April 19, 2021. 20:17. Vancouver. 11 days left till Italy.
The holo-display fades, but nobody speaks. Just the faint hum of the lights and Michelangelo's tablet ticking quietly.
Remi exhales, breaking the silence. "Shit, that was... a lot."
"Yeah… no kidding," Shock mutters. She's still watching the last few lines of corrupted code lingering on the display like they might flicker back to life.
Azure leans over the table. "We have virus sightings in Vancouver, Berlin, Jakarta, Johannesburg... and it's mutating. Great. If we don't find a way to isolate it or trace its pattern soon, containment won't mean shit."
"Wait a minute." Tetra raises a hand halfway. "We're talking like all the responsibility is on us now. What about the corps or uh… NetWatch? Aren't they handling this too?"
"They are," Michelangelo says flatly. "And they're progressing slowly. Which is why we're here talking."
I frown, leaning back into the booth. "Okay, so what the hell are we supposed to do? There's drug networks, cyberpsycho outbreaks, and a damn virus… we can't hit everything at once."
"We don't need to," Azure says. "We just need to hit the right thread first."
"Girllll, and which one is that...?" Shock asks, tone skeptical.
"That's the problem," I say. "It's all tangled together. Roderick's implants went haywire, he was dosed on SynthCoke, and now we know there was code running in his system." I pause, frowning as a question forms. I turn to Michelangelo. "But how are we supposed to get a live sample of the virus? You said it deletes itself almost instantly."
Michelangelo nods. "Correct. The only reason we have any data is because a fragment was caught running in a closed sandbox environment, which was pure chance. NetWatch was dissecting a corrupted implant in isolation when it triggered. If they'd blinked, it would've erased itself like all the others."
Azure tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "Well, piggybacking off what we know so far… maybe they'd have to force it into a closed system? Something fast enough to trap it before it wipes itself."
Shock snaps her fingers. "Ooh! What if they hijacked a runner's neural interface? Like—catch the spike, then shunt it into a black-box buffer. Something completely disconnected from the Net. Maybe... hardwired locally?"
"Like a portable deadzone rig," Azure murmurs. "No syncing. No outgoing data. Just containment."
Michelangelo doesn't say yes—but his silence says enough.
Remi clicks his tongue. "Wait, rewind a bit, chooms. So what do we prioritize? The tech, the psycho, or the drugs?"
Mister finally leans forward. There's no command in his tone yet—just a calm read of the room. "If we're trying to make the biggest dent, the virus is the heart of it. But getting a sample's dangerous. Maybe even suicidal."
"I'm down," Shock says immediately. "Kinda interested to see how it works anyways!"
Azure nods. "Same, count me in."
"I wasn't asking either of you to, but thank you," Mister says dryly, but not unkindly. "Before you do, we need to be sure we're not wasting time chasing dead ends."
"And what if we don't?" I ask, snapping my finger multiple times while in thought. "Then what do we do? Wait for the next cyberpsycho to show up with a live sample in their skull?"
"No," Michelangelo answers. "We find one."
The table goes still again.
Mister sighs, finally straightening up, a faint tension leaving his shoulders. "Alright. I'll take the lead on the rest of this. We've got three fronts: virus, drugs, and Roderick's past. Here's how we split—"
"Pause," Remi interjects, raising a hand. "Before we do that... I just wanna say I ain't tryna get my head shot off, but I've got some homies that owe favours. I might be able to get a line on who's pushing the SynthCoke."
Mister gives a slow nod. "Good. That's a start."
"Say less, I'll handle it then," Remi says, pulling out his phone. "Oh yeah, I'll loop in Blake and the Dead Kings too. Pre' sure they got pull, and I can bait em into helping."
"Wait… 'bait'?" Tetra furrows his brows.
"A slice of the pie, man," Remi answers with a grin. "Drug trade's definitely gotta be profitable in times like these, and Mister can make it look clean. Funnel it through him, and then slap in some royalties and whatever. Blake'll like that."
Mister folds his arms. "I'll negotiate it if it keeps things stable."
"Aight, on it." Remi nods and starts typing out a message.
Shock leans forward, elbows on the table. "Soooo if we're gonna get a sample of the virus, we need a live carrier."
"So we're actually gonna find a cyberpsycho? Wasn't the last one super dangerous?" Tetra says, alarmed. "How are we gonna grab a hold of one?"
