I wrap my arms around myself, fingers digging into the edges of my scarf. I haven’t taken it off since we ran. It smells like him now—smoke and heat and something darker. Not blood. But close.
“They shut down the Coil,” I say, mostly to myself. “Said ‘structural code violations.’ Bullshit.”
“Standard tactic,” Roja murmurs. “Cut off the scene. Control the narrative.”
“Ceera’s pissed.”
“She’ll get over it. Or blow something up.”
I pace again. The apartment’s tiny—bare walls, two rooms, barely enough space for Roja’s frame. He sleeps sitting up, back against the wall, one claw always twitching like he’s dreaming of a blade. I don’t ask if he is.
Outside, the protest roars. Chants—fuzzy, indistinct, but angry. Signs flash across a rooftop feed:‘No More Secrets.’ ‘Stop the Deportation Machine.’ ‘Coalition Lies.’
“Do you think they know it was me?” I whisper.
“They will.”
I spin on him. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
We stare at each other across the room. The air between us crackles with unsaid things—fear, fury, something that might be loyalty, but neither of us wants to name it yet.
Roja shifts, finally rising from his perch like a storm uncoiling. “They’ll wait to move until the fire burns low. Let the public lose focus. Then they’ll come.”
“So we just sit here? Like bait?”
“No,” he says, voice like thunder in a bottle. “We wait. We plan. And if they come—we don’t go quiet.”
My throat’s tight. I nod, but the fear doesn’t budge. It just digs in deeper, a stone lodged under my ribs.
Ceera bursts through the door like a thrown wrench. “They froze my accounts!” she snarls. “Those rat-licking bootlickers flagged every damn credline I got!”
Roja tilts his head. “Expected.”
“Oh, well that’s great. Maybe next you’ll tell me the sun’s hot and water’s wet.”
I sit on the cot, rubbing my temples. “How bad is it?”
Ceera paces, flinging her jacket down. “Bad. Half the feeds are calling me a terrorist sympathizer. The other half think I’m a hero. I got two dozen marriage proposals and a threat to skin my cat.”
“You don’t have a cat,” Roja says.
“Exactly!”
I laugh, sharp and surprised. It fades quick, though. The windows rattle with another overhead drone sweep. This one’s bigger. Louder. Ceera drops low without thinking. So do I.
Roja doesn’t move. Just watches.
“We can’t stay here,” I say, breath short.
“We don’t have a choice.”
“I feel like I’m gonna crawl out of my own skin.”
Ceera stands again, wiping her hands on her pants. “We need eyes on the building. You trust that guard friend of yours?”
Roja nods once. “He’s watching the back lot. No movements since sunrise.”
