The previous day passed slowly, riddled with anxiety, and I was already on edge as the elevator doors slid shut behind me with a soft hydraulic sigh. I didn't know the floor number, but I didn't need to, the system scanned my ID on entry and started the ascent for me. I hadn't heard anything else from Vera after the alert to be here, so I wasn't sure what exactly I was walking into. I was still trying to understand what she meant by escalated.

  I flicked my lip ring back and forth as I watched the blue numbers climb in steady increments, each floor ticking past without slowing. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored wall, composed and unreadable, garbed again in my neon seamed, dark leather, armored jacket over dark denim and a slightly-too-low-cut tank top that revealed the glowing raven skull tattoo on my chest. Thankfully, none of my inner turmoil read on the surface.

  I checked the numbers again, still climbing. Most of my briefings in the past had taken place in the low forties, past that you started getting to middle management and department heads. Beyond that was counter-intelligence, where the corporate espionage things took place. Further still would be part of marketing, surveillance, probably some servers and maintenance access, and then the rest of the top was a variety of board rooms and offices for the corporate bigwigs leading up to the highest floors: reserved for the CEO, Cassian Veylor, and other lavish corp nonsense. I hadn't been above the forties in years.

  The hum of the lift deepened as it shifted modes, lights dimming for a moment, and a new scan activated. I had crossed a threshold, and security just increased. If I hadn't been summoned here, I was pretty sure my various implants would be enough to trigger the defense protocol and the elevator chamber would fill with flames or something equally excessive. The scan cleared me and I continued to rise, unscathed. For now.

  The floor counter scrolled past fifty. That was concerning. Vera didn't operate this high, not with conscripts that I knew of at least. My chest tightened slightly, but I did my best to keep my posture loose and unbothered. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me sweat on the security footage.

  The elevator finally began to slow and came to a stop. Fifty-nine. I flicked my lip ring again waiting for the door to open. It stayed closed for a beat longer than I was comfortable with, but they did open, greeting me with dark cold-steel walls with faint neon-blue accent lighting from above and below.

  Two figures stood waiting in the circular room outside the elevator. Unnaturally large. Heavily augmented. Crisp black suits, earpieces. The standard corpo security look.

  "Asset NYX-3117," one of them started, flatly. "This way, please."

  They turned to open a secure door and gestured for me to follow after them as they entered the hallway beyond. We walked down the hall and turned to face another security door, a key-card granting access to one of the guards. They bowed politely and waited for me to enter. I took a breath, and stepped through the threshold.

  The meeting room was large, length appearing to run that entire side of the building. Floor to ceiling glass walls looking out over Peachveil from a height that made the city feel ornamental. The skyline glimmered in layered blues and cold whites, corporate towers rising like polished blades above the haze of the city streets. The other three walls were a deep charcoal composite wall veined with brushed silver. Faint blue lines traced geometric patterns that pulsed slowly with light, almost like a heartbeat.

  The table dominated the room. A single slab of dark crystalline glass shot through with internal holo filaments, long enough to seat a dozen comfortably, though only a few chairs were occupied. The seats themselves were understated but unmistakably expensive, molded to cradle rather than confine. Vera was already there.

  She sat straight backed at the table's right side, hands folded neatly over her tablet. Her suit was immaculate, as always, slate blue with silver threading at the cuffs. If you didn't know her, you'd think she was calm. I knew better. She was more on edge than I was, especially seeing that she wasn't at the head of the table. That seat was currently empty.

  I scanned the rest of the room as I moved to take the chair across from Vera. Two assistants moved briskly near the wall, syncing displays into the table's surface, their reflections ghosting across the glass. They worked quietly, efficiently, with the panicked urgency of someone wanting to impress their superiors. Typical corporate kiss-asses.

  Near the head of the table, I was surprised to again see Representative 709. They sat perfectly still, no tablet, no visible interface. Just seated, hands folded in its lap, posture unnervingly precise as if posed there by someone else. The metallic name tag at its collar caught the light, softly reflecting that pulse of blue from the walls.

