Back in Isenhold, our apartment feels like the only thing that hasn’t changed. It’s small, cramped, but familiar. The ThermaHeater hums quietly in the corner. Somehow, it’s still going after a decade. Not much around here lasts that long.

  Shiro’s sprawled out on his bed, messing with his new optics, his eyes darting as he focuses on distant points. He keeps testing the zoom, shifting his gaze to something far away and then back to me, a slight smirk on his lips every time he locks onto a distant target. Always showing off, like it’s a game.

  I sit on the edge of my own bed, turning a rectangular box over in my hands. It’s smaller than I remember, but heavier. Maybe I’m just feeling the weight of it all now. Once I slot this chip, I’m in it for good. No more pretending I can go back.

  “You really gonna slot it in now?” Shiro asks, glancing over.

  I nod, flicking the latch open with a click. Inside, nestled in the padded interior, is a combat chip from Combat Labs—the one we lifted off some upper-level kids a few months back. It reminds me of the Veil chip from years ago, but this one is less valuable. Still, it’s not bad quality—a military-grade aug with a sensory boost module, reflex enhancer, and sensory filter. It lets you think faster, move quicker, and stay sharp in a fight. With my new neural interface, I can finally slot it. Finally put it to use.

  It’ll place me one step closer to what I want.

  “Why wait?” I say, holding the chip up to the light. In tiny letters, there’s engraved Nemesis XV-11, the model name.

  Shiro’s grin fades into something more serious. “No turning back after this, Ander. You sure?”

  I glance over at him, my eyes lingering on the jacket he’s wearing—Jace’s. The red-and-white fabric with its worn edges, the angular design. It’s funny, seeing it on Shiro. It fits him like it was always his. But it wasn’t. It was Jace’s. And every time I see it, I’m reminded of how he’s not here anymore. How he’s never coming back.

  “I’m sure.”

  Then I reach around and insert it into my neuroslot. At first, nothing happens. A heartbeat. Then, everything shifts. It’s like my brain is being stretched, pulled in every direction at once. My vision blurs and warps, the edges of the room twisting in ways that don’t make sense. The hum of the heater becomes a deafening roar, vibrating through my skull. The light in the room flares, stabbing into my eyes. My heart races, each beat slamming into my chest like a hammer. I can’t breathe. The air feels thick, suffocating, like I’m drowning in it.

  My hands shake. I grip the edge of the bed, trying to ground myself, but it’s like my body’s on fire. Every nerve, every muscle fires off at once, a thousand sensations crashing into me. My eyes dart around the room, taking in too many details: the grain of the walls, the flicker of the faulty light down the hall, the faint, almost imperceptible sound of Shiro breathing.

  It’s too much. Like drowning, but there’s no water.

  Then, just as quickly as it hit, everything starts to settle. The room snaps back into focus. The roar fades to a dull hum, and my heartbeat steadies. Every sensation feels… sharper. Clearer. My vision adjusts, syncing with the chip, and the disorientation fades. But I’m not the same. There’s a buzz in the back of my mind, like I’m a few steps ahead of everything. I can feel the sensory boost—hyper-awareness of everything around me. The creak of the floorboards. The subtle movements of the air. The faintest sound of Shiro shifting in his bed.

  “Still with me?” Shiro’s voice cuts through, though it feels distant before it snaps back into focus, like my brain had to catch up to his words.

  I nod, blinking. “Yeah… just… it’s different.”

  I can barely recognize my own voice.

  He studies me, optics scanning like he’s trying to read what’s going on in my head. “We’ll give it a few days. Let you adjust before we head down to see Lorn. No point in rushing if your head’s still spinning.”

  I nod again, grateful for the time. “Yeah. Gotta… get used to it, I guess.”

  Shiro leans back, still watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Once you’re ready, we can start.”

  I don’t need to ask what he means. It’s the same thing I’ve been thinking about since Jace died. It’s the same thing that’s been eating at both of us, festering in the back of our minds, gnawing at us every time we close our eyes.

  Finding Jace’s killer. Avenging our brother.

  ***

  Days pass, and the hum of the chip fades into the background. It’s part of me now. The world’s still sharper, but it’s less overwhelming—just another layer of reality. I’ve started noticing things I never did before—it’s like seeing in a new color. The way people walk, the way they shift their weight, like I can predict their movements. I can even hear conversations through walls if I focus hard enough.

  I’m a step ahead of everything, all the time. But it’s exhausting, too. Every little detail pulls at me, demanding attention. Sleep doesn’t come easy, and when it does, it’s restless. I keep waking up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, like I’m still in the middle of a fight that ended hours ago.

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  We descend into the deepest levels of the mountain city, where the air feels thicker, colder. Buildings sag under decades of neglect, steel and concrete barely holding together. Overhead, pipes leak steam, mixing with neon from flickering signs—outdated tech, black-market goods. The streets glisten with grime, frost glittering underfoot. People move like shadows, faces obscured by heavy coats and gleaming augments, blending into the cold.

  The slums are familiar, but the bottom level is worse—the air here is thick with the stench of decay, and the walls are covered in layers of grime and rust, making every breath feel heavy. Still, it’s worth it to see Lorn in person—he was Jace’s fixer before he died, and now he’s ours. The past year we’ve been working job after job for him, a chunk of our pay funneled into his search for Jace’s killer. We almost cut him off, thinking he was just bleeding us dry. Guess we’ll see if it was all a waste.