Azure slides in, her tone clinical. "I think our best bet is to get close enough to watch the virus at work in real-time. Netrunners do this with rogue AIs sometimes. It's dangerous, but not impossible. We just need to find a safe place to watch it all go down."
Tetra frowns. "Do you guys need bodyguards or anything to help out? I mean, this isn't exactly a safe mission."
Azure glances at Shock, then shakes her head. "We should be fine... if Shock can tap into nearby cameras or electronics. That should let us observe the cyberpsycho's behaviour from a safe distance without direct exposure."
Shock smirks, flashing her nails in a typing motion in the air. "Mhmm! If the city grid isn't locked down too hard, I can piggyback off surveillance feeds and use signals to track the subject's movement. Only problem is..." She pauses, then her expression changes to a frown. "Getting a wireless link into their implant so I can monitor the virus in real time. That's the risky part."
Michelangelo speaks up. "Even Arasaka neuro-forensics specialists struggled with that. Their success rate was under twenty percent without neural compromise." He pauses. "However, I have override access codes and localized decryption protocols. With them, I can help you bypass Arasaka-specific implant security systems. I'll also act as escort for both of you. That way, you both can focus on the data."
Shock and Azure glance at each other.
No words are exchanged—just a subtle lift of Azure's brow and the faintest shrug from Shock. Shock's fingers drum lightly against the table, betraying nerves she doesn't voice. Azure exhales slowly through her nose, gaze flicking back to Michelangelo.
He remains in place, motionless, unreadable, and waiting.
After a second, both women nod at each other.
"Yeah," Azure says, quiet but certain. "Sure."
Shock just nods again, sharper this time. "Works with me."
Michelangelo tilts his head. "I've already tagged three possible cases—different zones, different behaviour patterns, but the same breakdown symptoms. We can start with those."
Mister nods in satisfaction and taps the table. "Perfect. Azure, Shock—you'll take that lead. Get your virus, but I want comms open at all times."
"Fine by me," Shock says. "I'll grab some stuff before heading out."
"Yeah, same. I'll gear up accordingly," Azure replies. "I don't have much for combat, but I can at least make sure we got all the tools we'll need."
Mister then turns toward me and Tetra. "You two, you're coming with me. We'll investigate the other gang and drug angle. We'll look into Roderick's background, Nathan's murder, and any local gangs that might be tied to the situation. If there's a connection between the trauma and the virus activation, we need to trace it. If we're lucky, our lead might overlap with Remi's."
"Wait—what will I do?" Tetra blinks. "Am I gonna be backup or something? I'm not sure what else I can do."
"You'll be useful, don't worry," Mister says. "It'll just be me, Artemis, and you on this. Artemis will be our main muscle, but I need someone else I can rely on as backup."
I shrug, arms crossed. "Works with me."
Tetra rubs the back of his neck, a little uncertain—but nods. "Alright, that makes sense."
"Remi," Mister calls again. "Once you get in touch with Blake, loop us in. We need to know where the SynthCoke's moving. If our zones overlap with Remi's, chances are we'll end up there too."
"Yuh yuh, say less." Remi waves his phone. "Already messaged. Lemme cook—I'll get us something."
Mister takes a breath. "Good. That's our first move."
The table quiets again as everyone starts processing the weight of the plan.
I glance at Shock, who's reviewing the virus code again. Azure fiddles with her fingers as they transform into various tools, practically itching for action. Tetra exhales, already unsure what kind of mess he's walking into. Remi's casually spinning his phone, though his eyes are focused.
Michelangelo breaks the silence. "I'll send out localized data for each zone. You'll also get temporary clearance levels tailored to your mission needs, just in case."
Mister gives a nod. "Thank you. We'll move out soon then. For now..." He glances around the table. "This briefing is over. Good luck, everyone. Stay active with the updates."
The group scatters, heading their separate ways.
Mister steps aside, already pulling out his phone. "I've got some calls to make. I'll reach out to all of you tomorrow."
Remi does the same, fingers flying across his screen. "Gotta bounce. Deuces. I'll keep you posted, gang."
Michelangelo heads toward the elevator, eyes distant as he scrolls through data on his tablet. "I'll retrieve my gear. Expect your briefing files before sunrise."
Tetra and Shock glance at each other, then at me and Azure.
"I guess we're done here?" Tetra asks, a little lost.
"Yeah… I guess so," Shock shrugs, gesturing for Tetra to follow. "C'mon, let's head back."
