We reached the safe house in under twenty minutes. It was buried in one of Munich’s warehouse districts—one of the older, quieter ones.

  The night air smelled like oil and wet rust. A narrow canal ran alongside our storage unit, its current lazy and dark.

  The route we’d taken was camera-free. The roads were tight, lined with graffiti-scrawled walls and shuttered loading bays.

  Water lapped against the guardrails as we approached—soft, rhythmic. The only music in the night.

  Mai, dressed like a shadow in her sweater and mask, isolated herself in a guest room the moment we arrived. Jane disappeared into the cybernetics utility closet—probably to recharge or fix something. Who knows. I wasn’t tracking that anomaly. I had TAI for that.

  Yasoba and I crossed paths in the general quarters not long after. He’d just arrived—sniper rifle still strapped across his back in a matte Cielo case, the sling pulled tight across his chest. He placed the case in the corner and stepped over. A support staffer quietly retrieved it and carried it off to the armory.

  "Provost. That mission was a bit screwed. Not sure how else to infiltrate though. Thoughts?" I asked.

  "No. Not good," he said, extending his cybernetic arm. First real handshake. “We would’ve just taken out leadership.”

  “Yeah, but Kelsey’s middle management. She can source product, sure—but she’s not the one who brought in all that interest.”

  “Speaking of her. Do we have her yet?”

  “She’s being rounded up by my security team as soon as she lands back on the island.”

  “If she runs?”

  “She won’t. She thinks she’s clean. Especially after we made it look like the Americans hacked her. If anything, she expects us to protect her.”

  “Hm.” He paused, thinking it through. “I see. How’s your partner doing? She seemed… impacted by the collateral.”

  Sharp. Yasoba hadn’t had eyes on us for more than a minute as we ran to the car—and yet, he read Mai like a book. I’d noticed the tension too. That slow-breathing kind of anxiety that settles in when adrenaline fades. Getting shot at does that—even to the best of us.

  “Ma…arlin will be fine,” I said, rolling my cigar between two fingers. “She just needs time. Time to unwind. Process the night. Like all of us. I’ll schedule a post-mortem—go over what we did right, and what needs fixing.”

  “And good job on the response team. Crack shooting.”

  I nodded toward the hallway. “Go get some rest. I’ll page you when you’re needed.”

  He nodded back, then walked off—quiet and deliberate—toward one of the guest rooms.

  After a few minutes, I turned and headed to Mai’s room to check in on her.

  The safe house always felt too quiet after missions. Her room was doubly so.

  Not the kind of quiet you enjoy. The kind that hums in your teeth. Like something still waiting to go wrong.

  Mai sat by the wall-mounted desk—back straight, shoulders set too tight. She’d changed out of the infiltration gear, now in plain sweats. Hair still damp from a quick shower. Eyes locked on the tablet in front of her.

  Only the tablet wasn’t on.

  She was just... looking at it.

  I didn’t say anything at first. Just moved around the space quietly—resetting gear, recharging batteries. Tidying the things she’d thrown. Watching her watch the blank screen.

  “Want anything?” I asked eventually. Casual.

  “No.”

  “Food? Water?”

  “No. I’m... fine.”

  She wasn’t. But you don’t say that to someone like Mai.

  She looked put together. But too much so. Every thread in place. Every motion calculated. Like she was performing fine on a stage no one was watching.

  “You should rest.”

  “I will.”

  “Will you?”

  She didn’t answer. Just picked up a comms glove and started folding it—again. Third time.

  “I can leave,” I offered. “Give you some room. If you need that.”

  She paused. Eyes flicked toward me for half a second.

  “No. I... I don't think I should be alone, Kay.”

  “Wanna talk?”

  She nodded. Small, like it cost her something just to get it out.

  Then silence again.

  She opened the small fridge in the room, yanking the door open too hard. The crack of it hitting the wall filled the air. She flinched. Not big—just a micro-recoil. Then grabbed a water bottle and slammed the door shut.

