## Chapter 1 — The Regular Harry had been buying books from Leo for long enough that neither of them remembered exactly when he had stopped being a customer. Not literally, of course. Money still changed hands. Leo still kept the register, still complained about storage costs, still produced receipts with the weary resentment of a man who believed bureaucracy had been invented specifically to interrupt interesting conversations. But somewhere over the years the ritual had changed. Harry no longer walked into the little Watson antiquarian shop and waited to be acknowledged. He pushed open the heavy glass door, listened to the familiar brass bell give its tired double chime, and called toward the back, “Still alive?” Leo's voice emerged from somewhere behind three leaning towers of books. “Unfortunately.” Harry smiled and closed the door behind him. The shop was exactly as badly organized as he remembered it from four days earlier. Which meant that, according to Leo, it was organized perfectly. Books occupied the actual shelves, obviously, but the shelves represented only the first defensive line. Further volumes had colonized the floor, the counter, two ancient chairs no human being had successfully sat in for years, and several reinforced plastic crates that had once contained machine parts and now held nineteenth-century engineering manuals. A narrow path remained between them. Leo called it the aisle. Harry called it evidence. Rain had followed him halfway across Watson, leaving the shoulders of his jacket dark and his hair damp. He paused inside long enough to shake off what he could without spraying anything valuable. From the back came an immediate warning. “If you damage the first-edition Burroughs, I'm charging you.” “You'd have to find it first.” “I know exactly where it is.” “That's what you said about the Heinlein.” “I found the Heinlein.” “Three months later.” Silence. Then: “Still found it.” Harry laughed softly and started through the maze. Leo finally appeared from behind one of the shelves carrying a mug in one hand and a thin stack of books in the other. He was somewhere past sixty, though Harry had stopped trying to guess exactly where. Tall enough that the low hanging lamp above the rear counter had developed a permanent enemy in him, with steel-grey hair that appeared to receive approximately thirty seconds of attention each morning and no more. Today he wore a faded dark sweater, old trousers, and the expression of a man who had already encountered several disappointing human beings before lunch. It improved marginally when he saw Harry. “You're wet.” “Observant.” “You have an umbrella.” “I own an umbrella.” “Those are not the same thing.” Harry glanced toward the windows. Rain ticked steadily against the glass. “I forgot it.” “You always forget it.” “That's why I own one.” Leo stared at him for a moment. “I sometimes wonder how you've survived this long.” “Modern medicine.” “That would imply you seek treatment.” Harry accepted the mug Leo pushed toward him. Coffee. Not offered. Simply transferred. That was another thing that had happened somewhere during the years. Harry took a cautious sip. “Jesus.” Leo continued toward the counter. “What?” “Did you filter this through a car battery?” “Then don't drink it.” Harry drank it again. Leo had already forgotten the exchange. That, too, was normal. Harry followed him toward the back of the shop, moving automatically around stacks he knew better than some streets. Leo placed his books beside an ancient terminal and immediately began sorting through a small crate sitting on the floor. Harry leaned against the counter. “Anything interesting?” “No.” “You always say that.” “Because you always ask before I know.” “You've had the crate for at least two days.” Leo looked up. “How do you know?” “It wasn't there Tuesday.” A small pause. Leo pointed one finger at him. “This is why regular customers are irritating.” “Because we notice inventory?” “Because you notice everything and then expect explanations.” Harry grinned. There had been a time when Leo had actually tried to sell him things. That period had lasted perhaps six months. After that, Leo had apparently concluded that Harry required neither salesmanship nor encouragement. If something interested him, he bought it. If it didn't, no amount of enthusiastic provenance would help. Harry's interests were broad enough to be economically dangerous. Old technical manuals. Pre-war cultural ephemera. Collections of urban myths. Obsolete computer documentation. Occult histories he didn't believe a word of but enjoyed anyway. Firsthand diaries. Travel journals. Bad speculative fiction. Good speculative fiction. Books whose authors had clearly lost their minds halfway through writing them. Especially those. Leo knew this. It explained why Harry's visits had gradually changed from shopping trips into something more like archaeological inspections. Sometimes he bought nothing. Sometimes he left carrying enough paper to make public transport inconvenient. Sometimes he and Leo simply talked for two hours. They had argued about whether authenticity mattered more than provenance, whether digitization preserved culture or merely its searchable corpse, whether modern collectors actually loved books or only possession, and once—over a damaged atlas neither of them particularly wanted—whether Night City had managed to become culturally old before it had ever become culturally mature. That argument had consumed most of an afternoon. Neither had won. Both had enjoyed it. Harry looked toward the crate. “Estate?” “Partly.” “That's not an answer.” “Mixed lot.” “Which means?” “It means someone bought material from someone who bought material from someone whose record keeping was apparently conducted by throwing invoices into the sea.” “Ah. Professional archival practice.” “Quite.” Leo lifted a book, checked the spine, made a noise that meant disappointment, and set it aside. Harry watched for another minute. “You already have three copies of that.” Leo didn't look up. “Four.” “The red one counts?” “The red one is a different printing.” “The red one is missing forty pages.” “Thirty-seven.” Harry took another sip of lethal coffee. “Your standards are fascinating.” “My standards are why this shop still exists.” “Your rent control is why this shop still exists.” Leo looked up again. “That too.” Harry smiled. Outside, a vehicle hissed through standing water. Somewhere farther down the block someone shouted, received an equally enthusiastic response, and apparently considered the matter settled. The shop swallowed most of Watson's noise. That was one reason Harry liked it. The place wasn't quiet exactly. It had its own sounds: the small fan inside Leo's terminal, the occasional creak of old shelving, paper shifting as temperature and humidity changed, the tiny metallic click whenever Leo put on or removed his reading glasses. But it was separate. A pocket of stubborn analog continuity surrounded by a city that considered anything older than ten years either collectible or disposable. Leo pulled another volume from the crate. “By the way.” Harry waited. Nothing followed. “That's normally where the rest of a sentence goes.” Leo turned the book over. “I remembered something.” “Congratulations.” “You're very amusing.” “I work at it.” “No, you don't. That's the problem.” Harry waited again. Leo frowned at the book in his hands, decided against whatever category it had briefly been assigned to, and placed it on a different pile. Then he nodded vaguely toward Harry. “You still following that mercenary woman?” Harry nearly inhaled the coffee. “That's an aggressively incomplete description.” Leo's mouth twitched. “Ace.” There it was. Harry put the mug down. “You know her name perfectly well.” “I wanted to see if you'd correct me.” “You're an asshole.” “Regular customers permit liberties.” Harry shook his head. Leo knew about Ace for roughly the same reason Leo knew about most of Harry's interests: Harry had talked. Not incessantly. At least that was the version Harry preferred. There had certainly been conversations. Ace was difficult not to talk about. Especially in Night City. Half the city treated her like an urban myth wearing shorts and carrying swords. The other half had apparently witnessed enough evidence to stop using the word myth. Harry had followed her exploits for years. Not professionally. Not obsessively, despite what Leo occasionally implied. He simply found her fascinating. Small enough that first impressions invariably underestimated her. Fast enough that footage sometimes had to be slowed before movements made sense. Twin blades with that impossible emerald frequency. The violet eyes. The dry little expressions caught in photographs taken just before or just after someone else's day became significantly worse. And, yes. Harry was attracted to her. Extremely. Leo also knew that. Unfortunately. There were disadvantages to long-term near-friendship. “You're changing the subject,” Harry said. “I haven't started the subject.” “Then why mention Ace?” Leo shrugged. “Something reminded me of you.” “That statement has never ended well.” “Probably not.” Harry narrowed his eyes. Leo had already turned away. That was suspicious. Not dramatically suspicious. Leo wasn't capable of theatrical mystery if his life depended on it. His idea of suspense was remembering halfway through a conversation that he had left something in the back room. Still. Harry knew him. There had been something in the tone. “What?” “Nothing.” “Leo.” “Harry.” “You have the subtlety of an industrial accident.” “And yet you keep coming here.” “Because sometimes the industrial accident has good books.” Leo gave him a flat look. “There's a sentence for the review page.” Harry reached toward the crate. Leo slapped the back of his hand without looking. “Don't.” Harry withdrew it. “I was helping.” “You were contaminating my sorting process.” “You don't have a sorting process.” “I do.” “Explain it.” “No.” “Because you can't.” “Because you're not qualified.” Harry glanced around the shop. One stack beside the counter contained, from top to bottom, a cybernetics repair guide, an illustrated history of European funerary architecture, a battered romance novel, two volumes of political memoirs, and something written entirely in Polish. “Clearly.” Leo followed his gaze. “Those are temporary.” “They've been there since March.” “Temporary is relative.” Harry laughed. For the next half hour, nothing remarkable happened. That would matter later. At the time it was simply another visit. Harry wandered. Leo worked. They discussed a newly arrived collection of pre-collapse technical manuals. Harry found a monograph on obsolete neural-interface standards and spent ten minutes debating whether forty-eight eurodollars was insulting. Leo informed