Fang scoffed, but pushed no further. Instead, she started skipping toward the man with golden eyes, Hunter following at a more measured pace.

  He noticed them approaching and offered a nod, the kind you gave strangers you weren’t interested in talking to. “Afternoon,” he muttered.

  Fang opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then closed it, then turned to Hunter. “I forgot the code.”

  The man squinted at her.

  Hunter, unfazed, gave the subtle cue, the agreed-upon phrase. “A ship runs fastest when it’s got no brakes.”

  The man’s casual demeanor vanished. His slouch straightened, his golden irises sharpened, and a barely perceptible smirk touched his lips. When he spoke again, it was with crisp precision. “Then I hope your pilot knows how to steer.”

  Hunter allowed herself a small nod. “We should talk.”

  He glanced around once, then jerked his head toward a narrow alley between cargo crates. “Follow me.” He turned and walked.

  He led them through the maze of stacked cargo crates, weaving between the occasional blinking security light. Eventually, he stopped in front of a storage unit with a keypad lock, punched in a sequence, and gestured them inside.

  Inside was a fully functioning room—far more than the drab exterior suggested. A cot sat in the corner, neatly made, and a small table held an assortment of tools, data pads, peculiar rectangular slabs, and a half-eaten meal that smelled of powdered turmeric.

  Fang’s eyes landed on a peculiar object resting by the bedside—a cylindrical contraption with thin, curling filaments emerging from the top, glowing faintly azure. “Uh. What is that?” she asked, pointing.

  He followed her gaze. “Hair cleanser.”

  She blinked. “That’s a hairbrush?”

  “No, it cleans your hair. Clean water is rare here, so we don’t wash our hair. You just hold it near your head and it pulls the grime out.”

  Fang made a face. “That’s horrifying. Can we get one for my friend here so she stays away from the shower?”

  He proceeded to pretend Fang’s question didn’t exist. “So. You’re looking for Gonzo Kashiwagi.”

  Hunter nodded. “You know where he is?”

  The man shrugged. “Gonzo’s a careful man, and he never makes anything a routine, so if he sleeps in the same place twice, it’s because he’s got five different exits planned.” He tapped a finger against his arm. “That said, he does have a few semi-regular haunts, and one in particular stands out, which is a snar’gu shop down in the lower markets.” He talked as though he forgot what a full stop was.

  Fang squinted. “What the hell is a snar’gu?”

  He blinked, then tilted his head like she’d just asked what water was. “You don’t know snar’gu?”

  Fang threw up her hands. “Clearly not!”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Think of a fish, an aquatic species from Earth, and snar’gu are not much different, except they have six fins. But we must talk about the shop, which has no official name, just a bright green awning and a guy out front who’s missing half his teeth.” Then he proceeded to drop the location and other useful information, such as the fact that he was last seen wearing a oversized dark brown hooded synth-leather coat, his physical descriptions, and the sidearms he could have on him.

  Hunter thanked him for the information and turned to leave. Before they leave, the man gave them his last farewell. “For some reason, none of the local factions seems to want to touch Gonzo, so you might want to keep that in mind and always be on the lookout for whoever is watching his back. And one more thing, he is very good at running.”

  Fang grumbled then turned to Hunter, but Hunter said nothing.

  ***

  The snar’gu shop didn’t have a name, just like the guy had said. It barely even had a storefront—just a makeshift stall wedged between two actual buildings, covered by a drooping green awning that looked like it had seen better centuries. A metal grill separated the cooking area from the customers, and behind it, a hunched man with half his teeth missing tended to a row of sizzling skewers that oddly barely had any smell.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Fang eyed her food with a scrunched-up nose, poking at it. She’d taken a bite out of it, and it had been the only bite so far. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this might be worse.”

  Hunter wasn’t listening. Knowing she wasn’t listening, Fang sighed and leaned back, staring at the charred skewer like it had personally wronged her. “You know, I once had to eat ‘Earthling-Inspired Food’ at Ramustus U’s cafeteria. You’d think with their budget, they could at least get the basic concept of human food right, but no. They somehow managed to make spaghetti feel like it was judging me.”

  Fang pressed on. “I don’t even know where they found some of those ingredients. You ever had pasta that glowed? I asked the chef what was in it, and he just gave me a nervous laugh and walked away. Like, why are you scared? I’m the one eating it. Also, I think one of the sauces was alive.”

