Darkness. A pit. A void of complete emptiness.

  Vomi stood there, vision slowly returning, only to be met with the silhouettes of those she dreaded facing most. They didn’t glare at her with rage, contempt, or judgment. Their faces were eerily neutral, expressionless. But their eyes… their eyes bore into her, stripping away every layer of defense she had left. They saw her. They saw him.

  And Vomi couldn’t bear to look back. Shame and grief weighed her down like lead.

  All except for two.

  Blaze. And Vanguard.

  Blaze's gaze burned with pure, seething hatred. He wanted nothing more than to kill her a hundred times over, to rip her apart and put her back together just so he could do it again. She understood why. She deserved it. She had destroyed everyone he cared about.

  But Vanguard?

  Vanguard looked disappointed.

  How could a symbiotic cat—a creature not even human—look so utterly disheartened? And yet, he did. His stare carried the unspoken question she had no answer for. Why? Why did she make that choice in San Francisco? Why didn’t she see how she was destroying herself in the process? How did she not realize that in doing so, she had erased him too?

  Vanguard was gone. The voice that had been with her from the very beginning—the one that guided her, however clumsily. The one that helped her understand her body, her powers, herself. The one who made her laugh with his ridiculous antics, who had shown her that she didn’t have to reject what she had become.

  And now, he was just another ghost in the pit. Another soul she had lost.

  Vomi wanted to speak. To apologize. But what was left to say?

  An entire city—wiped from existence because of her. The only tribute she had given them was repackaging their music and releasing it under their name. A coward’s act. Hiding in the shadows, unable to face the world.

  Would they even consider forgiving her?

  Could she ever forgive herself?

  Vomi’s eyes fluttered open.

  Another unfamiliar ceiling.

  “Slept well?”

  Owen’s voice was quiet, his hand gently stroking her hair.

  She didn’t answer. Just turned away, curling into herself.

  “I think it’s best if you leave, Owen,” the Doc said. There was a sharp edge to her voice, impatience barely restrained.

  Owen exhaled through his nose, clicking his tongue. “Alright, fine. I just needed to know if she was okay.”

  “For twelve hours?” The Doc raised a brow. “Get the fuck out of my clinic.”

  Owen looked ready to argue—his mouth opened, frustration flashing across his face. But then his gaze flicked to Vomi.

  Silent. Shoulders trembling.

  Crying.

  He shut his mouth.

  Without another word, he left, but not before stealing one last glance at the woman who refused to face him.

  “I think it’s time for you to eat something, don’t you think?”

  The Doctor’s voice was gentle but firm as she handed Vomi something she hadn’t seen in… maybe ever, at least in the world of Cyberpunk.

  A chocolate bar.

  “Here,” she said, breaking off a few pieces for herself before offering the rest.

  Vomi hesitated before taking it. She took a small bite, and immediately, a long-forgotten taste flooded her senses. Sweet at first, then bitter at the end. It had been so long since she’d last tasted real chocolate—long before she even became Vomi. Her throat instinctively tightened, demanding water.

  Kimberly had already anticipated this, handing her a bottle of clean, ice-cold water.

  Vomi took a few swigs, letting out a slow breath as she wiped her face. The tears had stopped. Her tail, once tightly coiled around herself, finally loosened.

  “Can you talk?”

  “I think so,” Vomi murmured.

  “My name’s Kimberly Greene. Nice to meet you, Vomi.” She extended a hand.

  Vomi shook it—hesitant, weak.

  Kimberly didn’t let go.

  “Uh…?”

  “That has to be the least confident handshake I’ve ever felt,” she teased, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “C’mon, shake it like you mean it.”

  Vomi gave it another go, this time firmer.

  “There we go.” Kimberly nodded in approval. “Now, can you tell me what happened before your… episode?”

  Vomi knew what she was really asking. She stared at the chocolate bar, turning it in her hands before taking another bite.

  “I can,” she admitted. “But… let me finish this first.”

  Kimberly smirked slightly. Women and their sweets. It was always the same—when dealing with painful memories, sometimes a little indulgence was the only way forward.

  While Vomi finished, Kimberly set up a chair, grabbed her datapad, and tapped out a few quick notes. She already had a working diagnosis, but she needed more. Needed to understand exactly what Vomi was running from.