him that the price would become fifty-two if he continued complaining. Harry bought it for forty-eight. They argued briefly about an old conspiracy anthology whose author had managed to attribute five unrelated twentieth-century events to the same secret society despite those events occurring on three continents and requiring at least two of the conspirators to be dead simultaneously. Harry considered buying that one too. Leo advised against it. This nearly convinced Harry. Eventually the rain weakened. Grey daylight brightened the front windows enough to show their accumulated dust. Harry checked the time. “I should go.” “You said that twenty minutes ago.” “I meant it aspirationally.” “You have somewhere to be?” “Yes.” Leo raised an eyebrow. Harry sighed. “No.” “Then you're still lying.” “I have things to do.” “Such as?” “Things.” “Compelling.” Harry picked up his purchased technical manual. Then he noticed Leo looking toward the rear wall. Not at him. Past him. Harry followed the line of sight. Nothing obvious. Shelves. Crates. A narrow door leading to Leo's storage room. He looked back. “What?” Leo remained still for another second. Then he frowned. Not ominously. More like a man who had remembered leaving groceries in the car. “Wait.” And disappeared into the back. Harry stared after him. “That's reassuring.” No answer. Something shifted behind the door. Then another object. Leo muttered something indistinct. Harry leaned on the counter again. “Need excavation equipment?” “Shut up.” More movement. A dull thump. Harry winced. “If you've died, I'm taking the first-edition Burroughs.” “You'll never find it.” “Then I'll take the Heinlein.” “That isn't funny.” “It was funny three months ago.” Leo reappeared. He was carrying a book. Harry's amusement faded almost immediately. Not because the object looked threatening. It didn't. It simply looked old. Very old. Not elegantly old, either. There was no polished collector's presentation, no decorative restoration, no protective casing. The book was thick but not enormous, perhaps the width of Harry's hand across the spine, bound in dark material that might once have been leather but had aged into something duller and harder to identify at a glance. No title marked the cover. No author's name. The corners were worn. The spine bore faint impressions where something might once have been stamped or painted, but whatever had been there was nearly gone. Leo carried it carefully. That alone caught Harry's attention. Leo placed it on the counter between them. Dust rose faintly. Harry looked at the book. Then at Leo. Leo looked back. “What?” Harry pointed. “You went into the back room and returned with an unidentified ancient book after asking whether I'm still interested in Ace.” “Yes.” “You understand how that sequence sounds.” Leo considered this. “No.” Harry stared at him. Leo sighed. “That's why I remembered it. There was something inside.” “Inside the book?” “Usually where text is kept.” “Thanks buddy.” “You're welcome.” Harry looked down again. “What kind of something?” Leo shrugged. “Not sure.” That was interesting. Leo disliked saying that. Harry reached toward the cover, then stopped before touching it. “May I?” Leo's eyebrows rose. “Look at you. Civilization.” “I'm capable of growth.” “No evidence so far, but go ahead.” Harry put his fingers against the cover. The material was cool. Dry. Ordinary. He lifted it carefully. The hinge resisted slightly before yielding with the quiet stiffness of something that had remained closed too long. The first visible page carried lines of faded handwriting above a block of printed text in a language Harry didn't immediately recognize. Another hand had written something in the margin. Different ink. Different age. He turned one page. Then another. Illustrations appeared between dense passages—geometric forms, fragments of symbols, astronomical-looking diagrams that did not seem to correspond to any star chart he knew. Harry frowned. “Where did this come from?” “Mixed acquisition.” “That answer was bad the first time.” “It hasn't improved.” “You have records?” “Some.” “Age?” “Don't know yet.” “Language?” “Several.” Harry looked up. Leo was watching him now. Not knowingly. Not dramatically. Just with the mild satisfaction of someone who had correctly predicted that a particular piece of junk would interest a particular friend. Harry looked back down. Several pages farther in, the handwriting changed again. A phrase had been underlined by someone decades—or centuries—after the original printing. Harry couldn't read the surrounding passage. But that line was in English. He stared at it. Leo took a sip from his own coffee. “That's the bit.” Harry read the words once. Then again. **Blood Red Sandman.** He slowly looked at Leo. Leo shrugged. “You see why I thought of you.” Harry looked back at the page. For perhaps the first time that afternoon, he had absolutely nothing sarcastic to say. Leo smiled faintly. “Interesting?” Harry's fingers remained resting against the edge of the old paper. “Yeah.” Outside, the rain finally stopped. Inside the little Watson shop, surrounded by badly stacked books, murderous coffee, and years of ordinary conversation, Harry kept staring at three words that should not have meant anything. They did. And Leo, entirely unaware that he had just placed the opening move of something impossible onto his counter, began sorting another crate. --- ## Chapter 2 — No Charge Harry read the words a third time. **Blood Red Sandman.** They did not improve with repetition. They did, however, continue existing. He glanced at the surrounding text again, hoping context would make the phrase less peculiar. It didn't. The paragraph around it was printed in a language he could almost identify and then couldn't. Something old enough to have survived several linguistic divorces, perhaps. Latin was present elsewhere on the page, or at least something close enough to Latin that Harry recognized fragments, but the section containing the underlined English phrase appeared to be something else entirely. The handwriting in the margin didn't help. Three separate hands, as far as he could tell. One cramped and angular. One almost decorative. One hurried enough to suggest whoever had written it expected either inspiration or police. Harry leaned closer. Leo continued sorting books. “You're remarkably calm about this.” “About what?” Harry tapped beside the underlined words. “About an old unidentified book containing a phrase associated with one of Night City's most recognizable mercenaries.” Leo looked over. “Associated how?” Harry stared at him. “You asked if I still followed Ace.” “Yes.” “And then showed me this.” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you once spent forty minutes explaining the phrase to me.” Harry opened his mouth. Closed it again. That sounded plausible. Uncomfortably plausible. “When?” Leo's eyebrows went up. “How would I know?” “You remember the phrase but not the conversation?” “I remember things worth remembering.” “Charming.” “You were drinking my coffee.” “That doesn't narrow it down.” “You were complaining about footage from some club.” Harry stopped. There it was. A little fragment of memory shifted into place. Music. A dance floor. A strange interruption that had circulated through several feeds afterward because nobody seemed able to explain it. He had indeed discussed it with Leo. Possibly at length. Probably at greater length than he now wished to admit. Harry looked back at the page. “Right.” Leo made a satisfied noise. “I thought so.” “It still shouldn't be here.” “Why not?” “Because this book looks old.” “So?” “So the phrase isn't.” Leo stopped sorting. Harry could almost see him deciding whether the resulting conversation was worth having. Eventually curiosity won. “How old is the phrase?” “As far as this context goes? Recent.” “That isn't an age.” “I don't know exactly when the club incident happened.” “You follow her.” “I don't maintain a spreadsheet.” Leo's expression suggested otherwise. Harry pointed at him. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” “No. I was thinking.” “Worse.” Leo picked up his coffee. Harry turned several pages backward. Then forward. He found the phrase again. Same place. Same ink. Same underline. The English itself looked handwritten rather than printed. That mattered. At least, he told himself it mattered. The book could be old while the annotation was recent. Someone could have added the phrase yesterday. Or ten years ago. The page gave no immediate answer. Harry brought it closer to the light. The ink was faded. Not enough for him to date it. Enough to be irritating. “Do you have a magnifier?” Leo stared at him. Harry looked around at the antiquarian shop. “Stupid question.” “Drawer.” Harry already knew which one. He moved behind the counter, opened the second drawer from the left, found two magnifiers, a folding knife, three pencils, a box of ancient data connectors and something that might once have been a biscuit. He chose the magnifier. “Do you ever clean this?” “No.” “I know. I don't know why I asked.” He returned to the book. Under magnification, the English phrase became no more cooperative. The ink had seeped slightly into the paper fibers. The underline appeared to have been made by the same hand. There were faint marks above it, perhaps erased writing or transfer from the opposite page. Harry tilted the volume. “Interesting.” Leo sighed. “What now?” “I don't think it's recent.” “Based on?” “Absolutely insufficient evidence.” “Excellent.” “The ink isn't sitting on the page like something new.” “Harry.” “I said insufficient.” Leo returned to the crate. Harry continued examining the page. He was aware of the small spark of excitement beginning somewhere behind his ribs. Not supernatural excitement. Nothing so dramatic. The feeling was familiar. He got it whenever something refused to fit cleanly into the category where it had been placed. An old technical manuscript containing a later correction that turned out to predate the technology it supposedly corrected. A travel diary describing a building that archival maps insisted had never existed. A book printed under a publisher's mark that had gone bankrupt five years before the stated publication date. Usually there was an explanation. Wrong dates. Rebinding. Forged provenance. Translation errors. Collectors embellishing history because ordinary ownership never sounded expensive enough. Harry liked the explanations almost as much as the mysteries. Sometimes more. Reality was usually stranger when examined closely enough. He flipped carefully toward the front. No proper title page. That was irritating. There were remnants of one, perhaps, but several leaves appeared to be missing. Not torn recently. The damage was old. The next complete page held a