  Twist. Pop. Her knuckles went white on the cap like she was trying to snap the whole neck off. She took a sip. Set it down. Picked it up again two seconds later. Her thumb flicked across the label. Then the seam. Then the dent she’d just made.

  Her hands didn’t know what to do. So they kept moving.

  “I died, Kay.”

  She didn’t look at me. Just stared down like the bottle was her own autopsy report.

  “I died and... and you didn’t even realize it. If you weren’t there to sponge those bullets—”

  Her grip tightened. Plastic groaned.

  “I’d be dead right now.”

  "That wasn’t just a choke, Kay. That was a full on freeze."

  “We didn’t expect counter action like that,” I said. “It was a surprise for all of us.”

  “That’s not the fucking point, Kay!”

  Her voice spiked. The bottle screamed in her grip.

  “I. Fucking. DIED. There.”

  Crack.

  "Actually, actually that is the point Kay. We were all surprised, ambushed and critically out numbered. Yet... YET! You and Jane still managed to just fucking steam roll them Kay. No human team would have left that gallery unscathed -- probably not even alive. But, not you two."

  Water beaded out from the seam.

  She took a deep long breath.

  “I’m not a robot, Kay,” she said softly. “I don’t have backups and fucking spawn points." In an exhausted tone.

  "I’m not a special tactics agent—I’m a liaison. I did team coordination and diplomatic projects. I’m not supposed to be getting shot at! " following up with a snapping tone "At least not this fucking much Kay!”

  She stood. Still holding the bottle like a weapon.

  “This isn’t what we do,” she said, louder now. “We don’t go on ops like this in the real world. Not like this. This is all fucking spy novel bullshit.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  She turned—face flushed, hands shaking.

  “And you’re all just fine with it. Like it’s a Tuesday. Like two people didn’t die so we could scan their face and a whole fucking platoon of mercenaries didn't have their day screwed.”

  She took a swig of water, swallowed and shook her head.

  “What the hell am I even doing here? I’m useless for this. You don’t need liaisons, not with TAI running half your comms. Tulanto doesn’t need me.”

  The bottle launched—fast and ugly. It hit the wall to my left, bounced, spun, and thudded against the carpet.

  She didn’t watch it land.

  "You're not a liaison Mai, you're my partner. You're the deputy of security for an entire nation. Thats your job now."

  "Then why are we even out here?" She whispered.

  "We wear multiple hats. It's a small nation."

  No tears at first. Just breath. Labored. Uneven. A small laugh that turned into a more unsnarled one.

  Then the sound caught in her throat.

  “I’m not built for this,” she said again. Quieter now. Smaller. “I don’t know who I am in this world any more Kay.”

  I crouched near her—close, but not touching.

  “You’re more than built for what we need Mai,” I said quietly. “You’re here with me. I calculate everything. And I say your help counts.”

  She looked up. Eyes wet now. Jaw locked.

  “You don’t get it. You never break. Bullets. People. Nothing breaks you. And... and I'm tired Kay.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t break around people.”

  Her expression shifted. A blink. Confusion. Then just… exhaustion.

  She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue—but nothing came.

  So she closed it again.

  And she just sat there. Shoulders hunched. Breathing rough in the desk chair.

  I’d seen people break before—in war rooms, in field debriefs, in hospital corridors with blood still under their nails.

  But this… this was different.

  It was quiet. Personal. Worse.

  Her world had been flipped more than once since she met me. So I couldn’t fault her for shifting the blame—some of it, at least—onto my shoulders.

  She wasn’t a spy. Not really. Not anymore.

  But the world didn’t care. She kept getting pulled back in—shadow ops, fieldwork, full-on black-bag bullshit. Just for knowing me.

  Hell, even I didn’t feel like a detective anymore.

  This wasn’t justice. It wasn’t intel.

  It was starting to feel like State Department–level sabotage.

  Like trying to shove a squat brick through a round hole and pretending it fit just because no one was looking too close.

  At a certain point, you just gotta say fuck it.