  The deeper we go, the more the world changes. Neon gives way to shadows, and the lights that do remain are dim, flickering. We pass a group of scavengers, huddled around a makeshift heater, their eyes following us with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The ground beneath our feet is slick with ice, and the cold bites through our coats, a reminder of how far we are from the warmth of the upper levels.

  We finally reach Lorn’s place. It’s one of those spots you only find if you know where to look—wedged between two crumbling, ice-encrusted buildings with rusted-out metal siding. A place for ghosts. An old backlit sign lies above the door, its faded paint making it impossible to read, but that’s the point—no need for names here.

  As we approach the door, Shiro shoots me a glance, his breath visible in the cold. “You think this lead’s actually gonna go anywhere this time?”

  “Only one way to find out,” I say, pushing the door open and continuing through.

  Inside, the air is warm but stale. Lorn sits behind a cluttered desk, hunched over a flickering holomonitor, tapping away at a keyboard—horribly outdated tech—that clicks with every keystroke. He’s an older man, late fifties, with thinning gray hair pulled back into a messy knot and deep lines etched around his eyes. He glances up at us, his eyes catching the neural interface at my neck, and a thin smirk creeps across his lips.

  “New toys, huh?” Lorn asks, leaning back in his chair. “How’d Rhyne do?”

  “Good enough,” I say, keeping my voice even. “We’re square. For that, at least.”

  The old fixer nods, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So, you’re here about the lead?”

  Shiro steps forward. “You said you had something?”

  Lorn pushes the monitor aside and sits up straighter, his fingers tapping idly on the desk. “I’ve been hearing things. Two individuals matching your descriptions.”

  My eyes widen. He actually found something?

  “Details?” Shiro asks, his voice sharp, but I can see the hidden desperation in his eyes. We both need this.

  Lorn leans forward, the monitor’s glow casting shadows over his face. “The man first. He’s got dark hair, and he’s always in black. Cold, precise. Loaded with augments, too: Hazel optics, subdermal plating, enhanced muscle fibers, maybe an integrated processor. He’s not someone you want to cross.”

  A chill runs through me. It’s him, exactly as I remember. The memory of that night flashes through my mind—the cold, calculated way he moved, the way he looked at us like we were nothing.

  “And the woman?”

  “Same deal. Bounty hunter, all black, poker face. More machine than human. Military type.”

  I swallow hard. “It’s them.” The words feel heavy in my mouth, like saying it makes it real.

  Lorn nods, satisfied. “I got those descriptions from one of my contacts on Melekon Prime in the Nexus Alliance. In New Eros, the planet’s capital. But that’s all I have.”

  Shiro crosses his arms, narrowing his gaze. “And who’s this contact? Where exactly did they spot the two?”

  Lorn’s face tightens, an almost imperceptible twitch. “Can’t say the name. But they only saw them at a spaceport. Not much to go on, I know.”

  I share a look with Shiro. Nexus Alliance space is far from the free worlds. It’s not what we were hoping for, but it’s a lead—the only one we’ve had in two years.

  “Melekon Prime,” Shiro mutters, leaning back against the wall. “Hell of a trip.”

  “It’s not like we have a choice,” I say, pacing the room. “We’ve come this far. We can’t just give up.”

  “I expect this is the last time I’ll be seeing you two,” Lorn says, leaning back in his chair, his smirk fading into something more genuine.

  “Well, I mean, we’re not exactly planning to come back,” I admit. “But the Nexus Alliance is far away. We don’t have the credits for that sort of trip.”

  The old fixer offers a thin smile. “In that case, how about a parting gift? I have a contact in the NATC, so I can get you a deal. Consider it a farewell present.”

  Shiro straightens, his optics narrowing slightly. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. Just good business,” Lorn says, chuckling. “You’ve been good little worker bees these last few months. Worth more than I’ve been paying, to be honest, so I’ll help you out here. Think of it as me making sure you don’t get yourselves flatlined before you can put those new augs to use.”

  Shiro smiles, thankful. “This way we can get ourselves killed after instead.”

  The old man laughs at that, but I’m too busy glancing around the dingy room, peeking out at the iced-over streets outside to notice. We’ve spent two years free from the lithorite mines, scraping by in the city instead, living like Jace did. And now we’re leaving. For good, probably—I mean, there’s nothing that’s tying us here besides old Lorn.

  I guess I thought I’d feel something—attachment, nostalgia. But there’s nothing. It’s like I’ve already moved on, mentally checked out, and this is just another stop along the way. And maybe that’s what bothers me—that I don’t care. That everything we’ve done here feels like it doesn’t matter anymore. I think a part of me left when Jace did, and now I’m chasing a ghost, pretending justice will fix things. I know better. But what else is there? What else is left to keep me going?

  I let out a slow breath, turning back to Lorn. “Thanks, Lorn. For everything.”

  He waves a hand dismissively. “Just don’t make me regret it. And if you do make it back, you know where to find me.”

  Shiro nudges me as we step out into the cold. “You good?”

  I sigh. “Yeah. Just… ready to get out of here.”

  He grins. “Then let’s do it. Melekon Prime, here we come.”

  The wind bites at my face as we walk, but I barely feel it. My mind is already miles away, chasing shadows across the stars, toward a reckoning that feels both inevitable and impossible.