"Sure thing," Tetra says, already heading out. "Catch you guys later!" He turns to wave before disappearing through the door.
"Byeeee~! Good luck, by the way!" Shock chimes, giving a cheerful wave as the door swings shut behind them.
That leaves just me and Azure, lingering by the lounge a moment longer. I adjust the strap of my holster and glance around.
Outside, downtown Vancouver looms in full form—towering glass buildings bathed in neon, their reflections gliding across the rain-slick pavement. Even from inside Vix Lounge, the city pulses: the low hum of traffic, the whine of drone wings, the throb of distant bass from a rooftop party a few blocks away.
The city never really sleeps, it just mutates.
We walk for a bit, leaving the lounge and winding our way down a quieter nearby street. Once we've put some distance between us and the noise, I glance over. Azure's moving slower than usual.
"You good?" I ask casually.
Azure nods. "Yeah. I guess the meeting really took the energy out of—" But just as we turn the corner, she stiffens.
I follow her gaze—and spot it too.
The fuck?
Across the street, reflected in the blurred glass of a cyberware repair shop, a familiar figure lingers. White hair and facial cybernetics… Jenny…? She stands in the shop's background, smiling. She casually waves while carrying a grocery bag in her other hand.
Azure exhales sharply. Her smile disappears, replaced by a mask of composure stretched thin over panic.
I shift my stance instinctively, eyes narrowing as my hand inches toward my holster.
Jenny gives one final smile, then turns and melts into the city's maze.
"What the hell was that?" I murmur.
Azure exhales again, sharp and quick. She turns to me, dead serious. "We should follow her."
I give her a hard look. "No."
She flinches. "What? Why not?"
"Because you just switched from yoga-instructor calm to total freakout. I don't know what that was, but you're rattled—and I don't chase unknowns blindly, especially not ones that get under your skin like that."
"I'm not rattled." Azure's response comes a little too fast.
"Right," I deadpan. "You're calm and playful until Jenny shows up—then suddenly, you forget how to breathe."
She looks away, but her shoulders lower slightly.
I step in front of her. "Alright." I can feel the frustration building inside of me. "With as much respect as possible, I'm going to ask. Who the hell is she to you?"
Azure doesn't answer. Her mouth opens, then closes. She glances down the alley Jenny vanished into while biting her lip.
"Don't even think about lying," I say, my voice sharper now. "You froze the second you saw her. You're panicking. And from what I've seen so far, you don't panic easily."
"I'm not—" she starts, but her voice cracks halfway through. "It's not what you think."
I raise an eyebrow. "What is it then? You say we should follow her, but won't even explain why she matters. What is she to you? And don't give me the 'it's complicated' line. I need details if I'm getting involved."
Her gaze flickers to me, uncertain. "It's just that… she's dangerous."
I take a half step closer to Azure. "You keep dancing around it, but I need real intel. You want me to act? You better give me a reason."
Azure's fingers twitch before curling into a fist. "If I tell you, I'm dragging you into something I never wanted to involve anyone in."
"You already dragged me in the second she showed up and you wanted me to follow her. I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."
The wind brushes between us. Azure doesn't answer right away. I watch her shoulders rise and then lower, waiting for an answer.
I sigh, my voice softening. "When I lie to people, I at least try to make it convincing."
Azure folds her arms tightly across her chest, gaze distant. She doesn't look at me—she looks through me, as if weighing every consequence of saying too much.
A long silence follows.
Fucking hell.
I narrow my eyes. "You know her. Personally."
"That's… not relevant," Azure mutters.
I laugh bitterly. "The fuck do you mean, 'not relevant'? You want me to tail someone connected to a ghost organization, and you don't think context matters?"
Her silence is confirmation enough. And then a thought clicks into place.
"…Alright," I say slowly. "I'm gonna take a wild guess here—Jenny isn't just some random operative, is she? And, you didn't just hear about Autumn Blade. You've seen what they're capable of. Up close."
There's another stretch of silence—one long enough that I start to think she might've shut down.
Azure hesitates, but then, she finally whispers, "Yeah." She looks down, avoiding my gaze. "I have."
I fold my arms, curiosity replacing my annoyance. "So why would you ask me to follow her if you're this rattled? If she's dangerous and unpredictable, and you're terrified of what happens next?"
"Because I need to know what she's doing here," Azure mutters. "I need someone who won't get killed doing it—and right now, you're the only one I trust to handle it."
