Akiko followed Dorian through the docking bay, her boots striking the metal grating with dull echoes.

Gravity tugged at her limbs. Each step seemed to take more effort than it should have, like Ashara knew something she didn't, and was holding her back.

Workers shouted orders, mech-lifters groaned, crates clanked. But her focus stayed fixed on the man in the dark coat.

He didn't look back. Didn't need to. He moved like someone who expected compliance.

The door he approached wasn't labeled. No inspector's plaque, no welcoming console. Just a recessed panel with military-style reinforcement and that subtle wrongness that prickled beneath Akiko's skin.

Her augment hummed as the door slid open, and the faint thrum of high-level security brushed against her bones.

She stepped through anyway.

"Encrypted Systems Detected. Enhanced Surveillance Active", Takuto warned, cool and emotionless. "Military-grade encryption."

Akiko's brows knit. The reinforced door. The encryption. The air of control Dorian exuded. This wasn't some overpromoted bureaucrat.

This was something else entirely.

Of course. Wouldn't want this to be easy.

The corridor beyond was sterile and bright, leading to a spacious but oppressive room. One desk. One glowing terminal. Walls lined with screens. Most showed routine feeds. Docking procedures, inventory logs. But one caught her eye: a grainy image of herself in human guise, tagged "Pending Verification."

Dorian gestured toward the lone chair. "Please," he said. "Make yourself comfortable."

She sat, movements controlled. Alert without looking rigid.

He took the other seat, datapad in hand, and let the silence stretch. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth. Curious, but not kind.

"Your record is… fascinating."

Akiko didn't flinch.

"Most travelers have something. Travel history, colony logs, even junk data. You? Nothing. You're a ghost."

She shrugged lightly. "Outer colonies don't exactly keep great records."

He tapped the datapad. "Even ghosts leave traces. Yours appears only where it intersects with Haven's internal systems." He turned the screen toward her.

Redacted lines filled the display. Blacked out from top to bottom, save a few fragments:

Subject observed aboard TSDF Sovereign.

Incident: Stygian station anomaly.

Threat classification: Pending evaluation.

Akiko kept her face still, even as her pulse spiked.

"I've never even been near a Haven ship," she lied. "Looks like someone made a mistake."

Dorian's smile thinned. "A convenient denial."

She leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the desk. "You've seen the file. It's mostly black ink. You don't know what's in there. Maybe someone filed it wrong. Or maybe someone higher up wanted it buried."

That flicker of doubt reached his eyes. Not enough to win, but enough to open a door.

"I get it," she continued, her voice softening. "You've got a job to do. But this?" She nodded at the screen. "It's a dead-end. If I were really dangerous, don't you think someone above your pay grade would've dealt with it already?"

He drummed his fingers against the desk, considering.

"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps they're waiting. Watching."

"Then let them," she said. "But you? You're wasting time chasing shadows."

Dorian leaned forward. "You're remarkably calm for someone with a flagged Haven file."

"I'm calm," Akiko said evenly, "because I know there's nothing to explain."

Another beat of silence. Then, almost casually, he said:

"I could escalate this. Submit a request to Haven Command. Let them fill in the blanks."

Akiko's breath caught, just for a second. That would be the end of it. Her cover, her life, shredded by whatever Haven had tucked away behind those black lines.

She couldn't let him do that. She had to pivot.

Akiko took a slow breath, steadying her nerves. She reached inward, channeling a thin stream of mana from her core, letting it thread subtly into her voice. Just enough to nudge, not disrupt.

"Inspector Kess," she said, voice low and even, "have you considered why those parts of my record are redacted?"

His fingers paused. Eyes lifted.

She saw it. A flicker of curiosity, barely restrained.

"Redactions aren't accidents," she continued, each word precise. "They're deliberate. Sometimes to hide something dangerous. Other times… to protect something critical."

Dorian's gaze sharpened, though he didn't speak.

"To protect it from scrutiny," she said, leaning in slightly. "From people who might compromise the wrong thing by asking too many questions."

She let the words hang, her tone soft but charged with meaning. A subtle resonance lingered in the air. Too faint to detect, but enough to plant doubt.

His posture tightened. "Protect it from what, exactly?"

"From interference," Akiko said, "and from exposure. Not just for my sake. For yours."

A long pause. Dorian's expression was unreadable, but the stillness in him had shifted, hesitation curling around calculation.

"I'm not threatening you," she added. "But if someone above your clearance put this in place, and you blow it open…"

She trailed off, letting implication speak louder than warning.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "What kind of operation justifies this level of cover?"

Akiko exhaled, the sound weary. "The kind I can't talk about. And the kind you don't want tangled around your neck."

Another silence. Longer.

Then he leaned back, folding his hands over the datapad. "You're persuasive," he said. "But if this is a cover, then you're already exposed."

Akiko met his eyes without flinching. "And if it's not, then you're putting yourself in the crossfire."

