A passphrase that makes me resent him and respect him in equal measure.
We ditch the car in a paid lot two blocks away and switch vehicles again. Maddox logistics are a beautiful kind of paranoia. The car waiting for us is nondescript and forgettable, which is exactly what you want when your faces are worth sixty Bitcoin and a man with a grudge has decided to turn your existence into a profit event.
Halo City is a blur of late-night lights and wet pavement.
It’s close enough to our world to feel familiar. Far enough to feel like exile.
The safehouse sits over a quiet corner of downtown—three stories up, above a closed boutique and a coffee place with the kind of minimalist aesthetic that screams “we charge twelve dollars for oat milk.”
The building itself looks boring.
That’s the point.
Arrow called itAegis.
He didn’t elaborate, but the name does the job.
Aegis: a shield.
A promise.
A threat.
We ride the elevator in silence, both of us tired in that bone-deep way adrenaline leaves behind when it finally drains. Our reflections in the brushed steel look like two people who survived something sharp.
When the doors open, I spot the keypad first. Then the camera angle. Then the discreet lock plate that says Maddox Security without a logo.
Lark notices too.
“Maddox doesn’t do subtle,” she murmurs.
“They do subtle,” I say. “They just also doeffective.”
I punch in the code plus the secondary digit string Arrow sent separately. The lock clicks. The door opens.
The safehouse, Aegis, is… nicer than I expected.
Of course it is.
Maddox doesn’t half-protect.
The place is modern and warm, the kind of condo you’d imagine a rich introvert buying after he decided he deserves peace. Neutral couch. Thick rugs. Clean lines. Two bedrooms. A stocked fridge.
No internet.
Secure intranet only.
Lark drops the duffel by the kitchen island and turns slowly, taking it in. “Okay,” she says softly. “This is almost too comfortable for a place we might die.”
“Don’t say that in the nice safehouse,” I reply.
She looks at me, eyebrows lifting.
I can see the exhaustion under the humor now. The strain she won’t name. The fear she’ll only admit at 2 a.m. when the room is dark and my hand is on her back.
I promised her we’d run together.
I meant it.
