Steven returned to the reception desk, his boots whispering against the smooth stone floor.
The receptionist from earlier—still poised behind that gleaming obsidian-glass monolith—glanced up as he approached. Her amber, slit-pupiled eyes met his with immediate recognition, and a small smile curved the corners of her lips.
"There you are," she said, tapping through a transparent interface projected above her desk. "Steven, right?"
He nodded, offering a faint, tired smile. "The one and only."
She let out a soft, amused hum without looking up, her fingers gliding across the floating controls. "Your tag'll be ready in a minute. Just give me a second."
Steven leaned casually on the edge of the desk, eyes drifting over the polished surface before landing on the name etched in small silver script on her badge.
"Thanks for that… Mirel, right? Are you new here?"
She paused, her smile deepening just enough to soften her features. "First day. And you're the first one to actually read my name."
"I can hardly believe that," Steven said, tilting his head slightly. "Besides, I make a point to remember the names of people who smile as good as you."
"Oh, how many names do you remember?" she asked, amused.
"Just you."
That earned him a quiet laugh, quick, genuine.
Mirel flicked a few more commands into the display, the glowing interface reflecting faintly in her golden eyes. "I figured people would assume I'm just here for decoration. Didn't think it would happen this fast."
"With eyes like those?" he said, then quickly raised his hands in mock surrender. "I mean that respectfully."
"Oh, you're charming," she said dryly, though the lazy curl of her tail betrayed her amusement. "But you don't need to flatter me. You already passed your assessment with flying colors. And according to your file, you made it through the academy while your ability was still rated Class 2. That's... almost unheard of."
"Look at that—you're already looking me up," he replied, leaning in slightly, the faintest glint of a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.
She didn't pull back. Her voice dropped half a note, playful now. "Careful, Steven. Keep that up, and I might start flagging your profile for regular check-ins."
"Wouldn't be the worst surveillance I've ever had," he said. "Might even welcome it."
Mirel's hand hovered for a moment above the terminal, then tapped a final command. A soft click sounded as a hidden compartment in the desk opened, revealing a sleek black ID tag—matte metal, faint circuitry along the edges shimmering as it synced with his biometrics.
"Here," she said, sliding it toward him with two fingers. "Your tag. Fully updated. Once your probationary period ends—and you choose your scripture—you'll need to come back in and register it with the Bureau. At that point, you'll get a permanent tag."
Steven picked it up, turning it between his fingers. It felt heavier than it looked.
"Thanks, Mirel."
She nodded, then added with a slight tilt of her head, "Just don't lose it or break it. That tag's not cheap."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, slipping it into the inner fold of his jacket. "Until next time?"
Her smile returned, a touch more genuine. "May the grace of the Great Mother be with you."
"You too," Steven said, a little awkwardly, and turned to walk away—
—where Toad, watching the whole exchange from the exit, was smirking like a devil.
The doors slid open behind them with a pneumatic hiss as Steven and Toad stepped out into the dusky air. The chill of early evening rolled in, carried on a low breeze that stirred the edges of their jackets. Overhead, the heavy grey clouds had deepened into a cooler shade, painted orange-gold at their edges by the dying sunlight filtering in slantwise from the horizon.
"So…" Toad drawled, elbowing Steven lightly as they walked down the steps, "did you get her number?"
"She has mine," Steven replied flatly, not even bothering to look over.
Toad snorted, grinning as he matched his pace. "You don't look nearly as into it now. Back there you were all, 'I make a point to remember the names of people who smile as good as you.'" He pitched his voice into a teasing, exaggerated version of Steven's.
Steven sighed through his nose, shaking his head with a half-smirk. "I mean, I am interested. It's just… she's religious. You know?"
Toad arched an eyebrow, his boots crunching slightly against a patch of loose grit on the concrete walkway. "If being religious is a red flag, then you're starting to sound more and more like Uncle Cas."
Steven laughed under his breath, low and dry. "It's not that it's a dealbreaker, it's more of a general… uneasiness. She's probably part of the Church of the Great Mother, and they've got certain expectations when it comes to relationships. You know what I'm talking about."
Toad shrugged, hands in his pockets as they passed under a flickering streetlight. "It's not like you're going to be waiting for her down the aisle tomorrow. She's got your number. If she reaches out, see where it goes. Take it easy, man."
"Yeah…" Steven murmured, his voice thoughtful. "You're right. I'm probably just overthinking it."
They walked in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the city settling into the background—distant traffic hums, the gentle hiss of a bus braking just ahead.
As they neared the small platform, Steven nodded toward the incoming vehicle. "Alright, you can head back. I'm gonna swing by my apartment before I clock in."
