“Left flank—four guards in mirrored armor,” I say under my breath.
She doesn’t flinch. “Looks like a security corridor entrance. Could be a maintenance route.”
“Too risky. They’re scanning. We go through the crowd.”
Kristi breathes out slow. “I hate crowds.”
“You hate cameras more.”
She glances up at a passing drone—white-plated, council-issue, probably loaded with facial-mapping software and scent-trace ID.
Her lips twist. “True.”
We drift closer to the plaza’s center.
The stage rises ahead, glowing with polished synthwood and overengineered grace. Twin banners wave from its highest rig: one human, one Vakutan, fused at the edges in a mockery of unity. The crowd thickens as the hour nears.
This is where it starts.
And if we screw it up, this is where it ends.
I scan the platform’s supports. I know the schematics well enough to read the seams. There. Right beneath the central monolith. The access hatch glints in the shadows, barely visible under the draped silk stairs. Exactly where Kristi said it would be.
We just have to make it there.
“Do not run,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A cluster of uniformed officials crosses our path. One of them laughs, the sound too sharp, too polished. My hand drifts to my side blade, hidden in the ceremonial sash.
Kristi presses closer, her hip against mine for a heartbeat.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Not yet.”
I freeze, every nerve vibrating like a live wire. Her fingers dig into my wrist through the folds of ceremonial garb, a quiet anchor keeping me from lunging. The Earth First enforcer in the red-trimmed civic guard uniform has been eyeing us too long. He leans against the checkpoint post like he owns it, casual-like, but his posture’s wrong—too still. Too practiced. The way a predator stands just before pouncing.
Kristi’s eyes flick toward the edge of the plaza, where the flow of festivalgoers tightens into a single artery feeding toward the stage steps. We don’t speak. We don’t have to.
The music blares louder. Some new anthem remix, designed to unify species and distract from the smell of rot beneath the gilded floors.
I nod once. Just a breath of a motion. Then shift back into the crowd’s pulse.
Two more steps.
Three.
The enforcer pushes off the wall.
“Hold it,” he calls.
I don't.
Kristi tightens her grip, just once, then lets go.
The crowd breaks around us as I pivot fast, like a dancer in battle stance. He’s already moving, hand reaching for the baton at his hip. My foot slides between his legs, weight shifting with trained precision, and I hook his wrist mid-draw.
He’s strong. But I’m angry.
