The skyrail hummed beneath their feet, a steady, mechanical drone that vibrated through steel floor of the train car. Outside the panoramic windows, Avalon sprawled—the cityscape a blend of towers, domes, and sprawling districts, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of a crystalline building or the wispy curve of a floating walkway.

  The sky was a gradient of deep blue, fading to a softer hue near the horizon where the last traces of daylight lingered, painting the clouds in shades of orange and pink. Floating aetheric billboards flickered with shifting ads—luxury artifacts, dimensional tourism, corporate propaganda that promised "Tomorrow, Today."

  Byron stood near the door, one hand resting on the overhead rail, his red eyes fixed on the city below. The gear felt different on him here—his shield strapped to his back, pistol secured to his hip, armor less suited for concrete and steel than it was for the arcane horrors of the Tower's directives. Combat was combat, but something about Avalon made the job feel less clean.

  In the Tower, the enemy was a screaming beast, a wraith with too many limbs, an obvious threat. Here, the dangers could come from anywhere. Byron looked around the train car.

  The faces were almost always different. A cloaked elf, too cautious. A man in a fancy suit, reading a newspaper that displayed the day's news, market trends, and grainy images of yet another tragedy in the outer world. A group of laughing teenagers, joking and flirting, their laughter occasionally piercing through the murmur of the train.

  He had counted four individuals in this train car alone that could be threats, and he had no doubt that there were several more he had missed. All these faces were strangers. Not so in the Tower. In the Tower, Byron always knew the faces of his friends. Of his squad.

  The others were seated nearby, taking the lull for what it was.

  Geneve had her boot propped up on the empty seat across from her, tossing a coin between her fingers in a lazy rhythm. She had the look of someone who could walk into a room and make friends or enemies, depending on her mood. Right now, her mood was indifferent, which usually meant she was thinking of ways to get into trouble.

  Clare was half-asleep, head tilted back against the rail’s inner wall, rifle case balanced across her lap like a loyal dog. She’d wake up the moment the doors slid open, and then she’d be as sharp as a blade, but for now, she was just an exhausted mess of silver hair and soft breathing.

  Warren, as usual, had his Holonet pad in his hands, scrolling through the latest city reports, faking disinterest while cataloging every relevant bit of data for later use. He wore his fake glasses, but Byron had no idea why. It wasn’t like the lenses did anything. Maybe they made him feel smarter.

  Then there was Lyssa. If the team had an off-switch, she’d lost hers in some tragic accident. She was half-draped over Geneve’s shoulder, staring out the window with a dreamy look. "You ever wonder if anyone’s ever fallen from one of these rails?" she mused aloud.

  Geneve shot her a sidelong glance. "No, but if you keep leaning that far, you might be the first."

  Lyssa grinned, unfazed. "Bet I’d bounce."

  Clare cracked one eye open. "Probably. But the splash would be impressive."

  Geneve snorted, and Byron felt the corner of his mouth twitch. It was almost a smile.

  The Skyrail hissed as it slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open.

  "Showtime," Byron muttered. He adjusted the strap on his shield, stepping onto the platform first, his boots clicking against the ferrocrete. The team followed behind, each slipping into their roles like a well-worn coat.

  The city moved around them in a blur of activity—street vendors peddling exotic wares, couriers zipping through on lev-skates, holo-billboards flashing neon offers for off-world vacations. The buzz of a thriving market.

  Their destination was a trade guild outpost, sandwiched between two towering megacorp structures. The exterior signage read ‘Vex Mercantile Holdings, a Concord of Trade & Innovation Affiliate.’

  The inside of the outpost smelled of paperwork and caffeine, the stink of a place where deals were made in numbers rather than blood. The reception area was clean, sparse—holoscreens running commodity prices along the walls, a single clerk managing incoming requests. The real work happened in the back offices, away from prying eyes.

  A woman in a sleek, business-gray suit eyed them from behind the front desk, her face professionally blank.

  Byron stepped to the counter. "Here to see Jullian Vex."

  The receptionist barely glanced up. "Appointment?"

  He placed the Tower's business card on her desk. Her fingers brushed it and her face changed. "Please wait. I’ll inform Mr. Vex of your arrival."

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  The team fell into a loose formation around Byron, a subtle barrier of bodies. This was routine. The waiting, the posturing—they'd done this dance a dozen times.

  Lyssa leaned against the wall, fiddling with her med kit. "This guy’s gonna be boring, isn’t he?"

  Geneve smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

  "Better than fighting Direbeak Rocs." Warren didn't look up from his pad.

  "That’s low, Warren. Real low," Geneve shot back.

  "It's just business."

  "Sure." A scoff.

  Their banter was part habit, part defense mechanism—background noise to drown out the pressure. They were all focused. They just showed it differently.

  The receptionist's voice cut through the din. "Mr. Vex will see you now."

