PEARL HAD FOUND HIM KIND OF CUTE last time. Now, with the scruffy face and disheveled hair, Jasper looked more grown-up, more boyish, somehow both. It worked for him. She was susceptible to charm—even if men weren’t really her thing. Jasper Mudiba. She’d studied his file closely before showing up. Smart brain in a solid body. Top marks on the DarkNet tests. Earned a scholarship despite his criminal record—not that it was heavy. A promising future, on paper.

  We’ll see.

  “You gonna leave me kneeling like this, ma’am? The whole neighborhood’s watching. They’ll think I’m a terrorist.”

  “Are you a terrorist?”

  “You know I’m not, M’am.”

  “Why would I know that?”

  She inspected his scooter, slowly, methodically. He was willing to bet she wasn’t following any real protocol. If she were—if she really thought he was dangerous—this place would be swarming with drones, patrol bots, and backup.

  She was working solo. Off-script. Which meant… there was hope. When the legal machine wobbled, hope had a way of slipping in.

  “Where are your friends? And don’t lie.”

  “They’re upstairs. My apartment. Why would I lie?”

  Pearl let him stew a little longer. A way to break him in. He thought he was clever. But clever turned to cocky real fast.

  “What’s in your pockets? I’m going to search you. Don’t move, or I’ll jolt you.”

  After they’d found the scooter—the one the Protector had ditched near the Columbia megamarkets—tracking him down was easy. Use a vehicle that long, you’re bound to leave behind hair, prints, DNA. And when you have a criminal record, you’re screwed.

  She’d pieced together the story from there. The little thieves holed up in Esperanza’s safe house? That was them. The two anonymous reports against the Protector? Them again.

  But what game were they exactly playing? And what game were they playing now?

  The stolen scooter’s log revealed that someone had used it at Fulfillment Center 22—while Pearl herself had been there. It wasn’t Jasper or his crew—they were trying to track it down at the time. So it had to be the Protector.

  But why? To monitor Jasper? For Tim?

  Tim.

  She opened the doors of her service vehicle.

  “Now get up and sit in the back. In the cage.”

  “What about my scooter? We can’t just leave it here!”

  Annoyed, she shoved him roughly.

  “Quit whining and move.”

  Once behind the wheel, Pearl tapped a few buttons and muttered: “An impound robot’s on its way. But if you keep pissing me off, I might just send your scooter straight to the scrapyard.”

  Two hours later, Pearl was sitting across from Boris Nadella in his DNSF office. She politely declined his offer to share half his hamburger.

  “Good call not bringing the other thugs along,” he said. “Let’s keep this low-key for now. Still keeping eyes on them?”

  “Yes. As of now, they probably think Jasper just went to get high somewhere else. I don’t think they saw me. When he left, they were all blitzed—drugs, booze, the whole cocktail.”

  Nadella wiped his mouth and cracked open a beer.

  “What do you make of Jasper, Pearl?”

  She crossed her legs, picturing her last encounter with the kid.

  “He doesn’t seem particularly worried. He probably senses something’s up, partly connected to him. He’s sharp. But I don’t think he’s dangerous. No unusual implants or enhancements in his body—just the standard comm circuits.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “What came out of the interrogation?”

  “He basically confirmed what we already suspected. We grilled him about ties to the Protector. The lie detector came back clean.”

  At first, they considered locking Jasper up for criminal conspiracy, a flight risk. But nothing in his recent comms linked him to anything suspicious. Just the usual chatter between street punks. Not enough for a judge to greenlight detainment.

  So they’d kept him off-grid. Technically, an exceptional procedure. Realistically, a kidnapping.

  Nadella took a swig of beer and stifled a burp.

  “You say he’s not dangerous. But he seems to have a link with the assets the WorlNet is trying to protect or flush out. Doesn't that make him potentially dangerous?”

  Pearl shot him a look.

  “There’s more than one asset? I didn’t know that.”

  Nadella grabbed a folder from his desk and slid it toward her. For your eyes only. She began flipping through it.

  “There’s definitely a threat somewhere,” Nadella went on. “But what form it takes... that’s the question. And that’s why everything in this case must be flagged as “potentially dangerous”. This is the final report on the Protector. Her name was Yvn Yoka. She was a WorldNet Military officer. Officially on leave the whole time she was operating here.”

  “A convenient way for WorldNet to wash its hands, no?”

  “Maybe. But the WMP—the WorldNet Military Police—had already opened an investigation into her once the Esperanza incident revealed her presence. That suggests she wasn’t following her chain of command.”

  “A rogue agent? Is that even possible?”

  Nadella smiled.