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They stared at each other, breath quiet in the sterile air. Finally, Dorian tapped the pad and pushed to his feet.

"I'll process the registration," he said. "But don't mistake this for trust. I'll be watching."

Akiko rose, giving him a faint smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

They moved through the sterile halls in silence. Dorian's gait was crisp, composed, but she could sense the shift. He hadn't bought her story wholesale, but she'd muddied the waters. For now, that was enough.

At the outer threshold, he paused, turning toward her. "I trust you can find your way back to your ship?"

Akiko gave him a bland smile. "I'll manage."

He lingered one breath longer, eyes searching her face for cracks.

With a final nod, he turned and vanished back through the door.

Akiko exhaled the breath she'd been holding. The filtered air of Helios Terminal rushed against her face. Warm, noisy, and alive. The terminal buzzed with the movement of thousands: workers, vendors, travelers. She blended instantly into the current.

But comfort didn't come with the crowd.

This was temporary, she reminded herself. He would dig. Others would follow.

Playing the Haven agent wouldn't last forever. Her thoughts were grim as she wove through the crowd toward Docking Bay 14-A. She needed a backup plan. Something cleaner. Something that made her too useful to touch.

The idea chilled her more than it steadied her. But it also sharpened her focus.

She'd survived worse. She could handle this. But the next move had to be hers.

She slipped into a quieter corridor, stepping out of the main flow of foot traffic. Her gaze flicked between the glowing wayfinder on her HUD and the mismatched signage overhead. The walk wasn't far, but the knot in her gut, the one Dorian had twisted, hadn't loosened.

She tapped a finger to the device at her collar.

"Hey," she murmured, voice low. "Any chance you can scrub those records? Throw up some noise? Make sure I don't flag again?"

Takuto's fox-shaped avatar flickered into view on her HUD, its pale form tilting its head in a familiar gesture of quiet regret.

"Negative. Decryption of military-grade systems inadvisable. Haven security protocols remain active. Access credentials from Sovereign systems have been revoked."

Akiko's step faltered. She caught herself, forced her pace steady.

She'd known the AI's deeper hooks had been severed when she left the Sovereign. But hearing it now, so absolute, still hit like a punch.

"So what you're saying is," she muttered, "I'm flying blind."

"Clarification: Current subsystems remain stable. Influence over external networks limited but nonzero. Subterfuge remains viable within standard constraints."

She grimaced. "Comforting."

The crowd thinned around her, replaced by the low thrum of dock machinery. She lowered her voice again.

"That redacted file, Dorian's little obsession. Can you poke around? Quietly? Figure out how bad it is?"

If they couldn't get at the source, maybe they could remove the local issue.

The fox avatar stilled, then shook its head with surgical precision.

"Unadvisable. Attempting access would trigger Asharan network alerts. Current capacity insufficient for stealth breach of mil-spec infrastructure. Recommend acquiring additional processing power or validated credentials."

Akiko let out a breath between her teeth. "Right. Because that's easy. Not like we have time for that, on top of everything else."

The frustration boiled up fast, her mind running loops she couldn't close. Without Haven access, Takuto was running on scraps. Quick reflexes, passive scans. None of the reach he used to have.

If Dorian pushed, if someone else connected the dots...

She'd burn.

"Okay," she whispered. "What can we do?"

"Suggestion: Avoid further scrutiny. Establish legitimacy within Asharan systems. Local network integration offers potential vectors for influence over documentation streams."

Akiko frowned. "So… blend in."

"Affirmative. Legitimacy increases survivability. Decreases escalation likelihood."

"And what about when Haven circles back?"

"Scenario variable. Recommend contingency planning."

Akiko rubbed her eyes, the stress settling behind her sockets like grit. "So: stay quiet, get legitimate, prep for a worst-case scenario."

"Acknowledged. Current course is suboptimal but recoverable."

She reached the access point to the docking bay, the metal panel cool beneath her fingers. Beyond it: her ship. Her crew. Her next move.

She glanced at the avatar, then shut her eyes for one breath.

"Not exactly my style, but let's see where this goes."

Takuto yipped once and vanished from her HUD, leaving Akiko alone with the quiet hum of the terminal around her.

She stepped into the bay.

The Driftknight loomed ahead, its mismatched hull weathered and familiar, a scrap-built promise of safety. The moment her eyes landed on it, her posture shifted. Shoulders square. Steps longer. The panic from earlier had dulled, replaced by something colder, heavier.

The reprieve wouldn't last.

The clang of crates and the whir of lifters echoed through the air as the crew worked the offload. Kara stood at the top of the ramp, arms folded, eyes sharp. When she spotted Akiko, her expression darkened.

She waved her over. "We need to talk."

Kara stepped aside, away from the noise. Her arms stayed crossed as Akiko reached her.

"What happened with the inspector?"

Akiko hesitated a beat, scanning the nearby handlers before leaning in. "He flagged my record," she said quietly. "Haven's got something on me. It's redacted, but enough to catch his attention."