  Byron gave the team a nod. It was time to work. They moved in practiced sync, following the receptionist through a locked door and down a hallway to an office at the end. The door slid open, revealing a man who matched the space.

  Jullian Vex had the polished look of a born-and-bred businessman: clean-shaven, hair slicked back, eyes that measured everyone in terms of their value to him.

  He didn't rise from his chair as they entered, just gestured at the empty seats in front of his desk. "Please, sit."

  They complied, Byron taking the center seat, flanked by the others.

  Vex exhaled. "I’ll be honest. I was expecting... well, not you."

  Geneve grinned. "We get that a lot."

  Vex’s gaze flicked to her, unimpressed, then back to Byron. "No offense, but your company doesn’t have much of a history in security services."

  "We're a new operation," Byron replied. "But we have extensive experience in crisis management and tactical deployment."

  Geneve quipped, "Yeah, that's what we do. Deploy... tactically."

  Vex raised an eyebrow but kept his attention on Byron. "There's a shortage of effective private security firms. Incentives are in place to help establish new contractors. Tax benefits, resource grants..." Vex leaned forward, fingers steepled. "But I'm not looking for an up-and-coming operation. I need professionals. Guaranteed."

  Byron met Vex's stare. "Our capabilities speak for themselves. For the budget you require, we are the most cost-efficient option, and will not disappoint."

  Jullian studied him, calculating. "Maybe. But I've been burned by high-risk, low-cost options before. My business isn't worth that gamble."

  Warren cleared his throat, glancing up from his pad. "Our profit margin in this endeavor is very slim. We're seeking a reference, not a fortune."

  "And you think Vex Mercantile should fund your 'learning experience'?" Vex let out a humorless chuckle.

  "Call us a... strategic investment." Geneve rested her chin on her hand, a picture of boredom.

  Vex drummed his fingers on the desk. The room hung in silence, Vex weighing, them waiting.

  The silence broke when Vex slid a file across the desk. "The attacks started about a month ago. At first, it was minor—one missing shipment, a little sabotage here and there. But in the last two weeks, it escalated. Full-on ambushes, crates stolen, some of my men injured."

  Byron flipped the file open. Surveillance photos, grainy and dark, showed a group of figures unloading a cargo crate from a truck. Another showed a burning vehicle, flames licking at the night sky. He closed the file, looking back at Vex. "Who do you suspect?"

  "The easy answer would be bandits, but I don’t buy it. Too clean. Too efficient. The timing’s always perfect, and they always leave before CMEC arrives." Vex paused, leaning back. "If I had to put money on it, I’d say it's the rival firm—Metcom Solutions. They’ve been looking to force me out of the market for months. Could also be a syndicate. I don’t know for sure."

  Warren frowned, sifting through the files as well. "You’ve got decent warehouse security. If they aren’t attacking directly, how are they getting in?"

  Vex grimaced. "We don’t know. No breaches, no forced entry. It’s like they ghost in and ghost out."

  Geneve tilted her head. "Illusions? Hacked drones? Inside job?"

  "Possibly all three," Vex admitted. "Which is why I need someone outside my usual network. CMEC’s tied up with corporate disputes, and hiring Argent Shield is..." He made a face.

  Byron got the picture. "Expensive."

  Vex nodded. "And they don’t ask questions I need answered."

  Byron leaned forward. "So you don’t just want protection. You want intel."

  "I want both."

  Lyssa perked up. "We can totally do intel."

  "Quiet," Clare murmured, shooting Lyssa a glare.

  Vex continued, "We're moving a shipment tomorrow night. It's the most lucrative. If they’re going to hit, it’ll be then."

  "And you want us to guard and investigate?"

  "Yes." Vex slid a sheet of paper across the desk. "This is our agreement. Rates are on the second page."

  Byron took the contract, skimming through the pages. Warren peeked over, and they exchanged a silent glance.

  Vex shifted in his seat. "So, do we have a deal?"

  The offer was solid—a retainer for security services and a bonus based on successful intel gathering. Byron wasn't fond of the non-compete clause, but it was expected. Overall, the offer was acceptable, if not generous.

  "We're in," Byron said, signing the documents. He pushed the contract back to Vex, who added his own signature.

  "Tomorrow night, then." Vex handed Byron a key card. "You'll need this to access the facility. Be at the warehouse by sunset. You'll meet our chief of security. She’ll get you set up."

  Byron took the card, pocketing it. "We'll be there."

  They rose, Vex extending a handshake. Byron clasped his hand. "Until then."

  With that, they filed out. The door closed behind them, and the team shared a silent look.

  "This should be fun," Geneve said, a half-grin on her face.

  Warren rolled his eyes. "Don't jinx it."

  "Guys, guys," Lyssa chimed in. "Let's all stay positive, okay?"

  Clare shouldered her rifle case. "Let's just get back. We have prep to do."

  Byron didn't reply, but the wheels were already turning in his head. Tomorrow night, they'd have their work cut out for them.