  So I did.

  “TAI, send him in,” I muttered through the Squabble channel. Cold. Artificial. But sometimes the cleanest tool in the box was the right one.

  I stepped back—faded into the room’s edge.

  He entered without sound.

  I caught him just as he passed. Placed a hand on his shoulder. Whispered, low:

  “She’s having a hard time figuring out where she fits. I think you can help her remember.”

  He didn’t answer. Just met my eyes. Fire. Focus. That same heat he always carried under the surface—now tempered.

  Then he crossed the room.

  No words.

  She didn’t hear him at first.

  But I saw it—the moment she felt it. The breath catch. The flicker in her fingers as if her body remembered something before her mind did.

  Then arms. Around her. Firm. Familiar.

  She froze.

  Her hands lifted, searching.

  Then the sob caught in her throat broke free.

  She turned.

  And saw him.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She didn’t have to.

  She just collapsed into him—Yasoba Shinya, aka Provost—and this time, she didn’t hold back.

  I slipped out, leaving them in silence.

  Didn’t need to hear what came next. Some things are private. Sacred, even in our line of work.

  The corridor to the utility wing buzzed faintly with the hum of power regulators and occasional mechanical clicks—recalibration work, maybe a diagnostic run. Familiar sounds. Comforting in their own way.

  Found her sitting in the old maintenance chair. Faceplate half-detached, neck port jacked into the spinal rig like a marionette half-strung. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just sat there—locked in place, eyes dull and half-glazed.

  Gone was the sleek infiltrator frame. What sat there now was her original chassis: fair skin, soft features, a shock of red hair damp against her collarbone. Green eyes, glassy and empty. Giselle. The real Jane. Or at least the version before the violence.

  She looked like a doll someone forgot to wind up.

  I hadn’t seen one of those chairs in decades. The kind of hardline system reset meant for older units—or for ones that didn’t trust wireless diagnostics.

  I leaned against the doorframe and waited.

  After a few more ticks, her eyes flickered. Her faceplate slid back into place with a quiet click, features adjusting, eyes blinking once—then narrowing into a look that screamed "caught with my wires out."

  “You good?” I asked.

  “Physically?” she said, still rebooting. “Sure. Psychologically? Unknown. TAI hasn’t pushed the patch yet.”

  I smirked. “So that’s a yes.”

  She rolled her neck, green eyes tracking up toward me with mock irritation. “You always loiter when women are half-assembled? TAI’s dating you, right? Wonder what she sees.”

  "Kay is an enigma within a mystery stuffed inside a candy bar wrapper," TAI said through the overhead speaker.

  I chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

  Jane didn’t smile.

  I nodded toward the grey infiltrator shell mounted on the wall behind her. “So… is this the real you now? Or that thing?”

  “Yeah. This is,” she said, voice flat. “At least... seems that way. Yasoba’s orders. Said I should remember who I was before I started ghosting through walls.”

  “Smart man.”

  “No kidding. I hate when he’s right,” she said, scratching at her forearm. Dead tell. The body was temp-printed here for local use. It’d be incinerated once she got back to the island and uploaded into her new permanent frame.

  I gestured toward the hallway. “C’mon, kid. We’ve got the night free while the Yasobas reunite.”

  “Reunite? Wait—you’ve got his girlfriend here?”

  “Yeah. That’d be my partner. They were in the same cell when we met. Love-on-the-job type deal. Spend enough time with someone, you get attached. Ain’t that right, TAI?”

  “That is correct. Thirty-three years, three months, and four days for us.”

  “No hours?” Jane asked.

  “No need to get into our details, Giselle,” TAI replied—cold and clipped. End of that conversation.

  We made our way down to the gym floor—one level below, tucked between the armory annex and a half-finished training sim. TAI had suggested sparring with Jane. Said it would help me “understand her better” for potential field integration.

  I didn’t like the sound of that last part. We were overdue for a professional sit-down—one where I reminded her what my job actually was. Mai had been right. We weren’t supposed to be running field ops. Not anymore. Not when our jurisdiction was an entire nation.