  PTSD was a tricky thing. If no one had been there to witness the trauma firsthand, getting the full picture from the person suffering was almost impossible. Kimberly had to be careful with her approach—choose her words wisely, emphasize the right things, and, most importantly, know when to shut up and let Vomi process her own thoughts.

  Psychology wasn’t her field, but she’d do her best to help the exotic woman in front of her.

  “So, from what I’ve gathered—and from what the others told me—it started when you tried to play Kenny’s guitar, right?”

  Vomi exhaled slowly. “I tried denying it, but they were… insistent.”

  Kimberly nodded, leaning forward slightly. “So you were coerced.”

  “I could have refused,” Vomi admitted, her shoulders slumping. “But… I didn’t want to. They were so nice to me. I didn’t want to feel like an outsider.”

  “We’re all outsiders here, Vomi,” Kimberly said, brushing the concern aside with a small shrug. “Most of the Scorpios barely know each other’s pasts, yet we work together for the same goal. But that’s not really what’s bothering you, is it?”

  Vomi’s expression darkened. She turned away. “No… it’s not.”

  “Then what is?”

  A long pause.

  “I… didn’t want to come across as arrogant.” Vomi’s voice was quiet, unsure. “Or maybe prideful? The wrong kind of pride.” She rubbed her arm, as if trying to physically push the words out. “I helped Kenny with his problem, but I didn’t want it to seem like I was…”

  “Better than him?” Kimberly offered.

  “No, not that.” Vomi shook her head, frustration creeping in. “I… I…”

  Kimberly remained silent, letting the words hang between them. She watched as Vomi struggled, fingers tightening around the remnants of the chocolate bar, tail curling slightly in agitation.

  “You… what?” Kimberly finally prompted, her tone soft but firm.

  Vomi exhaled sharply. “I didn’t want to act like I deserved to play.”

  Kimberly raised a brow. “Deserved?”

  “I helped him,” Vomi muttered, gripping the blanket over her lap. “But I’m not one of them. Not really. I don’t belong. I don’t deserve to sit with them, play with them, be part of something that isn’t mine.”

  “Isn’t yours?” Kimberly repeated, watching Vomi’s reaction carefully. “And what makes you think that?”

  Vomi scoffed bitterly, eyes darting away. “You know why.”

  Kimberly didn’t respond immediately. She let the weight of Vomi’s words settle, giving her time to process them herself. Finally, she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

  “Vomi,” Kimberly said, her voice calm but firm. “I don’t think even you know why. You’re shielding yourself from something—something so deep that even you won’t face it.”

  “Shielding myself?” Vomi snapped, her tone instantly defensive. “Last time I opened up, I lost everyone I called family!”

  Ah.

  There it is.

  Kimberly noted the outburst but didn’t react outwardly, instead making a quick note on her datapad. Whatever past Vomi was running from, it wasn’t just painful—it was something she desperately wanted to forget, yet couldn’t.

  “And yet,” Kimberly continued with the same unwavering calm, “you can’t leave it behind. It’s part of you now.”

  Vomi opened her mouth to argue—but nothing came. No defense, no excuse. Just silence. With a heavy sigh, she sank back down, crumpling the empty chocolate wrapper in her hands.

  “…No,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

  Kimberly leaned back in her chair, setting the datapad aside. “Then maybe it’s time you stop running from it.”

  Vomi let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “I never said it was simple,” Kimberly countered. “I said it was necessary.”

  Vomi clenched her jaw, her tail twitching slightly. “And what if I don’t want to face it?”

  “Then you’ll keep breaking down like you did earlier,” Kimberly said plainly. “You’ll keep spiraling, keep drowning in whatever’s eating you from the inside. Is that what you want?”

  Vomi turned her head away, staring at the clinic’s dull ceiling. “…No.”

  “Then talk to me.” Kimberly’s tone softened. “What happened when you tried playing that guitar?”

  For a long moment, Vomi said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper—

  “…I heard them.”

  Kimberly’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who?”

  Vomi shut her eyes. “All of them. My friends— my… the people that… Fuck…”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence, but Kimberly understood enough.

  “The band?” she asked gently. “The ones who taught you about music?”

  With a shaky sigh, Vomi nodded. “Yeah… They just… stared at me.”

  “Can you tell me about them? Who they were? What they were like?”

  Vomi hesitated but eventually nodded. “I think I can.”