  “Even with all their centralized AI coordination, WorldNet hasn’t reached full Collective Consciousness, Pearl. There are disagreements. Factions. Yvn Yoka wasn’t working solo, either. We’ve seen other fuses blow.”

  “Like who?”

  “Consul Okmer. After we stripped his credentials, he went back to teaching at WorldNet Science. He was arrested shortly after. Vanished since. WorldNet’s cleaning house.”

  “What should I do about Jasper?”

  “Those four punks have been part of the story from day one. Did they sell Yoka out just for cash? Or was there more to it? If they’re not collaborators, they’re at least under WorldNet surveillance—or one of its factions’. Didn’t Yoka go to them at the Esperanza shelter? Try to reach out again later?”

  “Maybe even she didn’t know why they mattered. She could’ve been a pawn herself.”

  “Either way, let’s keep them close. Let’s track the WorldNet. Stick a tracker up Jasper’s ass before letting him loose. Tell him he needs to come in for another medical check, something like that. Meanwhile, if there are other leads we missed, the rest of that gang might help us sniff them out.”

  As Pearl stood to leave, Nadella stopped her:

  “One last thing. As of today, Paul Boulder will be replacing Zantia as your second-in-command.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “That wasn’t a request, Pearl.”

  ***

  On the flight home, one question keeps gnawing at her: Why hasn’t she told Boris Nadella about Tim? She skipped over it instinctively—and it is driving her nuts.

  A few minutes earlier, just after giving the order to release Jasper, she received a call from Simone Fisher saying that Tim disappeared.

  Strangely, it did not worry her.

  She recalls her first meeting with Tim.

  Officially, she’d gone to Fulfillment Center 22 to visit Zantia’s mother—which was true, at first. But afterward, she should’ve reported the weird encounter she’d had. She hadn’t.

  And just now, she didn’t even mention Akrom’s little brother when Nadella brought up “assets.”

  Why?

  Meeting Tim was... there is no precise words for it. A communion. A collision of two mirrors. A kid she’d never met before in her life—and yet, when Simone had told her Tim’s story, it sounded very much like her own.

  Way too much.

  Another question. Why didn’t Yvn Yoka pull the trigger at the station? Even more baffling—why didn’t she activate her self-destruct charge? The DNSF discovered it later, embedded in her body. Was she trying to protect her? Her—Pearl?

  Fuck.

  My name is Pearl Maya. I was born twenty-nine years ago, in old Chile, to an unknown mother and father. I was left on a stranger’s doorstep at dusk, like something out of a movie. Orphanages. Failed adoptions.

  Behavioral issues. Petty theft. Frequent punishment. But top of the class. Got into the Academy. Joined the army. Climbed the social ladder.

  Yeah. Social climbing.

  She thinks about that as she steps into her apartment.

  Through the bay window, the living room offers a panoramic view of pristine high-end condos. Hanging gardens. Private pools. A cityscape designed with surgical precision—green zones, cultural centers, theaters, wellness retreats, sports complexes.

  No tower blocks. No crime.

  She showers, dries off, slips into a bathrobe. Hair wrapped in a towel, she pours herself a glass of red wine. Heating up some ramen, she takes slow sips.

  Buzzz.

  Someone at the shared entrance. At this hour?

  Image feed: a blonde woman. Stranger. Quick scan—no weapons. But the vibe screams “law enforcement.” DNSF? Building security?

  Just in case, Pearl grabs her laser pistol and remotely unlocks the door.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  No reply. The stranger walks in and closes the door behind her. Stares, unblinking.

  Pearl raises the pistol. Her voice cuts sharp.

  “I won’t ask again. Identify yourself!”

  But her brain is glitching—nerves firing off mixed signals. Recognition. That walk. That silhouette. Those hands.

  “What the hell...? You—”

  The woman gently brushes the gun aside. Takes her by the waist. Kisses her full on the lips.

  A gasp. A shiver. Struggling hands that give way. The bathrobe drops to the floor, the towel unwraps, red hair spilling free. Clothes come off. Bodies collide on the couch. Moans. Cries.

  Later, as Pearl lay against her chest, fingers teasing her breast, Zantia whispers:

  “Do you like my new face?”

  “How’d you choose it?”

  “It was my grandmother’s. On my mother’s side. She was Austrian. A blonde.”

  “Did you talk to your mother?”

  “Not really.”

  Pearl doesn’t press. She doesn’t ask what new orders Nadella has given her, either. She gets up and pours them both another glass. They clink glasses with a grin.

  “To our reunion.”

  “To us.”

  The Revenant? Stay tuned—the battle of offensives and revenge is only just beginning!