  I took my seat and immediately felt a flicker of irritation. The chair began making micro-adjustments on contact, subtly reshaping itself to cradle my body. Seamless. Invasive. Everything in this room was a quiet flex of money and excess. I exhaled through my nose.

  Vera's eyes flicked to mine. Her jaw was set too tightly, I could almost see a vein protruding from her perfectly enhanced skin. Her thumb anxiously tapped against the edge of her tablet twice before she forced it to stop. That told me more than anything she would say. I began to realize that I wasn't the only one in danger here.

  I leaned back, folding my arms across my chest. "Good morning, Vera."

  "No." She said dismissively.

  I smirked.

  "Salutations!" 709 chimed, without moving.

  The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. The assistants finished syncing the room and retreated to the walls, dissolving into the architecture like they'd never been there. The table remained dark. No agenda. No briefing packet. This wasn't a review, it was a hand-off.

  Vera exhaled slowly and glanced at the clock on her tablet, then back to the door. She masked it well, but I could see the tension bleeding through. She hated waiting. Hated being sidelined even more. I was just starting to enjoy watching her squirm when the key-card scanner outside the room beeped. The door slid open, and a man entered with no urgency.

  Polished shoes clicked softly against the floor as he crossed the threshold, tailored suit catching the ambient light in clean, deliberate lines. Everything about him read corp in the way the meant money without effort. No visible weapons or obvious implants beyond the subtle synth-skin sheen and a flicker of AR lenses over his silver eyes.

  The two assistants straightened instinctively as they watched him enter. Vera adjusted slightly in her seat but did not stand to greet him. The man's gaze moved through the room in a smooth, practiced sweep. Eyes tracking and confirming across the assistants, Vera, the table. Me.

  I also caught something interesting as I studied his entrance. His eyes moved to the head of the table, and there was a pause. So brief it could have been imagined. A fractional hitch in his stride, his eyes narrowed a hair as is he was recalibrating. 709's attendance was not expected, but it didn't raise alarms either.

  The man's expression didn't crack. If anything it improved, suddenly sharpened into something brighter, more deliberate. A chance to show off, perhaps. He strolled forward as if the hesitation hadn't happened.

  "Apologies for the delay," he said smoothly. His voice carried the confidence of someone used to being obeyed. "Urgent matters have a way of stacking when things get... complicated."

  He moved to the head of the table and slid into the seat. The chair adjusted itself beneath him as he folded his hands in front of him on the table. A light flickered on the glass behind him and a large neon blue business card appeared on the panel. I raised an eyebrow, and Vera sighed.

  [// Caster Reyes

  Senior Operations Liaison, OmniCore Solutions //]

  "Let's not waste time," Caster continued. "We have a missing prototype, a deceased Ashline Arms executive, a critically injured asset, and a rapidly shrinking window before this turns into a public-facing nightmare."

  His eyes finally cut to me, sharp and assessing, like he was reading a price tag.

  "Which means," he said lightly, "we'll be making a few operational adjustments. Effective immediately."

  He leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled, posture relaxed in the cold confidence of a man on a power trip. Lights and symbols began to appear in the table consoles at our seats, files and images loading and projecting as he spoke.

  "Let's begin with what worked." He started, conversationally. "The documentation was recovered intact. That alone prevented this situation from escalating to something... expensive."

  He gazed at Vera as he finished, looking for confirmation.

  "I verified the files personally." She nodded. "It matches our records of the theft."

  Caster smiled and then shifted his attention to me.

  "You demonstrated initiative. I understand recovery occurred on an unrelated job. You saw an opportunity and acted on it." He paused, deliberately. "Those are valuable traits in a conscript."

  I answered with a blank stare rather than gratitude. Praise like this from someone like him was never free.

  "However," he added calmly. "Your execution generated complications."

  There it is. I thought.

  He tapped two fingers lightly against the table. The holo images rippled, resolved into abstract marker before displaying two grayed silhouettes, like an unknown profile image.