  She started from the beginning—how she left Night City, made her way to Los Angeles, then San Francisco. The gigs she played, the exhaustion that crept in after a few big gigs, and the night she decided to cut loose at a party. That’s where she met Thiago, with his awful drinking tolerance, and how she first got introduced to the band.

  They weren’t just musicians—they were mercs too, constantly balancing both lives. She laughed a little when she remembered meeting them at a shooting range before ever stepping into a rehearsal room. How, after that, they instantly invited her to watch them play.

  Kimberly listened closely, chuckling when Vomi recounted the time she accidentally snapped the strings on Blaze’s guitar, forcing her to buy him a replacement—except she didn’t stop at just that. Instead, she ended up upgrading the whole band’s gear, an unintentional but welcome investment.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Raven, Blaze, Heitor, Nieme, Thiago…

  Even Cinthia, Raven's sister, with her blinding neon-green makeup. And Katie—Thiago’s kid, with her bright red hair and that gap-toothed smile.

  Kimberly was starting to piece it together. The Refused—the name they had chosen for themselves—weren’t just bandmates to Vomi. They were her family. They had each other’s backs, no matter what. Even when Raven spiraled into drug problems. Even with the messy, strained bond between her and Cinthia. No matter the cracks in their relationships, they were always more with each other than against each other.

  Kimberly jotted down notes, making sure not to lose any of these details. But she knew how this went. When someone deeply depressed spoke about their past with this much warmth, the story always took a turn.

  And God, did it take a turn.

  Vomi had hidden her symbiotic abilities from everyone, saying she was “relying on self-made drugs” to keep up with both her gigs and the corpo world she was tangled in. But it all started crumbling. Kaneda Corp and M-Tech pulled her back and forth like a puppet, and the more they pushed, the more her mind began to fracture. Her paranoia grew. Her temper shortened.

  Then came the attack.

  The Black Daggers. Thiago, bleeding out. Something inside her snapped.

  Vomi lost it.

  She made it her mission to annihilate them all—every last Black Dagger, every boss pulling their strings. It became an obsession, a hunger. But it didn’t stop there.

  The drugs, the stress, the rage… they warped her. She started seeing enemies where there were none. She turned on the very people she swore to protect.

  And she killed them.

  Intentionally or not… she killed them.

  From there, her memories turned hazy—blurred, fractured, whole chunks missing between brief moments of clarity. The last thing she could clearly recall was Thiago. Even with his body broken, even with just one functioning arm, he tried to save her. He got her on the Kusanagi. He tried to escape the M-Tech guards with her.

  They crashed.

  And even then, even as death loomed over him, he gave her one final piece of advice. He made her promise.

  Do what feels right. Never bow to anyone.

  And she failed at even that.

  She hid. She buried herself in Vik’s clinic, only surfacing when the hunger for blood became unbearable.

  And then she wiped an entire city off the map.

  Kimberly’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around the data pad. “You… you were the reason for the Holocaust?”

  Vomi gave a slow, empty nod.

  Kimberly felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She had expected Vomi to be running from something, but this? An entire city wiped off the map. Thousands—no, millions—of lives erased. And the woman in front of her, gripping an empty chocolate wrapper like it was the last thing tethering her to reality, had done it.

  Kimberly forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but it was difficult.

  “…Do you regret it?” she finally asked.

  Vomi let out a dry, hollow laugh. “What kind of question is that?” She stared down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if the weight of all those lives still lingered on them. “Regret? Remorse? Yeah. I feel that. Constantly.”

  Kimberly studied her carefully. “And yet you keep going.”

  Vomi’s tail curled around her waist—a subconscious defense mechanism. “I don’t have a choice.”

  The doctor exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” Vomi scoffed. “I can’t stop, Kimberly. I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t fix this. I don’t even know if I should be fixed. Every time I think about stopping, I just—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “I’m still here because I have to be.”

  Kimberly tapped her stylus against the data pad, considering her words carefully. Then, with certainty, she said, “You’re still here because you don’t want to die.”

  Vomi let out a bitter chuckle. “I don’t want to die?” She scoffed. “Bitch, I can’t die. If I could, I would.”

  Kimberly leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Vomi… do you know what I see?”

  Vomi didn’t answer, but she was listening.

