“Transit hub Gamma-9,” I reply. “Public node. Third-party security. Cameras everywhere. Enough neutral eyes that even the Nine won’t pull something stupid.”
His eyes flicker.
“Smart.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
He watches me for a long moment.
“You are not bait,” he says quietly.
“No,” I agree. “I’m leverage.”
Transit hub Gamma-9smells like ozone, hot metal, overpriced pastry, and the faint chemical tang of overworked airrecyclers trying desperately to pretend this many bodies can coexist peacefully in one enclosed space.
Artificial waterfalls cascade down mirrored walls in the central atrium, all glass and polished stone and soothing ambient soundtracks that are supposed to trick commuters into thinking they aren’t just livestock being moved through a very expensive chute.
Third-party security is everywhere.
Not obvious.
Not armored.
But present.
Men and women in tailored suits with subtle bulges under jackets, mirrored eye implants flicking in micro-movements that track faces and body heat and weapons signatures.
Lenara chose this place because she doesn’t want to die today.
Good.
I clock the exits in under three seconds.
Still got it.
Tur walks half a step behind my right shoulder, dressed in black with a low-profile shoulder harness under his jacket and that specific kind of stillness that reads as predator to anyone who knows what they’re looking at.
People move around him without realizing why they’re doing it.
Lenara is already seated at a glass café table near the waterfall, pale and immaculate and predatory in a soft, elegant way that makes my skin crawl.
Her data-ink curls today in a different pattern along her throat, darker, more geometric.
Armor.
She stands when she sees me.
“Kimberly Fierson,” she says, smiling like we’re old friends meeting for brunch instead of two women negotiating the terms of a shadow war. “You look… galvanized.”
“I got firebombed and almost murdered twice in a week,” I reply, sliding into the chair across from her. “It does wonders for the complexion.”
Her eyes flick briefly to Tur.
Then back to me.
“And you brought your Reaper,” she says lightly.
“I brought my security consultant,” I reply. “If you want to pretend this is a normal meeting, we can both commit to the bit.”