  "Two intermediaries associated with the exchange failed to report post-operation," he said, not looking at me. "Ashline Arms noticed before we did."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I stiffened a little in my seat. Moth was supposed to cover the tracks. Vera's head snapped up.

  "That wasn't in the preliminary—" she blurted.

  Caster lifted a finger, not even glancing her direction, and stopping her mid sentence.

  "It is now," he said calmly. "Ashline has... internal sensitivities regarding unscheduled losses. Particularly when those losses involve unofficial outreach."

  His gaze met mine, shard and appraising, like he was checking a readout only he could see.

  "Messy work invites scrutiny," he added lightly. "Scrutiny leads to questions, leads to complications. The death of a CEO's son only adds to the pile."

  The word son dropped from his lips like a bomb on the room.

  I froze, not knowing how to react. Things were clicking into place with a cold, nauseating clarity. This hadn't just been a deal gone sideways for them, it was blood with a pedigree. Ashline Arms wasn't upset about lost assets or broken contracts. Moth's cleanup didn't mean shit when one of the missing was a corporate heir not coming home. Caster watched me carefulyl, clearly gauging just how the implication had landed.

  "Ashline Arms would benefit from presenting this as an isolated criminal incident," he continued. "They're motivated to keep their board clean and their hands unsoiled by the implications of gang involvement."

  A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he spoke. He was in his element.

  "That gives us leverage, but only if we don't force them into playing their hand about the deal. A delicate balance, that we need to tip in our favor."

  Vera's fingers coiled around her tablet. "Which is why escalation needs to be limited." She said, carefully. "Nyx was effective because she was invisible."

  Caster inclined his head, conceding the point without giving her credit. "Correct... which is why Nyx remains the primary on recovery."

  I felt his eyes on me again as I watched Vera trying to maintain composure. Caster leaned forward, palms resting flat on the table, posture suddenly intimate in a way that made my skin crawl.

  "Make no mistake," he smirked. "This isn't about trust, it's about efficiency."

  The table lit up again. A schematic of the Ash sector blooming into view, overlaid with hard red outlines. Transit routes, power junctions, structural heat maps. Locations circled and highlighted for emphasis.

  "I can end this in a single afternoon. Strike authorization. 'Urban Pacification Efforts.' We level every Cinder Rat den in the zone and pull the prototype from the rubble."

  He glanced at Vera then, just long enough to remind her he was taking control.

  "I have the authorization already." He added. "I even have the public narrative already drafted to frame it as a necessary response to organize criminal escalation."

  He turned back to me. "But, all that is expensive. Money is one thing, but that's costly in the optics. Bodies, cameras, attention, doubt in our ability to maintain the status quo. All we need to do is take the weapon off the table, and Ashline has the room to be persuaded into looking away from Omni involvement."

  The projection faded from the table and the room sat silent for a moment. Caster straightened in his seat, folding his hands together once more.

  "So instead, I'm giving you a window."

  That almost felt generous, in the worst way.

  "Nyx gets in and out quick, clean, quiet. Recover the prototype before I'm forced to wipe the city's ass crack and demonstrate that OmniCore doesn't lose control of it's property."

  Vera's jaw tightened. She didn't interrupt.

  Caster tilted his head slightly, studying me again.

  "If you succeed," he went on, "Ashline keeps their embarrassment contained. The Rats scatter and fuck off to be someone else's problem for a while, and this mission hits the books as a run of the mill recovery operation."

  There was a pause as the table went dark again.

  "If you fail... well" He continued just calm. "Examples are made."

  I leaned back in my chair, forcing my shoulders to stay loose even as my pulse climbed.

  "And Draven?" I asked evenly. "Does she factor into this new timeline, or is she just collateral damage in your math?"

  The room went very still.

  Vera's eyes flicked to me, sharp with warning. Caster, however, didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked amused.

  "Concern noted," he said smoothly. "Her condition has been logged. She's receiving... enhanced medical attention."

  I caught the emphasis. Deliberate. Vague.

  "We value our assets," he continued, folding his hands together again. "A swift recovery benefits everyone."