  Hunter gave a slow nod. “Mhm.” She had her arms crossed, staring down at her comm. Her plate of food, though, was completely cleared.

  Fang raised a brow. “You’re doing the serious face. You only do that when you’re about to say something I won’t like.”

  Hunter glanced up. “It’s nearing 14:00. Check-in time.”

  Fang gave her an unimpressed look. “And?”

  “And I’m thinking of calling Gravel and Priest to call off the Gonzo lead.”

  Fang made a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “We’re here for the boon and the bounty, not the bad decisions, Hunter.”

  “It’s not a bad decision,” Hunter said with an even tone. “This guy’s being left alone for a reason. No one’s touching him, not the local factions, not the mercs, not even the bottom-feeders. That’s a bad sign. And I need you in a safehouse.”

  The fact was, Hunter had been planning to handle the meeting solo, and Fang had forced her way into coming along, arguing that backup, however subtle, was better than nothing. Hunter knew she just wanted to try out the snar’gu, but had agreed anyway. She was dead sure nobody was going to show up in that short a window, and once the first check-in came, she would just push to call the entire thing off.

  Fang crossed her arms. “And if we back out now, what’s our alternative? Sit on our asses and hope something better comes along?”

  “It’s not like we have a big chance of running into this guy in the first place. Are we just gonna sit in this shop for days?”

  Fang opened her mouth, about to argue further, but then she saw a guy in an oversized dark brown hooded synth-leather coat. Dark hair, dark eyes, compact built, narrow jawline, and the kind of slender-fit build that relied on agility over muscle—he was just like the description.

  “You were saying?” Fang gritted her lips to stop herself from grinning.

  He came in, ordered food, then sat at a table like a normal, law-abiding citizen. It didn’t take long for his food to arrive in aluminum foil. He’d ordered takeaway.

  Fang kept her voice low. “Do we tail him?”

  Hunter didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tapped against her arm in thought. “Let’s see if he’s alone first.”

  As the man stood up and made his way toward the exit, Hunter’s gaze sharpened. She scanned the shop’s interior. Of the few patrons inside, no one moved to follow him. No one seemed particularly interested in him at all.

  She watched his reflection in the shop’s grease-streaked window as he stepped outside, checked both ways, then started down the street at a steady, unhurried pace.

  Hunter pushed away from the table. “Move to a secure location. Stay in contact through comms. Track my movements through Bird’s Eye.”

  Fang scowled but didn’t argue, pulling up her comm to sync the map. Hunter was already out of the shop.

  She waited another minute before stepping outside, adjusting her boots before strolling toward the safehouse—the hotel room they’d booked. Hunter was already a moving dot on the grid, heading southeast through a narrow commercial strip. The streets here were dense but orderly, packed with rows of prefab structures stacked three stories high. They were the kind of buildings that had been slapped together economically: cramped storefronts on the bottom, housing or storage on top, and a mini gravity anchor slapped on every second floor.

  Fang’s thumb traced over the map, watching Gonzo’s potential exits. “Alright. He’s got three clean breakaways,” she murmured into comms. “First—main street up ahead. It’s gonna open into a market square, tons of foot traffic. If he gets spooked, he could lose you in the crowd.”

  She zoomed out. “Second, there’s a service alley running parallel two blocks west. If he knows the area, he might cut through there and slip out the other side.”

  A flick of her fingers over the screen. “Third option—there’s an overpass ramp connecting to the lower district. It’s a bit of a climb, but if he makes a run for it, you’ll lose him the second he blends into the undercity.”

  She could’ve provided more information had she had Gonzo on the map too, but that was all she could do for now.

  “Okay. Stay connected. I’ll ask when I need more info,” Hunter replied.

  Fang stepped into the hotel, shaking off the lingering street dust as the door slid shut behind her. She pulled up her comm, checking the sync. Hunter was still tracking southeast, and Gonzo was nowhere on the grid. She could only wait.

  She strolled toward the elevator, hands in her pockets, but then, a movement at the front desk caught her eye.

  A man was checking out. Average height, slightly overweight, and dressed in a plain dark coat. A mask covered the lower half of his face, the kind of cheap, disposable local mask that blended in, especially in places with bad air like Lokoae.

  But his eyes were half-lidded, watchful, but never hurried. She shivered.

  She knew those eyes.

  Liu Jiye.