block of dense text surrounded by handwritten annotations. Harry turned another. A diagram. A circle intersected by seven narrow lines. Not occult-looking in the theatrical sense. No skulls. No horned figures. No obvious pentagrams. If anything, it looked mathematical. Which made it worse. He looked at Leo. “You've gone through this?” “Enough to know I don't want to.” “That bad?” “That tedious.” Harry smiled. “That's not the same thing.” “It is when you have invoices.” “Show me the acquisition record.” “No.” “Why?” “Because I'm working.” “You're sorting four copies of the same book.” “Different printings.” “One is missing thirty-seven pages.” “And yet you've retained that fact.” Harry held out his hand. Leo ignored it. “Leo.” “No.” “Leo.” “You'll start reading the whole manifest and then ask about six other things.” “I promise I won't.” Leo looked directly at him. Harry withdrew his hand. “Fine. I might.” “Might.” “I will.” “Yes.” “Eventually.” “Which is why the answer is no.” Harry looked back at the book. “Can I borrow it?” Leo stopped. The question hung there for perhaps two seconds. Harry immediately understood that he had used the wrong word. Leo's entire business model depended on people eventually returning borrowed material, and Leo possessed a philosophical objection to trusting that this would happen. “I mean, take it home for a few days.” “No.” Harry sighed. “Expected.” “You'll put coffee on it.” “I don't put coffee on books.” “You nearly put coffee on a nineteenth-century surgery manual.” “One time.” “You said the table was level.” “The table lied.” “Tables don't lie.” “That one did.” Leo set another volume aside. Harry closed the strange book carefully. The cover had no ornamentation beyond the almost-vanished markings on the spine. Even those might have been simple wear rather than lettering. He ran a thumb near one corner without touching the fragile edge. “How much?” Leo didn't answer. Harry waited. “How much?” Leo continued sorting. “That means you're calculating.” “No.” “Leo.” The older man finally looked at him. “What?” “The book.” “What about it?” “How much?” Leo stared at Harry. Then at the book. Then back at Harry. “Take it.” Harry waited for the rest. It didn't come. He laughed once. “No, seriously.” “So am I.” Harry looked down at the volume. Then back at Leo. “This?” “Yes.” “For free?” “Yes.” “Why?” Leo's face changed very slightly. Not mystery. Annoyance. The irritation of a man being asked to justify an act he had not considered important enough to require justification. “Because I don't know what it is.” “That usually makes things more expensive in here.” “Only if I think someone else will pay for them.” “Someone would buy this.” “Yes. Eventually.” “For more than zero.” “Probably.” “So—” “Harry.” The tone ended the accounting discussion. Harry stopped. Leo leaned one hip against the counter. “You've been coming here how long?” “I thought we established neither of us knows.” “Long enough.” “Okay.” “You've bought enough from me.” Harry glanced toward the technical manual he had just paid forty-eight eurodollars for. “Apparently not enough for a discount on neural-interface standards.” “That had a price.” “This doesn't?” “It has whatever price I give it.” “That sounds suspiciously like how prices work.” “Good. You're learning.” Harry smiled despite himself. Leo gestured toward the old book. “I got it in a mixed lot. I paid for the lot, not that book. I haven't catalogued it. I don't know the language. I don't know the age. It's missing pages. The binding needs work. And if I put it into inventory, you're going to come in twice a week and ask if I've researched it.” Harry considered objecting. Couldn't. Leo continued. “It reminded me of you. You like weird things.” “That's an insult.” “It isn't.” “It absolutely is.” “Take the book.” Harry looked at it again. Something about the sheer casualness of the offer made him hesitate more than a price would have. He and Leo exchanged things occasionally. A coffee. A cheap reprint. A replacement cable. Once Harry had fixed the shop's old terminal after Leo refused for three weeks to pay someone to do it. Leo had responded by giving him an out-of-print collection of Japanese ghost stories Harry had been eyeing for months. Neither of them had called that payment. Neither had needed to. Still, this was different enough to make Harry uncomfortable. “It might be valuable.” “So might the damaged atlas you refused to buy.” “That atlas was printed upside down.” “Rare variant.” “It was defective.” “Unique.” “It was garbage.” “You see? Value is subjective.” Harry pointed at the book. “If I take this home and it turns out to be some eighteenth-century unique manuscript worth fifty thousand—” “Then you'll come back and tell me.” That stopped him. Leo's expression remained completely matter-of-fact. Harry looked at him for a long second. “That's unfair.” “What?” “You know I would.” “Yes.” “So you're using my ethics against me.” “Seems efficient.” Harry laughed. “Asshole.” “Regular customer.” “Apparently ex-customer, if you're just giving inventory away now.” Leo picked up another book. “Take it before I change my mind.” Harry's hand went to the cover. Stopped. “One condition.” Leo closed his eyes briefly. “There is always a condition.” “If I find out it's actually worth real money, we revisit this.” “No.” “Leo.” “No.” “At least let me tell you.” “You'll tell me anyway.” “Yes.” “So why are we negotiating?” Harry stared at him. There were times when arguing with Leo felt less like conversation and more like repeatedly walking into a wall to determine whether physics had changed. He gave up. Temporarily. “Fine.” “Good.” Harry lifted the book. It had more weight than expected. Dense paper. Heavy binding. Old things often felt heavier than modern objects of the same size, though Harry suspected that was mostly psychology. He opened the front again and looked at the missing title leaves. “You really don't want to know what this is?” Leo considered. “I want _you_ to know what it is.” Harry looked up. That landed differently. Leo seemed to realize it had sounded almost sentimental and immediately ruined it. “Then you can save me the work.” “There you are.” “Take it.” Harry smiled. “Thanks, buddy.” Leo waved a hand. Harry placed the old book carefully beside the technical manual. Then stopped. He had no bag suitable for both. Leo noticed. “Oh, for God's sake.” “What?” “You came to a bookshop without a bag.” “I wasn't planning a major acquisition.” “You always buy something.” “I bought one thing.” “You now have two.” “Your arithmetic remains excellent.” Leo disappeared beneath the counter and returned with a battered reusable carrier bearing the logo of a grocery chain that had stopped operating in Night City years earlier. Harry held it up. “This belongs in your inventory.” “It has no ISBN.” “Give it time.” Harry packed the technical manual first, then reconsidered and placed the old book flat beneath it. No. Bad idea. He took both out. Leo watched. “You've become remarkably protective of something you've owned for forty seconds.” “The cover is fragile.” “It survived whatever happened to the rest of it.” “That isn't a storage recommendation.” Harry put the technical manual vertically along one side and settled the older book against it with his jacket folded between them. Leo's eyebrows rose. “You're using your jacket as padding.” “Yes.” “It is wet.” Harry froze. Leo's mouth twitched. Harry removed the jacket. “You could have stopped me earlier.” “I wanted to see how long it took.” “Have I mentioned you're an asshole?” “Several times.” Harry eventually found a stack of obsolete catalog flyers and used those as padding instead. Satisfied, he picked up the bag. Leo had returned to sorting. That was apparently the end of the ceremony. Harry stood there another moment. “So we're really doing this?” Leo looked at him. “You're holding the bag.” “Strong evidence.” “Go home, Harry.” “You're throwing me out?” “I'd like to finish before midnight.” “You'll still be here at midnight.” “Yes, but I'd like to pretend it's voluntary.” Harry moved toward the front. Halfway there, Leo called after him. “Harry.” He turned. Leo pointed toward the bag. “If you work out what that thing is—” Harry smiled. “I'll tell you.” “Good.” Nothing ominous followed. No warning to be careful. No strange qualification. No meaningful look. Leo simply bent down to retrieve another book. Harry reached the door. The brass bell gave a tired chime as he opened it. Watson smelled like wet pavement, exhaust and food from somewhere nearby. The rain had stopped completely, leaving reflections of signs scattered across the street in broken strips of neon. Harry stepped outside. The bag felt heavy against his leg. He looked down at it. **Blood Red Sandman.** Three words. Maybe an old annotation. Maybe a joke whose context had disappeared. Maybe somebody had written it recently in an old book and artificially aged the ink. Maybe the entire volume was an elaborate reproduction. Maybe Leo had just handed him something genuinely unusual. Harry smiled. That was the fun part. Finding out. Behind him the shop door opened again. Harry turned. Leo leaned through it. “You forgot your coffee.” Harry looked at the mug in Leo's hand. Then at the bag. “Keep it.” “You drank most of it.” “I'd like to continue having internal organs.” Leo nodded. “Sensible.” He disappeared inside. The door closed. Harry laughed to himself and started walking. He made it twelve meters before stopping. Slowly, he looked back at the shop. Then down at the bag. He had spent enough years around old books to know that the first rule of unidentified material was simple: Don't build a theory before you've examined the object. The second was equally simple: Don't assume strange means important. Harry resumed walking. He would get home. Make real coffee. Clear the table. Photograph the binding. Check the paper. Identify as many languages as he could. Search the phrases that looked searchable. Maybe message Leo later and complain that he'd been given three kilograms of incomprehensible religious accounting. Ordinary work. Patient work. The good kind. At the next intersection, Harry shifted the bag into his other hand. The old book settled against the technical manual with a soft, heavy movement. He didn't hear anything unusual. Didn't feel anything. Didn't notice the faintest change in the world around him. There was no reason he should have. The book was only a book. Harry carried it home. --- ## Chapter 3 — Blood Red Sandman Harry cleared the table. That took longer than expected. His apartment was not untidy in any meaningful sense, but it had accumulated the ordinary debris of a person who used horizontal surfaces with confidence. Two mugs. A dismantled connector housing. Three data shards. A folded jacket. A