  That was all. No reassurance. No denial. No clarification. Just enough to sound reasonable. Vera shifted in her seat.

  "Draven's injuries were severe," she said carefully. "Pushing her back into rotation prematurely—"

  Caster raised a hand.

  "Won't be necessary," he finished for her. "Unless circumstances demand it."

  His gaze slid back to me.

  "Which they won't," he added, smiling thinly, "assuming you perform as expected."

  There it was. The leash wasn't just tightened. It was rerouted. I nodded once, acknowledging the answer..

  "Understood," I said, coldly.

  Caster clasped his hands together.

  "Good," he replied. "Then we're aligned."

  He reached out and tapped the table once with his knuckle. The surface came alive again, the schematic dissolving into a clean operational overlay, corp gibberish, permission trees. A single glowing line tracing authority downward.

  "Let's be explicit," he said mildly. "So there's no confusion later."

  A node pulsed at the top. OPERATIONAL CONTROL. His name flickered there briefly, then slid aside, rerouting.

  "Nyx continues to report through Handler Korrin," Caster went on. "Day-to-day oversight remains her responsibility. Tactical discretion, deployment timing, field adjustments — all hers."

  Vera's shoulders loosened by a fraction. Not relief. Recognition. A bone tossed, nothing more.Caster's finger traced the line again, slower this time.

  "I will not be involved in your routine decision-making," he said, looking directly at me. "If I appear, it will be because something has gone wrong. Or because something is about to."

  His smile returned, thin and practiced. "You won't enjoy either scenario."

  The table dimmed, leaving only my identifier hovering between us. NYX-3117. Bright. Isolated.

  "You have forty-eight hours," he continued. "After that, discretion becomes a luxury I can no longer justify."

  I met his gaze without flinching. "Understood."

  "Good," he replied. "Then this meeting remains what it was always intended to be."

  He leaned back slightly.

  "A courtesy."

  There was a faint whirring sound, and suddenly Rep. 709 joined the conversation. It raised a finger as if in thought and then, to everyone's surprise, began to recite something.

  "Victorious warriors win first and then go to war," 709 said evenly.

  "Defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win."

  The room froze.

  "Thus the skillful leader subdues the enemy's will before the battle is joined."

  No inflection. No emphasis. Just words dropped as if requested. 709 tilted its head slightly, metallic name tag catching a reflection of light from the window.

  "Power," it added, almost pleasantly, "prefers the illusion of inevitability."

  A beat. Then it stood.

  "Well," 709 said, bright and absurdly casual, "toodle-loo."

  It turned and walked out of the room. No escort followed. No one stopped it. The door slid shut with a soft hydraulic seal. For a moment, the silence was absolute.

  Caster laughed.

  It wasn't loud. It wasn't nervous. It was sharp, delighted, the sound of a man who found the interruption entertaining rather than threatening. He leaned back in his chair, one hand draped over the armrest like he'd just witnessed a clever trick.

  "I see why Cassian likes having him around." He said lightly.

  Vera didn't move, her face had gone blank. Caster straightened, smoothing his jacket, the amusement fading into something more focused.

  "Right," he said, clapping his hands once. "Enough theater."

  He looked to Vera first, then to me.

  "Operational authority transfers effective immediately. Recovery timeline stands. Asset remains under Handler Korrin's supervision." His smile returned, thinner now. "For the moment."

  His eyes cut back to me.

  "You know your window," he said. "Don't make me regret being patient."

  The table went dark. No further projections. No closing remarks.

  "That concludes the briefing," Caster added pleasantly. "Try not to disappoint me."

  He stood and walked out, still faintly smiling, as if the whole meeting had been exactly what he wanted. Caster's assistants shuffled out quickly after, the door sealed behind them. I let out a breath, and turned to face Vera.

  She hadn't moved. Her color was off, just a shade too pale beneath the immaculate synth-skin. Her jaw was tight, eyes unfocused, staring at the darkened surface of the table like it might start talking again if she looked away.

  "...What the fuck was that?" I asked.

