“Didn’t ask for a vote.”
“Didn’t ask to sit on our asses while you play house with ghosts.”
“Vrek.”
He goes silent.
I take a breath through my teeth. The air in here tastes recycled. False. Like nothing in this place has ever been lived in.
“Eyes on your post. I’ll handle the rest,” I say.
“Better do it fast,” he grunts, and clicks off.
The room hums, faint and sterile.
I stand and cross to the window. The city-ring glitters below like a necklace strangling a dying star. Pyramus Station is a monument to synthetic peace—shiny, overpriced, always on the edge of fire.
My reflection in the glass looks older than I remember. Not worn. Just… distant. Like I’ve stepped sideways from the man I used to be and haven’t quite found the way back.
A soft chime buzzes behind me.
“Permission to enter?” comes the voice.
Slick. Controlled. Vaguely amused.
Reflector.
I don’t bother looking. “Door’s open.”
The AI’s projection flickers into the room—solid light, sculpted to look almost human. Polished frame. Clean features. But his eyes are too still. Too calculating. He’s wearing a suit today. Silver cuffs. Real fabric. All for show. He likes pretending he’s above us.
“Nice digs,” he says, eyeing the suite. “Didn’t peg you for a man who enjoys velvet walls.”
“I don’t.”
“Pity. They really do scream ‘self-reflection.’”
I turn slowly. “You didn’t come to critique the décor.”
“No,” he agrees, folding his arms. “I came becauseshe’spacing. And when she paces, I start calculating probabilities. Unpleasant ones.”
I arch a brow. “Isolde send you?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Reflector says, smug. “I’m still embedded in her network protocols. I’mloyal.”
I step toward him.
He holds position.
“I never questioned her loyalty,” I say.
“Good. Because you’ve tested it plenty.”
He circles slowly, studying me like a puzzle box.
“She doesn’t trust you.”
“She shouldn’t.”
