The nutrient paste tasted like chalk and regret. For days, this had been my life: train against the hologram, study my uncle's research, eat this crap, and try not to think. Tonight, the trying wasn't working. The silence of the lab was too loud. It was full of ghosts.

  “I’m going out,” I announced to the empty lab.

  “An excellent idea,” Handy chirped from my wrist. “A little fresh, chemically tinged air will do you good. Shall we run some combat simulations in a more… dynamic environment?”

  “Not that kind of out,” I said, pulling on a dark, hooded jacket I’d found in a locker. It smelled faintly of my uncle’s weird, spicy cologne. The scent was a dull ache in my chest. “I just need to see something.”

  I moved through the night-shrouded city like a ghost. Two weeks ago, I would have taken a hover-cab. Now, I scaled walls and leapt across rooftops over the sleeping city. I was a creature of the shadows now, more comfortable in the darkness than I ever was in the light.

  My destination was a rooftop several blocks from Olympus Tower. From here, I had a perfect, heartbreakingly clear view of my old home. The entire 80th floor was lit up, a warm, golden rectangle hanging in the sky. My world. A place I could see, but never touch again.

  I settled down behind a large ventilation unit, the cold metal biting through my thin pants. A dull, heavy ache spread through my chest, a physical pressure that had nothing to do with the cold.

  “Spying on the ex?” Handy’s voice was a soft whisper. “A classic coping mechanism. Ineffective, but emotionally very satisfying in a masochistic sort of way.”

  “They’re not my ex,” I muttered, my eyes fixed on the window. “They’re my family.”

  I could see them moving around inside. Little silhouettes playing out a life that no longer included me. There was my dad, pacing back and forth, probably on a call. My mom, a smaller, more graceful shadow, moved from the living area toward the kitchen. I could almost smell the synth-coffee she made every night.

  Then a tiny, bouncing figure zipped into view. Jackie. She was wearing her favorite pair of glowing dinosaur pajamas, a blur of pure, eight-year-old energy. She launched herself onto the couch, then started jumping on the cushions. My dad’s silhouette stopped pacing and turned toward her. Even from this distance, I could feel his exasperated affection.

  My eyes burned, and I had to swallow hard against the tightness in my throat. I missed them so much it was a physical pain. I missed Jackie’s terrible jokes. I missed my dad’s stupid lectures about taking the safe route home. I missed my mom’s hugs. I was a monster hiding on a rooftop, spying on a life I’d had to abandon to keep them safe. It was the right choice. It was the only choice. So why did it hurt so damn much?

  “You know,” Handy’s voice was gentle. “Your uncle hid a camera in a smoke detector in that living room. A little paranoid, but the man was thorough. I could probably hack into the feed if you wanted a closer look.”

  “No,” I said quickly, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “No, this is… this is close enough.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I stayed there for an hour, a silent, unseen guardian watching over a life I could no longer be a part of.

  *****

  The next day, the city’s fear became a screaming, front-page headline. Ravage stopped hiding.

  “He’s getting bolder,” Handy announced, projecting a series of news feeds into the air.

  The usual slick, smiling news anchors were gone, replaced by frantic-looking reporters broadcasting live from chaotic scenes. “Three attacks in the last twelve hours. And he’s moving up in the world. Literally.”

  The first report was from a mag-train station in the mid-level sectors. The footage was shaky, shot on someone’s comm. A flash of brown fur, the glint of yellow eyes, the sound of screaming and shattering glass. The train car was a wreck, the seats torn to shreds; the walls splattered with… I couldn’t look.

  The second was from a crowded downtown shopping plaza, a place I’d been a hundred times with Tessa and Cody. A trendy noodle bar found demolished, its cheerful neon sign now a shattered, flickering wreck. The news report was no longer background noise. It was a horror story unfolding in places I knew, places that were supposed to be safe.

  “The whole city is panicking,” Handy said, his voice grim. “Pandora Corp is in full damage-control mode, blaming it on a rogue mutant animal, a ‘failed security prototype.’ They’re flooding the streets with their private security teams, but they’re just putting on a show. They can’t catch him.”

  “We have to find him,” I said, the words tasting like ash. Every new attack, every new victim, was a fresh log on the fire of my guilt.

  “I’m trying,” Handy said, the news feeds dissolving into a complex map of the city, covered in data streams and probability vectors. “But his patterns are erratic. He’s hunting on pure instinct now, lashing out. There’s no logic to it. He’s a ghost.”

  I spent the rest of the day in a blur of frantic training, pushing myself past the point of exhaustion, fighting the holographic Ravage until my muscles burned and my vision swam. But it was no use. I was fighting a ghost, haunted by the real thing that was tearing my city apart.

  That evening, I was back on the rooftop, my self-imposed vigil the only thing that kept the panic at bay. The lights were on in the apartment. My family was home. They were safe. As long as they were safe, I could do this.

  Then my wrist buzzed, a sharp, urgent vibration. A news alert from Handy, pushed directly to my vision. Not a public broadcast. Something he’d intercepted.

  PANDORA SECURITY ALERT: LEVEL 7. BIOLOGICAL ASSET DETECTED. SECTOR 9-GAMMA. SUBURBAN RESIDENTIAL ZONE.

  Sector 9-Gamma. That was Northwood. A quiet, luxurious suburban enclave of manicured lawns and sprawling houses. A place so safe it was boring.

  Another line of text flashed in my vision. My breath hitched in my lungs. The world went silent. Oakridge Lane. Cody's street. Where Jackie was having a sleepover.

  The world dissolved. The neon glow of the city, the distant hum of traffic, the chilly wind on my face—it all vanished. There was only the flashing red text in my vision and a roar in my ears that drowned out everything else.

  I was on my feet, the icy dread a physical thing, a shard of ice in my gut. My failure. My inability to stop him. It hadn't just led to the deaths of strangers. It had led the monster right to my family’s doorstep.

  To Jackie.

  The clock in my head didn't just tick; it exploded.

  "Nikki—" Handy's voice was a tinny speck in the roar filling my ears.

  "Location," I snarled, the voice barely my own. "Now."

  A map flashed in my vision, a red dot pulsing like a severed artery over Jackie.

  I launched myself off the roof. No more fear. No more learning. Only the hunt. This was a race, and I would not lose.