stack of notes from a project he had promised himself he would finish last week. A small screwdriver set. And, for reasons he could no longer remember, a single sock. Harry picked up the sock. Stared at it. Put it somewhere else. Problem solved. The old book remained inside Leo's ancient grocery bag near the door while Harry finished creating a suitably clear work area. He washed his hands. Made coffee. Real coffee. Then returned to the bag. For a moment he simply looked at it. Nothing had changed. No movement. No strange light. No whispering. No improbable shadows stretching toward him from beneath the table. Good. Harry had read enough terrible occult fiction to know that if the book started whispering before he had even opened it properly, he would be morally obligated to throw it out the window. Possibly while screaming. Instead he lifted it carefully from the bag and placed it flat on the table. The apartment lighting was better than Leo's shop. Under a clean neutral lamp, the volume looked less mysterious and more damaged. Which Harry preferred. Mystery was exciting. Damage was information. He began with photographs. Front cover. Back. Spine. Corners. Page block. The remnants of whatever markings had once existed along the binding. Close images under angled light. Then another set with a small portable scanner he normally used for electronics work but had discovered was surprisingly useful for old paper. He did not force the cover open wider than it wanted to go. Leo would have approved. Probably. Harry sat down. Coffee on the other side of the table. Far from the book. He looked at the mug. Then at the volume. “Learning.” The book offered no opinion. Harry opened it. The first problem was that it did not seem to be one book. Not really. The binding suggested a single compiled object, but the contents were far less unified. Different paper stocks appeared throughout. Some heavier. Some thin enough for ink from the reverse side to show through. Sections had been stitched in ways that looked original. Others had clearly been inserted later. Printed passages changed typeface. Handwritten pages interrupted them. Margins sometimes contained notes in ink that appeared newer than the text beneath them, only for those notes to be overwritten by another hand. Someone had drawn diagrams directly across printed paragraphs. Someone else had crossed them out. Several pages had been cut away completely. Harry leaned back. “Well, you're a mess.” He opened a language recognition tool on his terminal. Not because he trusted it. Because it was fast. He photographed several sample passages and fed them in. Latin. Maybe. A form of German. Possibly. French. Definitely, in one section. Something Slavic. The system suggested Polish and then revised itself to Czech before giving up. Another passage produced no useful match at all. Harry tried manual transcription. Same result. One page was mostly numbers. Another contained what looked like astronomical tables, except several of the symbols were unfamiliar. He zoomed in on one. Then searched. Nothing exact. Similar forms appeared in alchemical references. Others in early navigational notation. One matched a decorative mark from an entirely unrelated manuscript tradition. Harry frowned. “That's helpful.” He kept going. An hour passed. Then another. The book resisted classification not because any individual part was impossible, but because the parts refused to belong together. A sixteenth-century-looking diagram beside handwriting that appeared nineteenth-century. A printed block resembling religious commentary interrupted by measurements. A page of something almost botanical followed by a geometric construction. A paragraph whose translation tool returned terms including _threshold_, _witness_, _binding_, and _sleep_, though Harry had little confidence in any of them. He wrote the words down anyway. Not because they were meaningful. Because that was what you did. You recorded first. Interpreted later. Eventually he reached the page Leo had shown him. **Blood Red Sandman.** Under the cleaner light, the phrase looked stranger. Not because of its content. Because of its age. Harry pulled the lamp closer. The letters were clearly handwritten. The ink had penetrated the paper. There was oxidation around the darker portions. The underline showed the same aging pattern. He photographed it at high resolution. Then searched for signs of artificial antiquing. He found dozens of methods. Tea staining. Chemical oxidation. Heat. UV exposure. Pigments designed to mimic iron gall. All possible. None immediately useful. Harry enlarged the image. The surrounding annotations used at least two different inks. The English phrase seemed older than one of them. Maybe. He stopped himself. “Don't guess.” He took a sip of coffee. Then opened an archive search. **"Blood Red Sandman"** Thousands of garbage results. Music commentary. Fan edits. Mercenary discussion boards. Conspiracy threads. A clipped video from the dance-floor incident. Harry clicked that one. The footage lasted twenty-three seconds. He had seen it before. Several times. Possibly more than several. Ace and Mai were visible among a crowded floor, partially obscured by moving bodies and club lighting. Then the music cut. Not faded. Cut. A voice—if it was a voice—carried across the room. **Blood Red Sandman.** The recording distorted immediately afterward. People reacted. Ace and Mai reacted. Not dramatically. Which somehow made it more interesting. The clip ended. Harry watched again. Then once more. He paused on Ace. Small. Still. Head slightly turned. The violet of her eyes barely visible in the lighting. Harry smiled despite himself. “Yeah.” There were attractions one could explain politely. There were others where explanation only made the situation worse. Ace belonged firmly in the second category. Harry closed the video before his research methodology deteriorated further. Back to the book. He searched older databases. No meaningful result. He removed quotation marks. Too broad. He searched fragments. _red sandman._ _crimson sandman._ _blood sand man._ Translations. Older folklore terminology. Dream figures. Sleep spirits. Execution myths. War songs. Nothing matched cleanly. Harry sat back again. That did not mean anything. Three English words could occur independently anywhere. The phrase could have been added recently. The book could have passed through the hands of someone who had seen the same Night City footage. Harry checked the dance-floor incident date. Then looked at his photograph of the ink. He rubbed his jaw. “Still not guessing.” He needed dating. Proper dating. Not visual speculation. He could ask Leo whether he knew a paper conservator willing to inspect an unidentified volume without immediately turning the process into paperwork. He made a note. Then kept reading. The section around **Blood Red Sandman** was irritatingly fragmented. Several lines were handwritten in English. Not complete sentences. More like translation notes. **red witness** **sleep beneath blood** **the sand does not bury** **name carried forward** Harry read that last one twice. Then shook his head. Too easy to make nonsense sound profound when context was missing. He turned the page. A diagram occupied most of it. Concentric circles. Five marks around the perimeter. A narrow central shape that looked almost like an eye if you wanted it to. Harry deliberately did not want it to. He turned another page. Dense text. Another language. Margin notes in English. **subject not object** Harry paused. That was clearer. Below it: **distance irrelevant?** Question mark included. Then: **voice sufficient** Harry leaned closer. Several words had been struck through beneath the note. He tried enhancing the photograph. One became partially visible. **calling** Maybe. Another looked like: **obedience** Harry stopped moving. Not fear. Attention. There was a subtle difference. He zoomed further. The letters remained ambiguous. Could have been _obedience_. Could have been something else. The next page contained a set of instructions. Or something formatted like instructions. Short lines. Repeated symbols. Indented phrases. Harry stared. “Hello.” This was new. Most of the book so far had been commentary, diagrams, fragments, references. This looked procedural. He photographed it. The recognition tool struggled. Latin again. Or pseudo-Latin. Several repeated words returned inconsistent translations. **call** **bring** **bind** **near** **will** Harry's expression flattened. “Of course.” Every weird old book eventually became dramatic if translated badly enough. He tried a different translation engine. Results: **summon** **approach** **hold** **speaker** **desire** Harry laughed once. “Much better.” He saved both outputs. Then found a handwritten English note in the lower margin. The handwriting was different from the Blood Red Sandman annotation. Cleaner. More recent. Though “recent” could still mean a century. It read: **Not summoning. Direction of a living subject.** Harry's smile disappeared. He read it again. Below: **Control depends upon clarity of designation.** Harry looked away from the page. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of ventilation. He looked back. “Right.” This was exactly the sort of material he enjoyed. Ancient ritual theory written by people who apparently believed human intention could be treated like engineering. Fascinating. Absurd. Potentially revealing about how the writer understood agency, identity, authority. Historically interesting. Psychologically interesting. Absolutely not real. Harry turned the page. Another English annotation. **Image may substitute for true name if association is sufficiently fixed.** He stopped again. That one was better. Or worse. He wasn't sure. He read forward. The procedural section continued for several pages. Not entirely readable. Enough structure existed to infer sequence. Preparation. Designation. Verbal component. Concentration. Repetition. Some kind of closing line. And references—if the rough translations were remotely accurate—to movement, obedience, proximity and intention. Harry wrote a note: **Possibly coercive ritual text / symbolic control structure.** Then underneath: **Could be theatrical reconstruction rather than actual belief.** Then: **Compare European grimoires / folk binding traditions.** That made it ordinary again. Good. Harry kept going. Near the end of the section, another handwritten passage appeared in English. Longer this time. The ink looked relatively modern compared with the oldest material, but still not remotely fresh. Harry read slowly. **The subject is not created, altered, or replaced. The subject remains themselves. Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.