  We stepped onto the sparring mat. Low light. Soft grip flooring. Wall-mounted training gear tucked into racks like museum pieces. This wasn’t a combat gym. It was a private space. Controlled. Quiet.

  Jane cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, her expression somewhere between curious and cocky.

  “You ready, old man?”

  I adjusted my gloves and stepped into orthodox stance. “Been ready since before you were printed.”

  She flicked a grin. “Try not to fall apart when I go Aikido.”

  TAI chimed a bell for us. Round started.

  She came in light on her feet—bounce, pivot, dart. Open-hand feints. Quick wrist flicks. I stepped forward and jabbed hard. Caught her square on the cheek before she finished her first form.

  "Point... Kay" Tai chimed in.

  “Ow,” she said, more surprised than hurt. “Okay. Boxers don’t wait.”

  “Nope.”

  She shifted styles—Capoeira now. A flowing spin with a sweeping motion. Beautiful. Pointless. I ducked, stepped in, and shoulder-checked her straight back. She hit the mat, rolled up into crouch.

  "Point for Kay... again" Tai chimed in.

  “You counter flair with fists?” she muttered.

  “Every time.”

  She tried Krav next. Fast elbows, centerline attacks. I took one to the ribs, then slipped her next drive and pivoted—forearm locked her wrist, shoulder into her chest. Down again.

  "Point Jane. Two points Kay, lock and grapple" TAI said

  “You’re cheating.”

  “I’m winning.”

  She cycled into a Muay Thai stance. Solid. Aggressive. Tried a clinch with upward knee.

  I shut it down with a quick cross to her sternum and a shove.

  "Point Kay. Again." Tai said with a bit of smirk to her voice.

  “Can’t throw if you’re backing up,” I said.

  "Fine! And enough TAI, god"

  She tried Jeet Kune Do next. Light touch. Intercepting handwork. I let her dance for five seconds, then planted a firm body hook that took the wind out of her momentum.

  "Point. Kay" TAI whispered.

  She broke off, breathing heavier.

  “You’re not faster than me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Stronger?”

  “Doubt it.”

  She frowned. “Then how—”

  “Footwork. Angles. I don’t let you finish your thought.”

  She paused, standing straight now, arms low. “You’re not fighting like a cop.”

  “I’m not a cop. I’m coast guard, original interceptors”

  Round reset. She walked back to her corner, pacing. Thinking.

  “You’re like... boring but effective.”

  I smirked. “That’s the idea.”

  “You know I could kill you, right? Like, if we were going full tilt.”

  “Probably. But you’d have to catch me first.”

  “Asshole.”

  The bell chimed again.

  This time, she didn’t attack. She just circled, watching.

  Thinking.

  And I liked that.

  Because it meant she finally stopped trying to win and started trying to learn.

  Eventually Jane slumped onto the edge of the mat, towel over her neck, sweat nonexistent but in full fighter character. Green eyes still narrowed at me.

  “I hate you a little,” she muttered.

  “I get that with the ladies a lot”

  TAI harrumphed a bit.

  She tilted her head, watching me. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Most things aren’t.”

  “Yasoba’s right,” she said after a beat. “About fieldwork. You’re not supposed to be doing this. 'It's not in his purview' he said” she imitated his voice almost exactly. Something most androids on the island see as rude.

  “I know. And don't do that anymore, the thing with the voice. It's rude.”

  “Really?" She asked in a small voice, not aware of any rules. Only to deflect "What androids have manners on when to replicate someone's voice now? Says the one who wore a human's face and voice no so long ago.”

  "Yes, we do, for about twenty years now actually. And that was a mission. This isn't. So that makes it rude."

  She shrugged. “No one told me. I'm not really a normal android.”

  She looked away. “And I'm sure you think that’s a terrible reason.”

  “It’s also the truth.”

  Silence settled between us again—this time, not heavy. Just real.

  learning, not just winning.

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