. "We need full contact."
"You mean hold hands harder?"
"No. Skin-to-skin. More contact, stronger link."
"How much stronger?"
"Enough to keep the bar from hitting zero."
"And how close is enough?"
His eyes met mine again. "Close."
"That isn't an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
The purge timer hit thirty seconds.
Knox ripped off one glove and tossed it aside. He grabbed my bare wrist and pressed his palm over it. Blue light snapped around our arms, climbing toward our elbows.
The bar stopped dropping.
22.
"Not enough," he said.
"You sound disappointed."
"I'm thinking."
"Try faster."
He pulled me against him.
My hands hit his chest armor. The hard plate dug into my palms, but his throat was exposed above it, close enough that I felt each breath brush my cheek. He took my other hand and placed it against the warm skin at the side of his neck.
The interface screamed.
LINK STABILITY: 46% SHARED HEALTH: 31%
The pain in my spine eased.
So did the pressure in his shoulders.
For one dangerous second, we stood there, locked together while the safehouse counted us down.
"Don't get comfortable," I said.
"You're the one with both hands on me."
"I'm keeping us alive."
"That's what I told myself."
My fingers felt his pulse under my palm.
One beat.
Mine answered it.
The same rhythm. The same sharp kick behind my ribs.
I looked at him. "What did you do before me?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"You always this friendly when someone's saving your life?"
"You always dodge questions when someone finds your secrets?"
"Only when she's got a knife in her boot."
"You noticed?"
"I noticed everything about you."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
His jaw tightened.
Mine did too.
The purge timer dropped to eighteen seconds.
I slid my hand from his neck to the edge of his collar. A small metal port sat beneath it, half hidden by his armor. The same black seal from the memory drive marked its surface.
"What's that?"
Knox caught my fingers. "Don't touch it."
"Why?"
"Because it isn't a port."
"Then what is it?"
"A lock."
"What's locked inside?"
His eyes went cold. "My orders."
"That's not how orders work."
"Mine do."
"You mean someone can take control of you?"
He said nothing.
I twisted my wrist, trying to free myself. "Someone already did."
"Stop."
"Is that what the failure rate measures? How many times you broke free?"
"Stop talking."
"Or how many people you killed before you remembered who you were?"
His grip turned painful.
The bar plunged to 19.
He released me at once, but I caught the front of his uniform and held on. "Don't you dare let go."
"You just told me to stop."
"I told you to stop hurting yourself."
"You don't get to care now."
"I never stopped."
The words knocked the fight out of my next breath.
He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching mine. His voice dropped until it was meant for me alone.
"Put your hand back on my neck."
"Ask nicely."
"Mara."
"That's not nicely."
"Please."
The word sounded wrong in his mouth. Too honest. Too exposed.
I placed my palm against his neck again.
His pulse jumped beneath it.
The bar rose to 34.
The safehouse lights turned white.
PURGE CHECK: 00:07
"Find the drive," Knox said.
"You find it. I'm busy holding your life together."
"You're holding mine?"
"Don't make this weird."
"You made it weird when you called me cute."
"I called your card cute."
"You said my legs were obnoxious."
"They are."
He reached past me with one hand, never breaking contact with the other. His fingers closed around the memory drive.
The timer hit three.
The screen above the sink flickered.
Two.
Knox ripped the drive free.
One.
The room went silent.
Then the screen blinked on.
A face appeared through the static.
Not a recording icon. Not a city notice.
A face.
Pale cheeks. Crooked smile. A silver scar cutting through the left eyebrow.
My fingers went numb against Knox's neck.
He felt it. "Mara?"
The face leaned closer to the camera.
My breath caught.
"No," I whispered. "No, that's impossible."
Knox turned toward the screen. "Who is it?"
The face smiled wider.
It belonged to Tessa Quill.
Tessa, who had been listed as dead for three years.
Tessa, who had held my hand the night the city took my brother.
Tessa, who had sworn she would never leave me behind.
Static crawled over her mouth.
Then she spoke.
"Mara, if you're seeing this, Knox has already—"