** Harry's fingers stopped at the bottom of the page. That was unpleasantly specific. He leaned back. For the first time since opening the book at home, his excitement cooled. Not because he believed it. Because whoever had written this had understood the moral problem. There was no ambiguity in the language. This was not a love charm written as poetry. Not an invocation of a spirit. Not symbolic marriage. Not luck. It described control. Of a living person. Harry looked at the page for a while. “That's fucked.” The book remained silent. He turned another page. The ritual section ended abruptly. Three leaves had been removed. Not torn. Cut. Old damage. Harry checked the binding. The missing pages had been gone a very long time. He photographed the gap. Then returned to the procedural section. He read it again from the beginning. More carefully. This time he noticed something else. In the margin beside the line describing designation was a tiny symbol. The same symbol appeared several pages earlier. Beside **Blood Red Sandman**. Harry frowned. He flipped back. There. Not identical. Almost. A small shape formed from three intersecting strokes. He compared the images on his terminal. Same hand? Impossible to say. Same symbol? Probably. Meaning? Unknown. Harry sat still. Then laughed softly at himself. “No.” He knew what his brain was doing. Pattern recognition. The human mind's favorite way to manufacture significance. He had an old book. He had a phrase associated with Ace. He had a ritual that claimed to direct a living subject. His mind had immediately placed the three things in a line. That did not mean the book had. Harry closed his eyes. Opened them again. He looked toward the paused video thumbnail on his terminal. Ace was still frozen there. Violet eyes. Short dark hair. Expression unreadable. Harry looked back at the ritual. Then at the phrase. Then at Ace again. A thought arrived. He rejected it immediately. “No.” The thought returned. Not because it was compelling. Because it was ridiculous. Harry pushed his chair back and stood. He walked to the kitchen. Refilled his coffee. Did not look at the book for several minutes. That helped. Slightly. When he returned, he closed the video. Then he wrote another note in capital letters. **DO NOT CONFUSE COINCIDENCE WITH CONNECTION.** He stared at it. Satisfied. Then added: **ALSO DO NOT DO STUPID SHIT JUST BECAUSE A DEAD PERSON WROTE INSTRUCTIONS.** Better. Harry sat down again. The sensible next step was provenance. Translation. Dating. Comparison against known ritual texts. Find out whether the English annotations were genuinely old. Find out whether **Blood Red Sandman** existed anywhere before Night City's dance-floor incident. Find out whether the supposed control ritual belonged to a recognizable tradition. That was research. Real research. Harry turned back several pages to the beginning of the ritual section. The closing line was partially legible there. He sounded out one word silently. Then another. Stopped. No reason to read it aloud. Obviously. Harry smiled. “I'm not that stupid.” A moment passed. Then he looked at the page again. The ritual, if it could even be called that, claimed to direct a living person. At a distance. By designation. Possibly through an image. Utter nonsense. Harry knew that. Which was precisely why the thought would not leave him alone. Because impossible things were safe to examine. Harry's eyes moved once more toward the closed video window. He knew exactly who his mind had selected as the hypothetical subject. That part was not subtle. He was strongly attracted to Ace. Leo knew it. Harry knew it. Anyone with access to his viewing history could probably establish it within five minutes. But attraction did not change the obvious ethical answer. If the ritual were real, using it on someone would be wrong. Full stop. Harry looked at the old page. Then laughed quietly. “If.” There it was. The smallest word in the room. And suddenly the most dangerous one. He closed the book. Not dramatically. Just enough for the cover to settle over the pages. Research could continue tomorrow. After sleep. After proper translation. After his imagination had stopped trying to turn an interesting artifact into something personal. Harry carried his coffee toward the couch. Behind him, the old book remained exactly where he had left it. Closed. Ordinary. Impossible. For almost ten minutes, Harry did not look back at it. Then he did. --- ## Chapter 4 — Impossible Harry slept badly. Not because of the book. That was what he told himself. The book had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he woke twice during the night, looked toward the table, and found the dark rectangle of the closed cover exactly where he had left it. Nothing to do with the fact that his dreams contained fragments of diagrams he couldn't quite reconstruct after waking. Nothing to do with the phrase. **Blood Red Sandman.** Nothing to do with Ace. Especially nothing to do with Ace. By morning, Harry had constructed a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of it. He had spent hours reading fragmented occult material immediately before going to bed. Of course his brain had recycled it. Dreams did that. Human cognition was cheap with leftovers. He stood in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee and looked toward the table. The book looked completely ordinary in daylight. Old. Damaged. Interesting. That was all. Harry took a drink. “See?” The book remained unconvinced. He frowned at himself. “I'm talking to a book.” That was probably a worse sign than the dreams. He sat down. The notes from last night remained beside the terminal. **DO NOT CONFUSE COINCIDENCE WITH CONNECTION.** Below that: **ALSO DO NOT DO STUPID SHIT JUST BECAUSE A DEAD PERSON WROTE INSTRUCTIONS.** Harry read both. “Good advice.” He opened the book. The procedural section remained exactly where he had left it. No new words. No altered diagrams. No mysterious message addressed specifically to him. Again, good. Harry spent the next hour doing what he should have done from the beginning. Research. Not fantasy. He ran more language comparisons. Found partial matches. Rejected several because the source databases were too contaminated by modern reproductions. Checked the structure of the symbols against scanned grimoires. Some similarities. Nothing conclusive. He searched ritual traditions involving spoken designation. Too many. Names had always mattered in magic. Names mattered in law too. In security. In databases. In human relationships. That did not make magic real. He found references to charms intended to bring lovers closer. Others meant to command obedience. Some were explicitly coercive. Most were badly documented. A few were obvious later inventions presented as ancient material because “written in 1997 by a bored occultist in Ohio” sold less dramatically than “forbidden rite recovered from Europe.” Harry smiled. There. That was more like it. He searched for image-based designation. Again, plenty. Sympathetic magic. Effigies. Portraits. Hair. Blood. Personal objects. Nothing unusual. The book's claim that an image could substitute for a true name if “association was sufficiently fixed” fit comfortably inside a long history of people believing representation could affect reality. Interesting. Historically ordinary. Physically impossible. Harry leaned back. That last word mattered. Impossible. He said it aloud. “Impossible.” Better. He looked at the ritual again. The translated fragments were still ugly. **bring** **bind** **approach** **will** He tapped one finger against the table. If real, wrong. No question. If real, using it on anyone would be grotesque. That part remained simple. But it wasn't real. That was equally simple. Harry knew electricity worked. Knew how systems failed. Knew enough about neural interfaces to understand that behavior could be altered through technology. He knew drugs could affect judgment. Braindance could manipulate perception. Cyberware could be compromised. Signals could be spoofed. People could be coerced through money, fear, leverage, addiction, blackmail, ideology, authority. All real. All mechanisms. An old book using spoken nonsense to reach across Night City and redirect another human being? No transmitter. No implant access. No network. No line of effect. No mechanism. No possibility. Harry looked toward the terminal. A paused still of Ace remained inside one of his research folders. He had closed the video last night. The image was still there because he'd saved it for comparison against the Blood Red Sandman material. Research. Technically. He opened it. Ace looked toward something outside the frame. Short dark hair. Violet eyes. Compact body held with that deceptive stillness that footage had taught Harry to distrust. She always looked as though gravity had signed a separate agreement with her. Harry exhaled through his nose. “Problem.” The problem was not the book. The problem was that his hypothetical test subject had never really been hypothetical. He knew that. Had known it almost immediately. The book mentioned a phrase he associated with Ace. The ritual claimed a person could be designated through a sufficiently fixed image or association. Harry was strongly attracted to Ace. His imagination had connected the rest before his judgment could intervene. That was not mysterious. That was horny pattern recognition. He laughed once at himself. “Excellent scholarship.” He closed the image. Then reopened it. “Goddammit.” There were easier people to fantasize about. Safer people. People Harry had actually met. People whose interest could be confirmed through normal human interaction instead of impossible ritual instructions in a damaged old book. Ace existed in a different category. Not untouchable. Not mythical. Real enough to bleed, laugh, swear, disappear into crowds, show up on shaky feeds, walk into rooms where everyone else suddenly remembered appointments elsewhere. Real enough that Harry knew his attraction had always been one-sided in the most literal sense. He knew of her. She did not know him. That should have ended the thought. Instead, Harry opened the book again. He read the handwritten note: **The subject is not created, altered, or replaced. The subject remains themselves. Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.