I don't react right away, letting Azure's words hang in the air as she continues.
"So yes, you already know she's with Autumn Blade. But all those 'rumours' you've heard about them? They're true too."
"... Damn."
Azure glances at me. "That's all you have to say?"
"I had a feeling, back when we first saw her and you went quiet," I admit. "It was the way she moved, and the way you started quietly panicking. Still, confirmation's... something."
"She shouldn't be here," Azure says, voice still small. "Not in Vancouver. Not this soon."
I step in front of her, trying to catch her eye. "How do you know all this?"
She opens her mouth but then closes it, while her whole posture shifts back.
"... Right," I murmur, looking down at the ground before lightly shaking my head. "Too big to talk about on the street."
She doesn't say anything. I don't press this time. Instead, I step back, giving her space.
I sigh and take my cap off, dragging a hand through my hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to grill you like that. I can be a hardass when I'm nervous."
Azure finally meets my eyes, and her tone softens. "I get it. I'm… not offended."
"For what it's worth, and for the record," I add, tone quiet now, "I know what it's like to keep things secret. Believe me. You've got your reasons—I won't force it out of you. Just… if I'm heading into this, I need to know when I'm walking into a bullet."
"Thank you. For not pushing harder."
I smile faintly. "For the record, I wanted to. But I didn't want to bulldoze your trust."
She returns my weary smile, just for a second. "Then I owe you."
I glance at her, letting the silence settle for a bit. "Still though, thanks for saying something," I murmur. "Even if it's not the whole picture… it's something."
Azure shrugs, but there's a slight exhale—barely visible, but there. A thread of tension finally loosening in her shoulders.
"It's enough for now," I add. "But just so you know… I'm not chasing her until we both have more to go on."
"I figured… Honestly? I'm okay with that. Just promise me you won't mention this to anyone else."
"I won't, I promise."
We stand there a little longer, the buzz of the city stretching between us. The conversation shifts and softens as other topics pop up—casual things, future plans, Remi being a jackass, and other dumb distractions to fill the air. It helps.
Eventually, we split—me heading back to my apartment, Azure catching a ride toward Burnaby. The city pulls us in opposite directions, rain-slick streets glowing faintly under the pulse of neon.
…
April 20, 2021. 13:24. Burnaby. 10 days left till Italy.
True to his word, Michelangelo delivered.
He handed Mister everything we needed—intel for each team member, clearance levels, tracking zones, even a list of potential safehouses for backup ops.
Azure and Shock stuck to the plan. They've already begun sweeping the city's cyberpsycho hotspots with Michelangelo, using pre-tagged locations. Shock's handling digital surveillance while Azure maps out behavioural patterns. No direct hits yet, but there's definite progress.
Remi's been working with Blake and the Dead Kings. No major breakthroughs so far, but they're pulling their weight. Turns out, Blake's personally invested—he wants to know just how deep the Melder drug pipeline runs, and whether his gang can muscle in. Remi's leaning into that angle hard and keeping Mister in the loop.
As for me, I've been moving with Mister and Tetra, digging through what's left of Roderick Hale's past—his mercenary records, the unresolved trauma of his son's death. We're trying to connect the dots between the school stabbing that killed Nathan, Roderick's spiral, and the SynthCoke trail he left behind.
While Remi tracks the suppliers, we're chasing the buyers—and any other gangs pushing product behind closed doors. Same problem, different angles.
And if things line up the way Mister thinks they will… we'll all meet in the middle soon enough. Probably.
Well. Who knows?
For now, it's Mister, Tetra, and me—digging through what's left of Roderick Hale's life.
His apartment sits tucked in the corner of a low-rise just east of Kingsway. Dusty stairwell. No working elevator. A lingering stink like expired protein powder and burnt circuit boards.
To top it all off, we didn't even have to break in.
Mister pulled some strings, called in a favour from a contact at the property office—one of those quiet debts from back when he used to handle cleanup work. Add in the clearance files Michelangelo provided, and this whole thing passed as a formal sweep. No questions asked.
Way easier than kicking down the door and dealing with the fallout later, anyways.
Now we're standing in the darkened living room, faded blinds half-pulled and slanting afternoon light across a carpet that's long since given up.
"God," I mutter, sweeping my eyes across the clutter. Boxes, unwashed dishes, datashards scattered on the floor. "Wasn't expecting a palace, but this is… impressive in the worst way."