"I thought today was your day off?" Toad asked, brow raised.
Steven gave a tired shrug. "Nah, I've got my first night shift."
Toad let out a low whistle as he stepped onto the bus. "Right then. Good luck with that."
Just before the doors shut, he popped his head out one last time and shouted with a grin, "Dibs on your stuff if you get yourself killed!"
Steven chuckled, the sound dry and quiet as the bus pulled away into the dimming street.
He stood there for a moment, watching the taillights vanish through the amber haze, then turned and started down the path toward the next stop, where a different route would take him to whatever the night had planned next.
Steven sat in one of the metal-backed chairs lining the edge of the operations room, adjusting the collar of his dark uniform. The fabric was still stiff, new, unbroken. A low electric hum pulsed from the ceiling, steady and constant, while the cloud-tinted overheads flickered faintly as they transitioned into night mode.
The room was angular and sterile—walls paneled in matte-black composite and muted steel trim. On the far side, a row of surveillance monitors flickered like watchful eyes, feeding bursts of live footage from across Caelumbra. At the front stood a floor-to-ceiling pane of reinforced glass, dormant for now, reflecting the gathering officers and the gradually filling seats behind Steven.
Footsteps echoed crisply against the floor as Sergeant Kael entered, trailed by Lieutenant Barro. The idle murmur of conversation faded immediately. Kael's presence, precise and composed, commanded the room without effort. Without a word, he raised his hand, and the glass display lit up with a sharp shimmer.
"All right, listen up," Kael began, his tone calm but commanding. "We've got a few carryovers from the day shift—minor disturbances in Sectors B-3 and K-5. Officer-run pickups. Dispatch will assign those."
The screen shifted, displaying basic maps and icons, then cleared with a swipe. A new image appeared: five faces in a single row, Bureau-red markers glowing beneath each name.
"But this is our priority tonight," Kael said, letting the image settle over the room. "These five are responsible for the theft of a high-profile artifact from W.O.R.M. headquarters. Details are classified, but the retrieval order came directly from Central Command. This is not a routine call."
He gestured to the screen again. Each face expanded slightly.
"Three of them—Kellan Vey, Rost Mirra, and Shil Renn—have been tracked to a warehouse cluster in the Verge. Lieutenant Barro will be leading the response with support from V.A.N.G.A.U.R.D."
Barro gave a short nod, arms folded across his chest, his visor dimly lit with biometric readouts.
Kael continued.
"The fourth target, Elin Dase, was last seen leaving the Wards. Captain Nala will handle that one—solo, as always."
Steven's gaze widened slightly at the mention of the captain working alone again, but Kael pressed on without pause.
"And finally…" Kael's voice slowed, and the room seemed to still as something unspoken tightened the air.
He tapped the screen one last time.
"The final target is Trask Irelan—also known as Tri-Tail Trask or Triple T. The most dangerous of the group."
The display adjusted again, pulling Trask's image to the forefront.
"Kellan, Rost, and Shil have multiple priors. High-profile robberies, a history of slipping through our fingers. Don't expect them to make this easy."
"Elin Dase," he went on, "is believed to be affiliated with a criminal organization known as the Ninth Link. They specialize in data theft, blackmail, and targeted assassinations."
Kael's gaze drifted to Steven before he continued.
"Trask is a short fuse. He's been involved in multiple homicides and gang operations. Freelance muscle. Most active in the slums, and our intel suggests that if we find him, a confrontation is inevitable."
He let the weight of that settle before concluding, voice steady:
"He hasn't been located yet. I'll be leading that operation—my rookie and I will be responsible for finding Trask."
Kael let the image of Trask linger on the glass for a moment longer before speaking again, his voice returning to a crisp, measured cadence.
"More detailed information about the targets and their Vestiges has already been sent to your consoles," he said, turning back to face the room. "That concludes tonight's roll call. Good luck with your operations."
The display dimmed, and the faint electric hum of the room returned to the foreground. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as officers stood, quiet conversation resuming like the low tide. Some gathered in groups to check their terminals, others moved with purpose toward the armory or vehicle bay, prepping for the long night ahead.
Steven rose with the rest, smoothing out the front of his uniform as Kael stepped down from the front platform. The sergeant's stride remained unhurried but purposeful as he approached.
"Steven," Kael said evenly, stopping beside him. "Get the cruiser ready. I'll be right with you after I speak to the Commander."
Steven gave a sharp nod. "On it."
As Kael turned and headed down the corridor, Steven pivoted toward the exit, the weight of the coming mission beginning to settle on his shoulders. The last echoes of the operations room faded behind him, swallowed by the low thrum of the station's night cycle.