  Vera blinked once, slowly, as if coming back into her body. She stood, smoothed the front of her jacket with shaking fingers she didn't quite manage to hide, and exhaled through her nose.

  "I need a drink," she said flatly.

  She moved to the door, and paused.

  "Walk with me, Nyx. We need to talk."

  ————————————————————————————————————

  The door sealed behind us with a muted hydraulic click, shutting out the boardroom's cold opulence. Vera's office was smaller, darker, designed for privacy rather than spectacle. Matte charcoal walls. Blue ambient light bleeding from recessed strips along the ceiling. Minimalist abstract paintings hung on the wall. I didn't recognize any of them but could tell it was real canvas.

  Vera crossed the room without a word and dropped her tablet onto the desk harder than necessary. The sound echoed too sharply in the quiet. I didn't sit. Not yet. She waved her hand across panels to dismiss the operational data and charts that floated on glass panels throughout the room around her polished wooden desk.

  She pressed a button on the far wall, and a panel slid away to reveal a liquor cabinent built into the wall. Rows of bottles arranged with surgical precision lined the shelves above a compartment with chilled glasses. She reached up and plucked a bottle without looking. Her hand shook, barely perceptible, but it was there.

  Vera paused, fingers tightening around the bottle's neck until the tremor stopped. She exhaled slowly through her nose, squared her shoulders, and retrieved two glasses from the shelf beneath. I raised an eyebrow, not expecting her to grab more than one. She set them cautiously on the desk and poured.

  The first glass sloshed slightly, amber liquid kissing the rim. The second poured with more control. She stared at them for a moment, jaw tight again, calculating. I flicked my lip ring, not sure how to read the situation. She slipped out of her jacket before sitting and lifting the second glass toward me.

  "Didn't know this was that kind of meeting," I said lightly.

  She didn't look up, nor did she take the glass back. "Don't flatter yourself, Nyx."

  I accepted it, and reached for the glass. Our fingers touched, briefly, accidental, but charged. Her finger twitched upward in response, and then she withdrew quickly. She finally looked at me then. Whatever mask she'd been wearing in the boardroom was gone. Not shattered, just... lowered. Her eyes were still sharp and focused, but there was a slight glaze to them I had never seen before. Something human behind them.

  "He knew..." she started.

  I didn't pretend to not understand. "... more than you expected."

  "I don't get it." She picked up her drink, but didn't sip yet. "Caster doesn't step in unless the mess has already reached above his pay grade... the fucking CEO's son. Did you know?"

  "Not a clue. Not like I go around memorizing the wealthy bloodlines in the city. He was just another horny man in a suit trying to get his rocks off as far as I knew."

  She laughed, authentically, and took her first sip.

  "I buried this, everything I knew about. I scrubbed everything I could find. Fucking counter-intelligence must have given him the rest. Bastards."

  She took another sip, longer this time. I could tell she was shook, which was unusual. I didn't see this side of her, ever. There was a threat present that I hadn't considered.

  "You're worried." I said after a slow sip of my drink, eyes glued on her.

  "I'm just being realistic." She stiffened.

  "Mm... Those are different things." I retorted.

  "If he takes control permanently, if this becomes his problem... not just numbers and strategy... then it doesn't need me anymore. I'm no public relations rep."

  There it was. Not really the fear of failure, but the fear of being disposable. The threat to the safety of her position. I wanted to scoff, but I decided against it. Instead, I let the silence hang in the air. She watched me for a moment, something in her eye beyond the usual cold observations. Vulnerability, a hint of gratitude maybe.

  I looked away and finished my drink, setting the glass back on the desk. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back as if physically putter herself together. She set her empty glass down as well.

  "Fuck him." She blurted. "This doesn't change anything. He wants to see results, and we are going to give them to him. On our terms."

  "Our?" I asked, incredulously.

  "Forty-eight hours. More than enough to tear the Rats out by their tails and recover the weapon before Caster can flatten the district."

  She turned back to her desk, already pulling up maps and data feeds. She looked composed, lethal, back in control. However, she didn't take my glass away. Instead, she poured us another drink without asking, and we got to work.