** His expression hardened. That was the line he hated most. Because whoever had written it had gone out of their way to remove the easiest excuse. The subject remained themselves. Meaning, in the writer's own terms, the victim remained present while their choices were being redirected. Harry looked away. “No.” He stood. Walked around the apartment. Went to the window. Watson moved below him in the indifferent way cities did. Traffic. People. Advertisements. A delivery drone taking a route that seemed unnecessarily close to three balconies. Nothing occult. Nothing ancient. Nothing listening. Harry put both hands against the window frame. If the ritual were real, he would not do it. Easy. If he believed there were even a reasonable chance it was real, he would not do it. Also easy. The actual problem was that he believed the chance was zero. Not low. Zero. And zero had a way of making moral hypotheticals feel theatrical. Harry knew the philosophical trap. He could see it from where he stood. “If magic were real, this would be wrong.” True. “But magic isn't real.” Also true. “So performing the ritual isn't actually controlling anyone.” Logical. “And therefore—” Harry stopped. He turned from the window. “No.” He almost laughed. There it was. The rationalization built perfectly, piece by piece, and still smelled wrong when finished. He walked back to the table. Closed the book. That should have been the end. It wasn't. For the next several hours Harry did other things. Successfully, mostly. He worked. Ate. Answered messages. Returned to the technical manual from Leo's shop and read six pages before realizing he had retained none of them. At some point he went outside. Bought groceries. Passed two people arguing beside a parked bike. Forgot one item he had specifically gone out to buy. Returned home. The book was still on the table. Harry put the groceries away. Looked at it. Walked past. Twenty minutes later he was sitting in front of it again. “This is stupid.” He opened to the ritual. The instructions remained incomplete enough to be annoying. He had reconstructed a probable sequence from the readable sections. A designation. A focus. A repeated spoken component. A closing phrase. No sacrifice. No blood. No dramatic preparation. No candles, unless one particularly damaged annotation was being interpreted very creatively. That helped. It made the whole thing look less like ritual magic and more like a historical curiosity someone could perform as a reenactment. Harry had done stranger things for curiosity. Not involving people. That distinction stayed. He leaned back. “Pick someone fictional.” That seemed obvious. If the ritual required designation, use a fictional person. No moral issue. No real target. Test complete. Harry searched for any note about non-existent subjects. Found nothing. He could still try. He selected a fictional character from an old novel. Read through the sequence silently. Stopped before speaking. Then laughed. “What would success even look like?” Nothing. Obviously. Because the character did not exist. The experiment would prove exactly nothing. He closed the search window. Next option. Use himself. Could the ritual designate the speaker? Possibly. The text seemed to distinguish speaker and subject. Unclear. And if there were even a microscopic chance the thing worked, experimenting on his own cognition was not necessarily more intelligent. Harry rubbed both hands over his face. “This is how people die in stories.” The room did not disagree. He looked at Ace's image again. That was the problem. A real subject produced a real falsifiable outcome. Either nothing happened— which was overwhelmingly, obviously, certainly what would happen— or something did. He hated that the second possibility existed grammatically. Not realistically. Grammatically. Harry stood again. “No.” He walked away. Five minutes. Ten. He returned. Did not sit. Read the first line. Walked away again. The third time, he sat. This was no longer research. He knew that. The honest description was temptation. Not belief. Temptation. That made it worse in one way and better in another. At least he wasn't lying to himself about why Ace had remained in the equation. He wanted her. Simple. Embarrassing. True. He had wanted her from a distance for a long time. Wanted the impossible version of chance where he might meet her without being one more stranger demanding something. Wanted to know whether that dry little half-smile would look different at arm's length. Wanted to hear what her voice sounded like when it wasn't coming through compressed footage. Wanted— Harry stopped there. “Enough.” The rest required no documentation. He looked at the ritual. It claimed to bypass exactly the obstacle that made fantasy harmless. Agency. Harry's jaw tightened. If real, no. He said it aloud. “If this is real, I don't do this.” The statement sounded ridiculous because he was already sitting in front of the instructions. He continued anyway. “If I believed this could work, I wouldn't.” Silence. “That matters.” Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. Harry stared at the page. The objection that remained was brutally simple. You don't get moral credit for assuming the gun isn't loaded. He sat very still. That thought landed harder than the others. Harry closed his eyes. Opened them. Looked again at Ace. Then at the book. He could stop. Right now. Put it away. Call Leo. Ask for provenance. Find a conservator. Translate it properly. Do every sensible thing. The world would continue. Nothing lost. Harry reached forward. Closed the terminal image. Then immediately opened it again. He swore under his breath. There was another option. A compromise his conscience disliked because it recognized the architecture. Perform only part of it. Omit the closing line. Break the sequence. Treat it as phonetic reconstruction. If nothing happened, which it wouldn't, curiosity satisfied. If somehow— No. Harry shut that down. Half a coercive ritual was not ethically cleaner if you believed any of it worked. Again: He did not. That was the center. The whole stupid dangerous center. Harry looked at the clock. Late afternoon. He had spent most of a day arguing with an object. That realization was almost enough to end it. Almost. He opened a fresh note. Typed: **RATIONAL BASIS FOR TEST:** Then stared at the heading. Deleted it. “Fuck off.” Better. He opened another note. **What do I actually believe?** Answer: **The ritual cannot work.** He typed another line. **Confidence?** Harry stared. Then typed: **99.999999...%** He deleted it. Typed: **100%.** Looked at it. That was the problem. Absolute confidence was seductive. If probability was truly zero, then no person was being controlled. No harm occurred. No ethical violation could exist because the claimed causal mechanism did not exist. Harry knew exactly how convenient that sounded. He also knew he believed it. He stood again. Opened a drawer. Took out an old printed photograph he had once bought from a street archive vendor. Not Ace. Night City skyline. He put it beside the book for no reason. Removed it. Sat down again. “This is absurd.” He was not afraid. That was important. He wasn't trembling. Wasn't intoxicated. Wasn't in some altered state. He was thinking clearly. Possibly too clearly. Building and dismantling his own objections until fatigue made the worst one start to look like a technicality. Harry looked at the image of Ace. “I'm sorry.” He frowned immediately. That sounded wrong. Very wrong. He nearly stopped because of that alone. Then another thought arrived. Apologizing in advance to someone who would never know anything had happened was melodramatic nonsense. Because nothing would happen. There. Again. The loop. Harry laughed quietly, without amusement. “You're an idiot.” He had reached the point where the smartest possible action was obvious. So naturally he kept going. He pulled the book closer. Not yet the ritual. First the notes. He reconstructed pronunciation as best he could. Compared repeated phrases. Marked uncertainty. Identified the section corresponding to designation. The instructions suggested a name if known. An image if not. Harry knew Ace's public name. Whether that qualified as a true name was unknowable and irrelevant. He had images. Far too many, if Leo's teasing were accepted as evidence. The terminal still showed one. Harry positioned it where he could see both screen and page. Then stopped. Again. His hand rested on the table. He looked at Ace. Violet eyes. Entirely herself. Entirely elsewhere. Entirely unaware of Harry's existence. He thought about the handwritten warning. **Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.** Harry whispered, “If this can do what it says, I stop.” The room remained ordinary. His own voice sounded small in it. He waited another thirty seconds. Then a minute. He could still close the book. Instead he turned to the first line. Harry inhaled. Exhaled. Read the opening phrase under his breath. Nothing happened. Obviously. He stopped anyway. Heart beating faster now, which irritated him. Physiological response to transgression. Not magic. Harry laughed. “See?” He waited. Nothing. The terminal did not flicker. The lights did not dim. Ace did not materialize in his living room. The universe remained aggressively unimpressed. Harry felt tension leave his shoulders. Of course. Of course. He read the first line again. Louder this time. Nothing. Second line. Nothing. The supposed designation came next. Harry's voice stopped. This was the last clean exit. He knew it. The ritual was still incomplete. No subject named. No person targeted. Just meaningless sounds spoken in an apartment by a man who knew better. Harry stared at Ace's image. Then said, “Ace.” Nothing moved. No thunder. No impossible wind. No pulse through the room. Harry waited. Five seconds. Ten. He felt ridiculous. Which was exactly what he had expected to feel. He leaned back. A laugh escaped him. “Jesus Christ.” There. Experiment over. Nonsense confirmed. He reached to close the book. Then noticed the remaining lines. He could leave them. Should leave them. But the test, some irritating part of his mind argued, was incomplete. Harry looked at the page. Then at the unchanged room. The first half had done nothing. Because none of it could do anything. Completing it changed nothing. That was how the last objection finally collapsed. Not dramatically. Not because Harry stopped caring. Because reality had appeared to prove him right. He looked once more at Ace. “Sorry for dragging you into an extremely stupid experiment you'll never know about.” That felt better. Absurd. But better. Then Harry placed one finger beside the next line. And continued reading. --- ## Chapter 5 — Incantation Harry continued reading. The next line was harder. Not because anything happened. Because the language was ugly. Consonants pressed together in ways his mouth did not like, and one word contained a sound he wasn't entirely certain English-trained vocal cords were meant to produce. He tried it once. Stopped. Checked his notes. Tried again. The apartment remained stubbornly normal. A light from the building opposite reflected faintly across the window. A ventilation fan clicked somewhere behind the kitchen wall. One of Harry's data shards vibrated against the table when a message came in. He ignored it. The ritual continued. Short phrase. Pause. Repeat designation. Harry looked at Ace's image. “Ace.” Nothing. Another phrase. Then a line he had marked as uncertain. He spoke it anyway. Nothing. Harry's pulse had slowed now. The edge was gone. The wrongness had not disappeared completely, but embarrassment was beginning to replace it. That was almost comforting. He had spent half a day tying himself into ethical knots over a page of dead-language stage directions. Excellent use of time. Harry continued. The next section seemed to require focus. Not visualization exactly. Association. The annotations were annoyingly specific about that distinction. **Not appearance alone. Subject as understood by speaker.