“Of course.” I fish the stuffed raptor toy from the bag. She hugs it tight to her chest—little claws pressing in, and I feel a jolt of fear: those claws aren’t just toys anymore.
We pass the kiosk, lights flicker in the corridor, and I pause. I note the timing of shadows. The corridor’s hum is louder than usual. I stand, momentary, listening. Something’s changed.
I glance at Nessa. She’s safe—for now.
“Are we going home first?” I ask.
She nods. “But can we go to the vent-field lookout after dinner?”
I inhale sharply. The vent-field… the distant sulfur shields. The only place I know where we can disappear.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do that.”
We grab the food and head out. Nessa chatters about planets and space-whales, her voice a bell in the dim station corridors. I smile, but I’m scanning. Eyes flicking to overhead vents, to the corners where cameras might catch angular movements.
When the dishes are done and Nessa is back in her student uniform (hoody over it), I lead her into the sublevel ducts. The vents are large enough for small frames. I open the grille by thestoreroom, feel the coolness of the duct air wash over me—metal cool and raw against my palms. Nessa giggles softly, stepping inside, pushing Razorclaw ahead of her.
“Mom… are we on a game?” she asks, voice echoing in the metal tunnel.
I nod. “Yes. A secret game. Just you and me.”
The smell of recycled air is sweet-sharp. Our boots echo. I pull the grille shut behind us. Behind the metal mesh, the corridor lights switch off again. We’re in the underside now: pipes clanking, the hum of mainframe fans vibrating around us.
My heart drums. My ears ring with each breath.
We slip through five bends, ducking low under support beams. I keep Nessa close. She’s quiet now, alert.
When we emerge at the old mining-rig by the vent-field ridge, the air is sulfur-sweet, the sky above domed with haze. I help Nessa out, carry the bag. She looks around, wonder in her eyes.
We make it to the hiding point behind the access dome. I set up the emergency comm pad inside the vent shelter. I feel the heat of the vents on my face—dry, static. I watch Nessa sculpt little planets in the dust on the ledge.
“Mom… will he ever meet me again?” she whispers.
I pause. The question hits like a star going supernova.
She looks up.
I pull her close. “Very soon.”
She nods, then sighs, and that about sums it all up.
CHAPTER 21
VAEL
The wind in the dead-zone carries salt and ash, like the whole world is exhaling smoke. I can taste the grit in my throat. We’re hidden—Rynn, Nessa, and me—inside the battered shell of an old mining-rig shelter deep beneath the ruins of Corven-7. Its metal ribs creak in the night, shifting like bones in a slump. Dark surrounds me. Only a single lantern glows amber, casting long shadows across my scuffed boots and the dusty floor.
I pull the scrambler collar from my pack and hold it like a weapon. Cold against my palm. The faint hum of its field wraps around me. The tech is crude—hand-me-down from an off-grid supplier—but good enough to blur my heat-signature, mask the chrome in my cybernetics. I slip it over my neck, the familiar weight heavy. My fingers press the clasp:click. A soft vibration. I close my eyes for a second, feeling the interference hum across my spine where the implants converge.
“Are you sure?” Rynn’s voice is behind me. Soft, but iron in the edge. I nod without turning.
“Go ahead,” she says. I sense her hesitation—they both are relying on me now. Not a patient. Not a ghost. Me.
Nessa is curled at the far corner, clutching Razorclaw tight. Little claws pressed into the stuffed fabric. She watches me, golden eyes wide. Like she’s seeing this side of us for the first time.
I kneel beside her. “Hey, cub.” My voice sounds thick. Foreign.
She shifts slightly, but doesn’t recoil. Instead, she holds her toy higher, eyes flicking to the collar around my neck. “You look like…” she whispers, “a ghost.”