Kara's eyes narrowed. "What kind of something?"

"Just fragments," Akiko said. "Sovereign. Stygia. Anomaly. No details, just... noise."

"And how did you get him to walk away?"

Akiko shrugged, hoping vagueness would suffice. "I got creative."

Kara didn't blink. "Creative how."

Akiko shifted. "I might've implied I was a Haven operative. Deep cover."

There was a pause.

Then Kara exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course you did."

Akiko crossed her arms. "It worked."

"For now," Kara shot back. "Until someone actually checks. You think they won't follow up? If Haven starts digging and your name is attached to this ship, who do you think they're going to knock on first?"

Akiko didn't argue. She couldn't.

Kara's voice dropped, low and tight. "You made us a target."

"I know," Akiko said, her tone quieter. "I'll fix it. I'll find a way to clean it up."

"You'd better," Kara said, the words hard as alloy. "Because if Haven circles back, we burn for it. Not just you. All of us."

Akiko nodded, silent beneath the weight of it. She'd made a call. It had bought her time. But the cost was still stacking.

Kara's glare softened by degrees. Not to forgiveness, but calculation.

"Look," she said, tone cooling into purpose. "As much as you drive me insane, you're still the best shot we have at cracking Tarek's mystery before we're gone. You've got two weeks. After that, we're dust trail."

Akiko straightened. "Understood."

"Pull who you need," Kara added. "But don't grind the whole crew to a halt. We've got cargo to sell and credits to make."

Akiko gave a faint nod. "I'll keep it quiet."

Kara raised a brow. "You? Quiet?"

Akiko forced a smile. "Starting now."

Kara leaned in slightly. "We're scavengers, Akiko. Not spies. Keep that in mind the next time you decide to spin a cover story from nothing."

The rebuke stung, but Akiko took it. She deserved it.

"No harebrained schemes," she said softly.

"Good." Kara stepped back and glanced toward the cargo deck. "Clock's ticking. Get to work."

Akiko lingered a moment, watching her go. The bay bustled with motion. Crew moved like nothing had changed. But it had.

She'd bought time. Nothing more.

Two weeks.

That was all she had to uncover whatever secrets Tarek had sent them here to find, and to keep her lies from getting them all killed.

She stepped away from the Driftknight, letting the hum of Helios Terminal rise around her. The clang of freight haulers, the murmur of crowds, the ever-present machinery of the city. All of it blurred into a low, distant thrum.

She wasn't listening. Her thoughts were already turning ahead.

The job could wait, briefly. Her first priority was securing somewhere to operate from. The Driftknight was too visible, too closely tied to the crew. If things went sideways, she needed a bolt-hole. Something stable. Quiet.

A real bed wouldn't hurt either.

The thought drifted toward memory. The thrum of the Sovereign's engines beneath her, the warmth of Ethan's bed, his voice teasing her just before sleep. Simpler days.

She'd still been new to this world then, still asking questions, still pretending she could keep her head down.

Not anymore.

Now, she was tangled in the aftermath of anomalies and politics, carrying magic that stripped away her comfort, her anonymity, marked her as something dangerous. And in a place this volatile, danger was leverage.

Takuto overlaid a HUD map as she walked, outlining local lodging. Most were worker-grade bunkhouses. Cheap, loud, and forgettable.

But one was flagged with private quarters with reinforced doors and biometric locks. Enough comfort to think. Enough security to sleep.

She pinged it.

The route took her through quieter corridors, the crowd thinning. She kept her pace measured, posture relaxed, eyes always moving. Her illusion held steady, but habits were harder to mask. She checked every reflective panel, every motion too close behind her. Old instincts, still sharp.

The lodging facility was utilitarian: gray walls, recessed lights, and the faint scent of recycled air. A wall terminal handled check-in. Faceless, efficient. Akiko hesitated only briefly before submitting the credentials Kara had set up for her. They cleared.

A quiet green light. A room code. A hallway.

The door sealed behind her with a low hiss.

The room was small. One bed, one desk, a narrow washroom. A window looked out across the curve of the dome. Rows of scaffolding, clusters of habitat lights, a faint wash of greenery tucked into the gaps.

Not much. But enough.

Akiko sat on the edge of the bed, stretching slowly against the tug of real gravity. For the first time in weeks, her shoulders eased. She wasn't drifting anymore. Not physically. Not entirely.

She pulled up her HUD and began reviewing the job parameters. Tarek's intel pointed to a restricted facility, buried in Helios's industrial district. Access would be tricky. Visibility worse. But she'd find a way. She always did.

Kara's voice echoed back to her:

We're scavengers. Not spies.

Akiko smiled faintly.

Maybe they weren't. But she'd always been a rogue. That was more than enough.

Not just in the shadows. In the systems. In the cracks no one else knew to look for.

She leaned back, eyes drifting closed. Just for a moment.

Tomorrow, she'd start prying this city open.

Tonight, she'd let herself remember who she was.

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