** Harry had circled that line twice. He looked at Ace again. What did he understand about her? Far less than he sometimes liked pretending. Public footage. Stories. After-action fragments. Rumors. Comments from people who had worked near her. A thousand small impressions. The speed. The swords. The violet eyes. The occasional almost-smile. The way she seemed perfectly capable of turning lethal movement into something casual. The strange contradiction of someone so small carrying that much presence. Harry knew the public Ace. That was all. He forced himself to stay there. Not fantasy. Not imagined intimacy. Not what he wanted. Just the person he believed existed. Ace. He repeated the name. Then the next line. Still nothing. “Shocking.” He almost stopped again. Not from conscience this time. From anticlimax. The ritual was proving exactly what he expected. Words were words. Old paper was old paper. Magic was an attractive label humans had historically attached to mechanisms they did not understand or outcomes they desperately wanted. Harry knew that. The book knew nothing. He turned to the last readable section. The closing phrase. This was the part he had avoided sounding out earlier. Not because it looked dangerous. Because it looked ridiculous. Three lines. One repeated word. A final designation. Then an ending mark that might be punctuation or might be part of the ritual notation. Harry leaned closer. “Fine.” He spoke the first line. Nothing. Second. Nothing. The repeated word. Nothing. Harry looked at Ace's image one last time. “Ace.” Silence. Then the closing line. He finished it. Waited. Nothing happened. Harry sat there. One second. Two. Five. Ten. The terminal continued displaying the same image. The room did not change. The book did not ignite. No voice spoke. No pressure settled over him. No impossible sensation crossed the air. Harry looked toward the ceiling. “That it?” The ceiling declined comment. He sat another thirty seconds. Then laughed. Not loudly. Just enough to release the last of the tension. “Of course.” He closed the book. That was all. No magic. No control. No impossible consequence. Harry leaned back in the chair and covered his face with both hands. He stayed like that for a while. Then groaned. “Idiot.” Not because he had expected anything. That would have been worse. Because he had spent so long arguing with himself about an experiment whose outcome had never been in doubt. He looked at the terminal. Ace stared back from the frozen frame. Harry felt a small stab of embarrassment despite knowing she would never know. “Congratulations.” He pointed at the image. “You've just been unwillingly cast in the least successful occult experiment in Watson.” He closed the image. Then immediately reopened it just long enough to say, “For the record, nothing happened.” He closed it again. That felt even stupider. Harry stood. The nervous energy had nowhere to go now. He picked up his coffee. Cold. Of course. He drank it anyway. Regretted that. Went to the kitchen. Made another cup. By the time he returned, the entire ritual already seemed smaller. A strange artifact. A reconstructed incantation. A morally unpleasant hypothetical. A deeply embarrassing amount of self-analysis. No actual effect. Good. That was the correct result. Harry sat down again and opened his notes. He typed: **Test performed. No observable outcome.** Paused. Added: **As expected.** Then: **Do not repeat.** Harry looked at that last line. Considered deleting it. Didn't. The problem with curiosity was that a failed experiment often invited refinement. Maybe pronunciation wrong. Maybe sequence incomplete. Maybe designation inadequate. Maybe missing pages mattered. Harry knew himself well enough to recognize the danger. Not supernatural danger. Research spiraling into obsession because an unanswered question existed. He underlined: **DO NOT REPEAT.** There. Responsible adult. Harry saved the note. He checked the incoming message he had ignored. Nothing important. Answered it. Opened the neural-interface manual from Leo. Read two paragraphs. Understood both. Progress. Twenty minutes later he had almost forgotten the ritual. Almost. The book remained on the table beside him. Closed. Harry occasionally glanced at it, but each look produced less interest than the last. The mystery had changed. Not “does it work?” Clearly not. Now the interesting questions were historical. Who wrote the annotations? Why did someone describe coercive control in such technical terms? Why was Blood Red Sandman there? How old was that phrase actually? Those could wait. Tomorrow he would message Leo. Maybe ask about a conservator. Maybe take better samples of the paper under magnification. Maybe compare the ink. Ordinary work. Good. Harry turned another page in the technical manual. Across Night City, Ace stopped walking. It was not dramatic. No collapse. No visible shock. One moment she was moving through a corridor at the Safehouse with a cup in one hand. The next, she wasn't. She stood still. Very still. The cup remained halfway between waist and chest. Her head turned slightly. Not toward a sound. Toward nothing anyone else could see. Mai noticed first. Of course she did. She had been sitting at the table, one knee drawn up, reading through a contract Iris had flagged earlier. She looked over. “Ace?” Ace did not answer immediately. Her expression had changed. Only a fraction. Enough. Mai lowered the tablet. Shammy looked up from the couch. Kiro, half-hidden behind a terminal setup in the adjoining room, did not yet react. Ace blinked. Something moved through her. Not pain. Not fear. Direction. That was the closest word. A certainty without origin. A place she needed to be. No reason attached. No explanation. Just movement waiting to happen. Ace frowned. Mai stood. “Ace.” This time Ace looked at her. For one second, everything appeared normal. Violet eyes. Short dark hair. Familiar expression. Then Ace's gaze shifted again. Toward the door. Mai's attention sharpened. “What's wrong?” Ace opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Not because she couldn't speak. Because she did not know. That irritated her immediately. Ace hated not knowing things about herself. The directional pull strengthened. Not violently. That would have been easier. Violence could be resisted. This felt like a thought already completed. Go. Ace lowered the cup. “I need to—” She stopped. Mai's eyes narrowed. “Need to what?” Ace looked toward the door again. The answer existed before the question finished. Leave. Go somewhere. Follow. She did not know where. That was wrong. Very wrong. Ace's fingers tightened around the cup. Shammy was fully alert now. The room had changed without anyone moving much. Mai took one step closer. “Ace.” Ace looked at her again. Something flickered in her eyes. Violet. Then not. So brief Mai almost thought she had imagined it. Almost. “Kiro.” The name came out flat. Immediate. The netrunner answered from the next room. “Yeah?” “Look at Ace.” Kiro appeared at the doorway. Ace stared at all three of them. Annoyance crossed her face. Then confusion. Then something else. The pull strengthened again. A pulse of direction. Leave. Ace inhaled. Her eyes changed. Not metaphorically. Not under different light. The violet disappeared. Amber filled them. Warm. Bright. Wrong. For the first time, nobody spoke. Kiro's expression emptied. Shammy rose slowly. Mai stared at Ace. Ace stared back. She was still Ace. Completely. Present. Confused. Angry now. But underneath all of it, something had already decided where her body needed to go. Somewhere in Watson, Harry turned another page of an obsolete neural-interface manual. He had no idea anything had happened. --- ## Chapter 6 — The Pull Ace knew the eyes were wrong before anyone said it. Not because she could see them. Because everyone else stopped breathing normally. Mai was closest. Her face went still in that particular way Ace had learned to read years ago: not fear, not yet, but the absolute removal of everything unnecessary. Shammy stood beside the couch. Kiro remained in the doorway. Nobody moved toward Ace. That was smart. Ace looked from one to the next. “What?” Her own voice sounded normal. That made it worse. Mai answered carefully. “Your eyes.” Ace's stomach tightened. “What about them?” Kiro was already moving, but not toward her. She pivoted back into the adjoining room, hands going to her terminal. Shammy said quietly, “Amber.” Ace stared at her. For half a second the word meant nothing. Then everything inside her became very cold. “No.” Mai did not soften it. “Yes.” Ace put the cup down. She did it slowly because something about her own hand suddenly felt worth monitoring. Ceramic touched the table. No tremor. No loss of coordination. No obvious motor problem. Ace flexed her fingers. Normal. She rolled one shoulder. Normal. Breathing normal. Heart faster than baseline, but that could be explained by the fact that her eyes had apparently changed color for no fucking reason. The pull remained. That could not be explained. Ace looked at the door. The need to leave strengthened immediately. Not emotion. Not anticipation. Not anxiety. Direction. She looked away from the door. The sensation did not disappear. It merely became less visually convenient. Mai watched her face. “Tell me.” Ace hated how quickly Mai had understood there was something to tell. “I need to go somewhere.” “Where?” “I don't know.” Kiro called from the next room. “No local spoofing on her optics.” Ace closed her eyes. Darkness. The pull remained. That mattered. She tried to isolate it. Ace knew her body well. Better than most people ever had reason to know theirs. She knew what adrenaline felt like before a fight. Knew the first fraction of nausea that came with neural interference. Knew the subtle pressure behind her eyes when she had overused certain systems. Knew the restless physical wanting that had become more common since the Flash. Knew fear. Anger. Curiosity. Desire. Hunger. Pain. This was none of them. It did not feel like an