  “I see someone who did something unforgivable,” Kimberly said bluntly. “But I also see someone who didn’t let it end them. Someone who could have disappeared but didn’t. Maybe you don’t know why you’re still fighting, but the fact that you are? That means something.”

  Vomi stared at the floor, silent.

  Kimberly didn’t push. She let the words settle. This wasn’t something that could be fixed in a single conversation—maybe not even in a lifetime. But…

  “After all, if you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have corrected Kenny on his guitar.” Kimberly’s voice was calm but pointed. “And more importantly, you wouldn’t have released The Refused’s songs.”

  A flicker of something—barely perceptible, but there. A flinch. A reaction that wasn’t sarcasm or anger. A moment where even Vomi couldn’t lie to herself.

  “That…” But the words never came.

  Kimberly pressed forward gently. “See? You want that feeling again, don’t you?”

  Vomi’s gaze lifted slightly, wary. “What feeling?”

  “Camaraderie. Companionship.” Kimberly met her eyes. “You told you had a family back in Night City. Can you really say you’d just discard them?”

  Vomi’s expression shifted—just slightly, but enough for Kimberly to notice. Her eyes flickered, and for a moment, she seemed like she might say something, but the words stalled.

  “I... I can’t,” Vomi muttered, her voice quieter now. “I can’t go back to that. Not after everything that happened.” Her gaze turned distant, her fingers clenching tightly around the empty chocolate wrapper as if it were the only thing tethering her to the present. “They wouldn’t even want me back after all this. I’m... not the same person anymore.”

  Kimberly’s tone softened. “That doesn’t mean they’d abandon you. It just means they might need to understand. You might need to understand. Not everything is gone, Vomi. Not everything has been destroyed. You still have the choice to reach out—to fix what’s been broken, even if it feels impossible.”

  Vomi laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You think I could just walk back in like nothing happened? Like I haven’t... destroyed everything? Everyone?” She looked up, meeting Kimberly’s gaze, her eyes hard and unyielding. “They’re dead because of me.”

  The silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken truths. Kimberly leaned forward, her voice steady but firm. “You don’t get to carry their deaths like that, Vomi. You didn’t kill them. Your actions, your choices… maybe. But you’re not the sum of your mistakes.” She let that hang in the air.

  Vomi’s tail flicked, almost agitated, but she said nothing.

  Kimberly’s words were deliberate, as though she’d rehearsed them a hundred times in her head before speaking. “Look at what you’ve built, even through the wreckage. The Refused… the music, the connection you had. That’s still you. And that’s not something you just throw away.”

  Vomi’s shoulders slumped slightly. Her hand absently reached for her tail, twining it tighter around her waist. “I don’t know how to fix it. How to make it right.”

  Kimberly nodded slowly. “I know. It’s not going to be easy. But you can start by facing it. You are the one who has to make the choice, not anyone else. And you need to decide what comes next.” She paused, letting that sink in.

  Vomi stared at the floor again, the weight of the conversation settling over her like a storm cloud. “I don’t even know if I deserve to fix it,” she whispered, barely audible. “I don’t know if I deserve anything anymore.”

  Kimberly’s voice was gentle but resolute. “You deserve a chance. You deserve a future. You just have to want it enough to take it.”

  The silence stretched out, but this time, it wasn’t quite so suffocating. Vomi remained still, her eyes dark with conflicting emotions, but there was a flicker of something softer—something almost like hope—hidden beneath the layers of pain.

  After a long pause, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I can’t... find my way back?”

  Kimberly leaned back in her chair, her gaze unwavering. “Then you take it one step at a time. No one’s asking you to have all the answers right now. Just take the first step. That’s all.”

  Vomi stared at the chocolate wrapper in her hand, as if the words hadn’t fully registered. But Kimberly could see the small change in her—the slight shift in her posture. Maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of something deeper inside her. Something that was still willing to fight.

  And for the first time in a long while, Kimberly believed it too.

  “Thing is,” Kimberly said, her voice steady as she turned to face Vomi, “What do you want to do to fix it? What’s your big goal? And the steps you need to take to get there?”

  Vomi’s tail, which had been coiled tightly around her waist, uncurled slowly, flicking back and forth as she processed the question. Her mind wandered, drifting back to that night in her apartment. She and Vanguard had joked about the kind of music she would play when she finally learned an instrument. She had said flamenco, half as a joke, just because she liked the way mariachis used acoustic guitars, but now... now it felt like something she needed.