Tetra winces as he steps around a pile of crumpled jackets. "Smells like… I don't even know what to call it."
Mister doesn't comment. He's already moving, looking for something, gloved hands brushing along the wall like he's reading invisible threads.
I step further in, ducking under a half-detached light fixture. There's a kind of sadness hanging in the air—not tragic, just… tired. You can feel how the space gave up when he did.
"Fuck," I mutter, softer this time, nudging an empty can aside with my boot. "Place like this… you don't live in it. You just hold out."
Tetra glances back at me, expression unreadable. Maybe he sees it too.
Mister finally speaks. "We're not here to feel sorry for the guy. We're here to find out why he snapped."
He's right. But still… I let my fingers trail across a cracked picture frame near the entryway. Dust clouds up under the motion, revealing the faint outlines of two figures—father and son, smiling like they believed in tomorrow.
I stare at the photo longer than I mean to. The smile on Roderick's face isn't perfect—it's awkward, maybe a little forced, but the care is there. Nathan, though… his grin's real. Bright. Naive. I feel something twist in my chest.
My dad used to smile like that, too.
I blink, push the thought down fast before it surfaces. Not now.
We move on.
The apartment's a mess—empty takeout boxes, dust-coated furniture, a few cracked datachips lying around with their holograms long dead. But between the garbage and old memories, we start to find the useful pieces.
Old merc gear in the corner. Helmet cracked, vest stained, a few slugs still rattling around in the pockets. Tetra crouches to inspect a box beside it and pulls out a half-used stash of SynthCoke. The seal's been broken for a while.
Mister gestures us over. He's holding a half-shredded envelope, one that's barely intact, its corners curled and frayed. The address label's been torn away, but there's a slip of paper inside, marked with faded coordinates.
"Looks like he got something from someone," Mister mutters, reading it closely. "Not much left of it now."
Tetra looks around, frowning. "This can't be it, right? What, no journal? No last message?"
Mister doesn't respond, but I notice the glint of silver near the vest. A pair of tags. I reach out and pick them up.
"Redpoint," I say. "Huh…"
Both of them glance at me.
"A mercenary hub," I add. "Richmond. I used to pick up contracts there. A long time ago."
Tetra raises a brow. "You?"
I just shrug. "Before I went solo. That's all."
"Oh… makes sense."
We don't linger. Instead, Tetra drifts back to the cracked photo frame, eyes fixed on the image of the father and son. The silence stretches a second too long before he finally speaks—quieter this time.
"My brother used to smile like that," he says, almost like he's talking to himself. "Back when we still had time."
I glance over.
I step up beside him. "Hey man, I'm sure you'll find him. Plus you got us."
Well, at least he has Wissen—which, by extension, means all of us. But I don't tell Tetra that.
He gives me a soft nod.
Mister walks past us, still holding the envelope as he moves into another room. His tone shifts, less cold. "No parent should have to outlive their child."
It's not just a platitude. There's something in the way he says it—a weight. Like he's not just talking about Roderick. I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
I give Tetra a light pat on the shoulder, nodding for him to follow Mister. We leave the photo and tags behind, moving deeper into the apartment. It doesn't take long before Mister finds a terminal buried beneath a mess of old jackets.
"Old rig," he mutters. "Local storage only. No cloud sync. Might be something left in the drive, though."
He crouches and starts poking through the hardware.
"Any luck?" Tetra asks.
"Still booting. Might need a netrunner," Mister says, standing. "I'll see if someone's available. Stay here."
"Wait," I interrupt, already pulling out my phone. "I might know someone."
Tetra blinks. "You have a netrunner?"
"What?" I say, already rummaging through my jacket pockets. "Surprised I have friends?"
I flash Tetra a smirk, lifting a brow.
He raises his hands in mock defense, smiling sheepishly. "Just curious, that's all."
Mister gives a short nod. "Go for it."
They leave me alone with the computer, drifting into the next room for another sweep.
Eventually, I fish out what I'm looking for—a scuffed-up usb with an extendable antenna and LED. I blow off some lint and crouch beside the rig.
"Had a feeling this might happen," I mutter, plugging it into the main port. The terminal hums to life, screen flickering with weak light.
While it boots, I shoot a message off.
"Do you have a minute?" I ask aloud, typing as I speak. "Need you to connect to something."
A few seconds pass before Nano's reply blips in.
