"Papers. Now. Hands on the dash where I can see them."
The rifle barrel tapped my window. I didn't move fast enough. The second tap hit harder—metal on glass, inches from my face.
"I said now," the guard snapped. "You deaf?"
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," I shot back. "Just don't scratch the paint. This truck's older than you are."
He didn't laugh. Nobody laughs at Gate One.
Beside me, Kade was a statue. Hands already on the dash. Knuckles white. He didn't even blink, staring straight at the concrete barrier and the second guard waiting with the scanner.
"Papers," the guard barked. He yanked my door open. Cold air slammed into my legs. "Both of you. Out. Slow."
"We have transit papers," I said, sliding out. "Clean ones. Check the seal."
"Out."
My boots hit the wet concrete. Under the seat, my forger kit was taped tight. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure the guy could hear it. My papers always pass. That's why people pay me. That's the whole point.
Kade stepped out slower. Hands raised slightly. He knew the type—don't make them nervous, or they'll shoot first and ask questions to the corpse.
"IDs on the hood," the guard ordered. "Step back."
I dropped my little blue booklet. Maya Reeves. Courier. Zone 3 to Zone 4. Medical supplies. Boring. Forgettable. Perfect.
Kade placed his next to mine. No fake name. Just *Kade Mercer*. No job listed.
The guard grabbed mine first. Flipped it. Scanned. Green light.
"Courier, huh?" He looked me up and down. "What's in the truck?"
"Bandages. Antibiotics. Sealed crates," I said. "You're welcome to open them if you want to explain to the clinic why their shipment is contaminated."
"Smart mouth."
"It's my best feature."
He grunted and snatched Kade's ID. Scanned.
Red.
Then red again. A sharp, piercing buzz.
*Shit.*
"Step back," the guard yelled. The rifle rose an inch. "Both of you, step back from the vehicle!"
"Hey, that's a glitch!" I jumped in. "Your scanner's ancient. It buzzes red if you hold it wrong. Try it again."
"I said step back!"
The second guard was already closing in, hand hovering over his sidearm.
"What's the flag?" he asked.
"No clearance. No transit. No record," the first one replied. "He's a ghost."
Kade didn't say a word. I could see his jaw working.
"It's a mistake," I pressed. "He's with me. He's my carrier—helps me lift the crates. He's on my manifest, check the second page."
"There is no second page for him." The guard shoved the booklet into Kade's chest. "On your knees. Hands behind your head!"
"Come on!" I snapped. "You're really gonna jam us up over a scanner error? You know how many people hit this gate with bad chips?"
"On your knees!"
Kade looked at me. Just for a second. *Don't.* That's what his eyes said. *Stay clean.*
Then he went down. Slow. Knees to the concrete. Hands locked behind his head. The guard kicked his ankle wider to splay him out.
"Stay there," the guard warned, leveling the rifle at my chest. "You stay right there, courier."
"I'm staying," I said, hands up. "But you don't need to do this. He's nobody."
"Nobody doesn't ping red at a federal gate," the second guard said. He slammed plastic zip-ties onto Kade's wrists, cranking them tight. Kade winced.
"Hey, easy!" I yelled. "You don't have to crank it that tight!"
"You want to join him?" the first guard asked.
"No. I want to get through the gate before my antibiotics freeze," I shot back. "So what do you want? A fee? We can do a fee."
The guard let out a short, ugly laugh. "You think this is a toll booth?"
"I think everything's a toll booth."
Kade was being dragged up by the shoulder, stumbling. The zip-ties were already cutting into his skin.
"Walk," the guard shoved him toward the concrete holding box. "Move."
I watched them drag him away. Five steps. Ten. My papers were still on the hood, blinking green. I was clear. I could get in the truck and drive. That's the forger's code: cargo gets caught, forger walks.
That's how you survive ten years in the zone. You don't tie yourself to a stranger.
Kade looked back once. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
"Hey!" I called out. "Where are you taking him?"
"Holding," the guard replied without looking. "Until we verify. Could be an hour. Could be a day."
"He's got no record because he's from outside the zone!" The words were out before I could stop them. "He's a federal contractor. Check the old system, not the zone system."
The guard stopped. He turned his head slowly.
"What did you say?"
"I said check the federal system," I said, my voice cracking. "He's got clearance. You're just not looking in the right database."
"You know a lot about federal systems for a courier."
"I forge papers for a living," I snapped. "You want me to spell it for you?"
The guard stared at me. Then at Kade. Kade was standing by the box, wrists bound, a guard's hand still heavy on his arm.
"You vouching for him?"
That was the trap. If I vouched and he popped dirty, I went in the box. If I didn't, I drove away and left him to whatever the gate does to ghosts.
My wrist burned. That red mark from Nox's deal—the blood tie—pulsed hot. It knew I was thinking about ditching him.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm vouching. He's my responsibility. So if your scanner's wrong, that's on me, okay?"
"Maya," Kade's voice was low. The first time he'd spoken. "Don't."
"Shut up," I told him. "You're not helping."
"You two are cute." The guard stepped closer. Too close. I could smell stale coffee and gun oil. "You sure about this? You know what happens if I run him federal and he comes back flagged?"
"Then you let me deal with it," I said, refusing to step back. "But you run it right. Not that busted handheld. The hardline inside."
He studied me for a long beat. Then he grabbed my arm. Hard. His fingers dug right into the sleeve over the red mark.
"You got a lot of opinions for a girl with fake papers," he whispered.
"They're not fake," I breathed, fighting the urge to flinch. "They're very expensive."
His grip tightened. Behind him, Kade shifted, a low sound of warning in his throat.
"Don't," I told Kade. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Kade said. "Let go of her."
"Or what?" The guard let go, but shoved my shoulder back. A warning. "You got ten minutes. I run him on the hardline. If he's clean, you both go. If he's flagged, you both stay. Understand, courier?"
"Yeah. I understand."
"Get back in the truck. And don't touch a thing."
He dragged Kade toward the gatehouse. The metal door clanged open, then slammed shut.
I was alone. Two rifles watching me. The wind off the barrier was freezing.
I leaned against the hood, shaking. I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide it.
"You didn't have to do that," Kade's voice crackled through the gatehouse intercom. He must have hit the button.
"Well, you didn't have to get flagged," I muttered to the speaker. "So we're even."
"You should have left me," he said, his voice rough. "That was the smart play."
"Yeah, well, I'm not smart," I said. "I'm bonded to you with some creepy red tattoo. If you die in a box, do I die too?"
Static. A long pause.
"I don't know,"\ he said.
"Great. Love that for us."
The gatehouse door flew open. The first guard stepped out, holding Kade's booklet and a printout. His face had gone pale. Tighter.
He didn't look at me. He looked at the truck, the barrier, the gatehouse—like he was looking for an exit.
Then he walked straight to me. Stopped a foot away.
"You need to step away from the vehicle," he said, his voice low.
"Why? I thought we were waiting,"\ I said.
"We are. But I need to ask you something." He glanced back at Kade, then at me. His eyes weren't bored anymore. They were terrified.
"Do you have any idea who you just vouched for?" He reached for his sidearm, not to draw, but like he was shaking. "He's the last operator for the federal protocol—"