  “I need that guitar,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I need to play what I promised I would.”

  Vanguard’s teasing comment from that night echoed in her mind. She could almost hear him.

  “I can picture it now: Vomi, the netrunning, gun-tinkering scientist who moonlights as a flamenco guitarist,” Vanguard had teased, his red eyes glinting with mischief. “Not a bad image. Just don’t get too ambitious, chica.”

  Vomi chuckled softly at the memory, the words lingering in her thoughts. But it wasn’t a joke anymore. It was what she needed.

  Kimberly raised an eyebrow, concern flickering in her gaze. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” Vomi replied, her voice unwavering, her eyes set with determination.

  “Alright. I’ll call him here,” Kimberly said, starting to reach for her communicator.

  “No,” Vomi interrupted, getting to her feet. “I want everyone to see this.” She tossed the wrapper into the trash, her face breaking into a small, rare smile. “The first step is mine, right?”

  Kimberly watched her, feeling a sense of accomplishment stir inside her. A pseudo-psychologist had helped guide this woman—this monster—through something. She erased Vomi’s notes from the pad, clearing the evidence of their session. There was no need to keep them anymore.

  Later that night, Kenny’s guitar lay exactly where it had been before, by the campfire. The flames crackled, and the warm glow of the fire painted the night in soft, flickering light. The Scorpios watched from a distance, wary and unsure. They’d seen how Owen had reacted to Kenny, even though it wasn’t his fault, and now they weren’t sure how to feel about Vomi. But none of that mattered to her right now.

  She picked up the guitar, feeling its familiar weight in her hands. She sat down in one of the chairs beside the fire, the warmth of the flames spreading through her as she tuned the guitar’s strings. The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a moment, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she allowed herself to just... think.

  What song did she want to play? Did she want to be soft? Bold? Play something loud and brash? Something reflective? Something emotional?

  Her fingers hovered over the strings, uncertain for a moment. Then, without warning, she began. The melody was simple at first, the soft whistle of Vomi being the only lyrics, gentle and sorrowful. The music hummed in the air, mellow and melancholic, but there was something hopeful in the way the notes rose and fell. She let it flow, a quiet peace washing over her as she lost herself in the music.

  It was flamenco after all. And for once, it felt like it was exactly what she needed.

  The tale unfolded in the notes of the guitar and the soft whistle. It began slow, impactful, yet somehow felt like it would never end. It spoke of someone seeking purpose in the chaos of life, how a single perspective—if paired with soft words and sweet lies—could turn even the most grounded and truthful individual into a blind follower. It was a story of redemption, of someone recognizing the weight of their past mistakes, seeking to make amends, and taking a deep breath, even knowing the road ahead was long and they might be too late.

  They’d be hated for it, but sometimes that was the price to pay when trying to fix a problem this vast.

  As the final notes faded, a few Scorpios clapped, hesitant but moved. The song had dug deep, and even with the lingering tension, some stayed by the fire, lost in its depth.

  “What's the name of that song?” a random Scorpio asked, breaking the silence. “Never heard it before, though I recognize the style.”

  Vomi turned to him, her eyes soft as she explained, “It’s a three-layered song. The first layer is called Wind.” She played the opening notes again, letting them hang in the air. “The song’s name is The Orphan Wolf Legend.”

  The fire crackled softly as Vomi let the silence linger, the warmth of the flames mixing with the lingering echoes of her song. She set the guitar down gently on her lap, eyes flickering toward the horizon where the night sky stretched endlessly.

  “Why The Orphan Wolf Legend?” another Scorpio asked, his voice tentative, as if the story in the song might carry something heavier than just melody.

  Vomi paused, looking at the flames for a moment before answering. "Wolves don’t always roam in packs. Some are born alone, with nothing but the world around them. They make their own way, even if that means walking a lonely road. But a wolf... a lone wolf can’t escape the scars it carries, no matter how far it runs. The song’s about realizing that, about facing those scars and still moving forward.”

  That wasn't the total truth though, as it was Yasha’s Theme from Asura’s Wrath. It had many interpretations, but Vomi was content with this one.

  The Scorpio nodded, though his gaze was still far away, lost in thought. Some understood, others didn't, but the song had stirred something deep in them all, a shared moment of recognition.

