He snorts. “Sheisclean.”
I slam a chipped credstick down hard enough to crack the faux-wood.
“Wrong answer.”
He flinches. Doesn’t speak.
I stare him down. I don’t raise my voice. Don’t threaten. Just let the silence sit heavy between us like smoke.
After a minute, he breaks.
“Alright. Shit. Fine. I lied, okay?”
“Talk.”
He looks around. Lowers his voice.
“Couple weeks back, I get a message on the internal line. Not from Bresh. Some Coalition runner. Said to keep an eye on the girls. No names. Just... descriptions. One of ‘em sounded a hell of a lot like your dancer. Blonde, small, quiet. The type that doesn’t look like much till she burns the house down.”
I say nothing.
“Didn’t think much of it. Happens sometimes when someone skips out on citizenship regs. But then the tip came from outside. Not local law. Alliance-linked comm. I checked. And yeah, I didn’t tell her. Didn’t want to spook the talent.”
“You tell anyone else?”
“No. I swear. Look, I like her. She’s good people. Doesn’t stir the pot.”
“Don’t mention her again.”
He swallows hard. “Right.”
“Not to the crew. Not to your contacts. Not even to your stim dealer. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Good.”
I leave without finishing my drink.
The air outside tastes like metal and mistrust. Wind hisses through the alley vents, stirring steam and trash into sour spirals. I don’t stop walking until I’m three blocks down, tucked into the shadows behind a shuttered cargo kiosk.
Then I breathe. Just once.
Whoever flagged her… they had help. From inside. Someone in Jark’s chain of command signed off on it, probably without blinking. Which means I’m not just up against some off-world bounty detail or a pissed-off Alliance family. I’m staring down a whole damn system rigged to eat her alive.
And I don’t do halfway loyalties.
Not anymore.
I pull the comm from my coat and swipe through my secure thread list. There’s one name I haven’t tapped in years. But they owe me. And debts in my world aren’t casual things.
“Roja?” the voice crackles after a moment. Female. Sharp. Wary.
“Need a trace,” I say. “High-level relay. Coalition to Alliance. Pushed through Jark admin backdoor channels.”
“Still playing in the shadows?”
“I don’t like my past catching up to me.”