"Not unless you've got 9,000 eddies~!" Then she sends a tongue-out emoji for good measure.
"Very funny, smartass," I mutter, thumbing the reply. "Running an investigation. Need access to a computer in an apartment."
"Ooo, I love a good mystery. Sure!"
"FYI it's ancient. You need anything special from me?"
"Nah. Unless it runs on steam power, I'll be fine."
"Kk. Do your thing."
The USB's light pulses faintly as the connection kicks in. I don't fully understand how netrunners operate—but once those lights start dancing, I know Nano's in.
I lean back, waiting.
A moment later, another message pings:
"Done! Now gimme my moneyyy. I had to pause my anime for this…" She follows it with a dramatic puppy-eyes emoji and a broken heart.
I smirk, tapping back: "You absolute money whore. How about I take you out for lunch?"
"DEAL!" She then tosses in a cluster of red hearts and an emoji of a cartoon face drooling.
I snort. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Mister reappears, watching the screen stabilize. "You good?"
"She's in."
Tetra walks in just behind him, holding up a small object with that familiar look of confusion. "Hey, I also found this uh… what do you call it? A datashard?"
"Yeah, pass it over." I open my hand up for Tetra to pass me it. He does and I immediately slot it into another port.
Mister leans in closer, opening the log viewer. Text scrolls across in blocky font, most of it are regular end jobs, but then we stop at the final three entries.
Surrey drops — Blake's crew still runs it?
He exhales through his nose. "So he was already dealing around Blake's turf."
Contract via Redpoint. Client: Anonymous. No contact post-payment.
Then a final note, tagged red:
Avoid Surrey. Burned zone. Too many gangs in play. Too hot.
"Burned zone?" Tetra echoes.
Mister nods grimly. "Sounds like ground zero for something. Not sure if that's where we need to go next, but you never know."
I cross my arms, staring at the flickering text. "Great. Can't wait."
I fucking hate Surrey.
Tetra folds his arms, tilting his head. "Wait, wouldn't it also make sense to check out Nathan's high school too? I mean… he was involved with some shady stuff, right? Maybe there's another lead there. Like a supplier, an enabler, or something."
Mister nods slowly. "You've got a point. We shouldn't skip over that either. Roderick's breakdown started after what happened at that school. If there's a trail, it probably starts there."
He exhales, glancing back at the screen. "I was also considering checking out Redpoint in Richmond. Whoever supplied Roderick his drugs had to be someone he could access easily—and repeatedly. It had to line up with his job schedule."
I squint at the log entries. "Hold on. Look at the timestamps on these jobs. Most of them are standard duration, but here—" I tap on a specific row. "Every few days, there's a consistent two-hour gap. That's not enough time to cross the city or go deep into gang turf, but plenty of time to dip into a spot nearby."
Tetra leans in. "Huh, so he probably picks it up during that gap," Tetra says, "it's probably somewhere between here and Redpoint. Well, it's either that… or he was getting it from Redpoint itself."
"Or his own neighbourhood," I mutter. "Wouldn't be the first time a merc got high off his own street's rot."
We all go quiet for a moment, piecing together the puzzle.
Then Mister sighs. "Alright, so we've got two possible next steps: check Redpoint or check the high school."
Tetra nods. "Well, Redpoint's easier, right? Artemis went there already."
"Yeah, it's loud, messy, and no one gives a shit who walks in." I glance between the two of them. "My issue is the school though. How exactly are we supposed to walk into a high school looking like this?"
I gesture to myself, using the same loadout I had last night—armoured jacket, reinforced boots, obvious combat gear—and then to Mister, whose biker helmet and cloak make him look like a walking red flag. "Tetra's the only one of us who looks even remotely normal, and even he's dressed like a tourist from another planet."
Tetra throws his hands up. "Hey, I'm trying. Fashion trends don't come easy to a nomad. But yeah… I'm not passing for a teacher or a student."
Mister shrugs like he's already got it handled. "I know someone. We'll get in. Let me work the angle."
I raise a brow, skeptical but willing to let it ride. "That easy, huh?"
He doesn't respond, and just walks past us toward the door.
"We've learned what we needed," Mister says. "There's no point in lingering. C'mon."
Tetra gives the apartment one last look before following.
I stay back a second, eyes flicking to the broken frame again—parent and child, frozen in a moment before everything fell apart.
Then I turn and shut the door behind me.