  The crackle of the fire seemed louder now, as if it, too, was reflecting the weight of what had been said. Vomi leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, her tail curling loosely around the leg of the chair. It felt like the first time in ages she could just breathe.

  As the night stretched on, the others fell into a quiet, thoughtful reverence. The tension in the air hadn’t fully dissipated, but it had shifted. The music, the story woven into it, had cracked open something, made a space where understanding could begin to grow.

  For a fleeting moment, Vomi wondered if they might one day all walk out of this together, if the road ahead might one day feel a little less lonely.

  "I guess I'll play another," Vomi said, fingers idly strumming the strings. "Been a while since I listened to Renato Russo."

  "Who?" someone asked.

  She didn't answer, just let her hands do the talking. The familiar chords of Tempo Perdido filled the air, a song that had outlived generations, carrying the weight of time itself. It spoke of the little things people overlook until they're gone—memories, fleeting moments, chances that slipped away.

  That’s why it was called Tempo Perdido.

  Wasted Time.

  "Todos os dias quando acordo, n?o tenho mais o tempo que passou…"

  The words carried through the air, soft but weighted with meaning. A Brazilian song, written by one of the most visionary artists of his time. Most of the Scorpios didn’t understand the lyrics, but they felt the melody—the deep, melancholic doubt woven into each note. It resonated in a way that words alone couldn’t.

  The few with Translator Chips caught the meaning, whispering translations to those around them, trying their best to adapt the lyrics into English. Slowly, understanding spread. This wasn’t just about time slipping away—it was about cherishing the people in your life. The laughter and tears, the highs and lows, the moments of joy and even the struggles. It was about the little things, the ones people don’t realize they’ll miss until they’re gone. Because one day—there’s always a day—when you’ll look back, and the past will seem sweeter, not because it was easy, but because it was yours.

  "O que foi escondido é o que se escondeu, e o que foi prometido, ninguém prometeu…"

  That line struck a different chord. The way memories get buried, how promises fade, how life keeps pushing forward without waiting for anyone to catch up. There’s always another job, another task, another responsibility, and before you know it, the things you swore you’d do—the things you thought mattered—are lost in the shuffle. The weight of it all builds, and when you finally stop to breathe, you realize you’ve been running on empty. By then, it’s too late to go back.

  "Somos t?o jovens… t?o jovens…"

  The final words lingered in the firelit silence. We are so young… so young… So caught up in chasing what’s ahead that we forget to see what we already have.

  The last note faded. Vomi let out a slow breath, her fingers still resting on the strings. The fire crackled, wrapping her in warmth, and for the first time in a long while, she felt… content.

  "I think I'm happy now," she murmured, closing her eyes. No worries. No thoughts. No burdens. Just being.

  When she finally looked up, she was met with tear-streaked faces.

  “…What?” she asked, confused. “What happened?”

  One of the Scorpios, barely holding back a sob, placed a hand on her shoulder. “That… That was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”

  Vomi blinked, caught off guard by the sheer emotion around her. Toughened mercs and nomads, people who had spent their lives in the harshest corners of the world, now sat in stunned silence, some wiping their eyes, others just staring into the fire as if seeing something long forgotten.

  She wasn’t sure how to react. Music had always been part of her life, but not like this. Not as something that could crack open a person’s soul, pull out emotions they’d buried deep, and leave them vulnerable in the warm glow of a campfire.

  One of the older Scorpios, a man with gray streaks in his hair and a cybernetic arm, exhaled shakily. “Damn… I haven't felt like this in years.”

  Another nodded, voice rough with emotion. “That song… It says things I never knew how to put into words.”

  A woman across from Vomi let out a wet chuckle, rubbing at her eyes. “Shit, we were all just sitting here, minding our business, and you ambushed us with feelings.”

  That got a few laughs—sniffly, broken ones—but genuine nonetheless.

  Vomi let out a breath, shaking her head. “I just… I just wanted to play something that felt real.”

  “Well,” the first man said, clearing his throat, “you sure as hell did that.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived at the camp, the tension around her wasn’t heavy with suspicion or fear. It wasn’t about what she was, what she had done, or what she could do. It was just… people sharing a moment.

  The fire crackled. Someone passed a bottle around, offering her a drink.

  Vomi hesitated, then took it. The burn of alcohol was sharp, grounding, real.

  Maybe—just for tonight—that was enough.