urge. Urges had edges. They rose. Changed. Competed with other wants. This had arrived complete. Go. Ace opened her eyes. Amber. She could not see the color directly, but she could see it reflected faintly in the black screen of the inactive kitchen display. Warm gold where violet should have been. “Fuck.” Mai was watching the same reflection. “Yes.” Ace turned away from it. The pull shifted. Not direction exactly. More like orientation. Her body knew where to face. Ace deliberately turned ninety degrees to the left. Wrong. The sensation intensified. She turned back. Relief. Small. Immediate. Her jaw clenched. Shammy noticed. “Something's steering.” Ace looked at her. “Trying.” Mai's attention sharpened further. “Trying?” Ace considered the word. No. Wrong. “Not trying.” She hated the correction. “It already knows where it wants me.” Silence. Kiro reappeared. “No messages. No active remote session. Nothing hitting known implants. No new wireless handshake.” Ace gave her a look. “You sound disappointed.” Kiro's mouth tightened. “Terrified, actually.” “Better.” The pull nudged again. Ace's gaze moved toward the door before she meant it to. That irritated her more than the eye color. She caught herself. Mai saw. “Can you resist it?” “Yes.” Ace answered too fast. Everyone knew it. She corrected. “I can stand here.” “That wasn't the question.” Ace looked at Mai. There were very few people in the world who could talk to her like that while she was angry. Mai had earned the right thoroughly. Ace took a breath. The answer was unpleasant. “I don't know.” Shammy's expression darkened. The air in the room changed very slightly. Ace looked at her. “Don't.” Shammy held still. “No lightning.” “Good.” Ace looked toward the door again. Go. Her body had started arranging itself around the command. Weight shifted forward. Tiny. Almost nothing. Ace caught it and shifted back. Her muscles obeyed. Good. The thought did not. That distinction scared her more than she wanted to admit. Mai stepped closer. Not touching yet. “Ace.” “Yeah.” “Look at me.” Ace did. Mai's face. Familiar. Grounding. Real. “What do you want?” The answer came instantly. Leave. Ace's stomach turned. She forced herself to separate the response. Not what appeared first. What she wanted. She looked at Mai. “Stay.” The pull strengthened. Ace's expression changed. Mai saw that too. “Again.” Ace exhaled. “I want to stay here.” Go. “I want to know what the fuck this is.” Go. “I want to smash whatever's doing it.” Go. That one almost made her smile. Almost. Mai moved one step closer. “What do you want from me?” Ace answered without hesitation. “Don't let me disappear.” Mai nodded once. “Done.” The word landed cleanly. No drama. No promise larger than necessary. Just operational truth. Ace felt a small part of herself settle. Then the pull sharpened. Her right foot moved. Only a few centimeters. Ace froze. Everyone saw it. Nobody commented. That was worse. Ace looked down at her foot. Then back up. “Okay.” Kiro was already typing. “What changed?” “Nothing.” “Nothing external?” “Nothing I felt.” “Signal spike?” “No.” “Pain?” “No.” “Compulsion stronger?” Ace hated that word. “Yes.” Shammy's voice stayed low. “Can I touch you?” Ace looked at her. “Yes.” Shammy approached slowly and placed one hand on Ace's shoulder. Warm. Heavy. Familiar. Nothing changed. No interference. No reaction. No sense that the pull cared. Ace leaned slightly into the contact anyway. Not because she needed support. Because she wanted to make at least one physical choice herself. Mai noticed. Of course she did. She reached out and took Ace's free hand. Ace squeezed once. Her fingers did exactly what she intended. Good. The pull remained. Kiro said, “I'm checking city systems.” Mai did not look away from Ace. “For what?” “Anything that could correlate. Traffic cameras, local nodes, weird emissions, nearby incidents.” Ace said, “Check visual first.” Kiro stopped. “Your eyes?” “Yeah.” “I already did.” “More than color.” Kiro understood. “Pattern.” “Movement. Response. Anything.” “On it.” Ace looked toward the door again. She did not choose to. The movement happened before she caught it. Mai's thumb shifted against her hand. “Ace.” “I know.” “Do you?” Ace looked at her. That was not accusation. It was the question underneath all the others. Are you still you? Ace searched herself. Memory intact. Language intact. Recognition intact. Anger very much intact. Sense of humor intact enough that part of her wanted to say something inappropriate simply to prove it. Desire— Ace stopped there. Not relevant. Probably. She looked at Mai. “Ask me something.” Mai's eyes narrowed. “Something only you would know?” “No.” Ace thought. “Something I'd hate answering.” That got the smallest reaction from Shammy. Kiro glanced over from the terminal. Mai understood immediately. “Who reorganized the weapons drawer last week and blamed Brenda?” Ace stared at her. “That was tactical optimization.” Mai's mouth twitched. “Who?” Ace sighed. “Me.” Shammy relaxed by approximately one millimeter. Kiro said, “Still her.” Ace looked at her. “Fuck you.” “Definitely still her.” The humor helped. Not much. Enough. Then the pull surged. Ace's hand ripped out of Mai's. Not violently. Fast. Automatic. Her body turned toward the door. One step. Two. Ace stopped herself on the third. Breathing hard now. Shammy moved with her but did not grab. Mai followed. Ace stood facing the exit. Go. The certainty was enormous now. Not louder. Deeper. Like gravity had decided elsewhere was down. Ace closed her eyes again. “No.” Her body leaned forward. “No.” Another step almost happened. She locked both knees. Pain sparked briefly through one thigh from the tension. Good. Pain belonged to her. She used it. Mai's voice came from behind her. “You're resisting.” “Obviously.” “That means it isn't total.” Ace laughed once without humor. “Comforting.” “It should be.” The pull increased again. Ace's jaw clenched. She could hold position. For now. That was not the same as winning. Kiro spoke from the other room. “I've got nothing on implants. Nothing local. No spoof. No hack signature.” Ace opened her eyes. Amber reflected in the dark glass by the door. “What about external?” “Working.” “Do it faster.” “Helpful.” “Welcome.” The door remained closed. Ace stared at it. The strange part was that she was not imagining what lay beyond. No destination image. No person. No address. No voice. No whispered instruction. Just certainty. Forward. She took one involuntary half-step. Stopped. Shammy said, “Ace.” “I know.” “You don't have to prove anything.” That irritated her. “I know.” “Then stop treating this like a contest.” Ace looked back over one shoulder. “What would you call it?” “A problem.” That landed. Ace breathed out. The body wanted movement. The mind wanted answers. There was a difference. Maybe enough. Mai stepped beside her now. Not blocking the door. That mattered. Ace noticed immediately. Mai was not turning herself into an obstacle. She was staying partner. Not jailer. Ace looked at her. “You're not going to stop me physically.” “If you become a danger to yourself, yes.” “And before that?” “I trust you.” The pull surged. Ace's face tightened. Mai continued. “But I'm not letting you go alone.” That was the first thing anyone said that fit the new reality cleanly. Ace looked toward the door. Then back at Mai. “If I can't stop it.” “We follow.” “Kiro?” “Already planning.” “Shammy?” The hand on Ace's shoulder tightened slightly. “You really need to ask?” Ace exhaled. No. She didn't. The pull eased. Only a fraction. Not because it was weakening. Because Ace had stopped wasting strength pretending she could stand in one spot forever. She hated that realization. Sometimes resistance was not refusing movement. Sometimes it was deciding how movement happened. Ace turned away from the door deliberately. The command protested. She faced Mai. “I don't know where I'm going.” Mai nodded. “We find out.” “I don't know what happens when I get there.” “We find out.” “I don't know if I can turn around once I start.” Mai's expression stayed steady. “Then we don't lose you.” Ace looked at Kiro. “Track everything.” “Everything public.” Ace caught the distinction. Even now. Good. “Route. Time. cameras. Anything weird.” “Already setting it.” Ace looked at Shammy. “If I tell you to stay?” “No.” “Good.” Shammy's mouth moved faintly. Ace looked once more around the Safehouse. Home. The word mattered more than she expected. The pull demanded the door. Ace walked toward it. This time the step was hers. That difference mattered too. Mai moved with her. Kiro's voice followed from behind. “Hold.” Ace stopped. Immediately. That felt good. Kiro came closer with a small handheld scanner. “Eyes first.” Ace turned. Kiro lifted the scanner near her face without touching. A tiny light moved across both eyes. “Amber stable.” “Define stable.” “Same color. No visible flicker. Pupil response normal.” “Anything else?” “No.” Kiro hesitated. Ace caught it. “What?” “Your eye tracking is normal too.” “Meaning?” “You're looking where you decide to look.” Ace glanced toward the door. The pull tried to claim the motion. She looked deliberately at Kiro instead. “Mostly.” Kiro nodded. “Mostly.” Mai said, “We need a baseline before she leaves.” Kiro was already recording. Ace tolerated another thirty seconds of tests. Head movement. Focus. Pupil response. Short motor checks. No obvious neurological deficit. No unknown signal. No visible distortion beyond amber. That almost made it worse. If she had been compromised through hardware, Kiro could fight hardware. If poisoned, Victor could find chemistry. If injured, damage could be treated. This was— Unknown. Ace hated unknown. The pull sharpened again. She looked at the door. “Done?” Kiro lowered the scanner. “Done.” Ace opened the door. Night City air met her face. Cool. Damp from earlier rain. Normal. The pull immediately aligned. Not left. Not right. Forward first. Down the corridor. Ace stepped out. Mai followed. Shammy behind her. Kiro stayed inside. Ace looked back. “Kiro?” “I'm more useful here.” True. Ace disliked it anyway. Kiro saw that. “I'll have eyes on you as soon as you hit public coverage.” Ace nodded. “Don't lose me.” Kiro's expression changed. Just slightly. “I won't.” Ace turned away. The pull strengthened as she moved. Every step produced a horrible little reward of relief. Not pleasure. Not satisfaction. Confirmation. Correct direction. That was almost worse than pain would have been. Ace reached the end of the corridor. Turned right. Relief. Stairs. Down. Relief. Outside. The city opened around her. Signs. Traffic. Wet pavement. People who had no idea anything was wrong. Ace stopped on the sidewalk. The pull adjusted. West. Then slightly north. She did not know how she knew. She simply knew. Mai stood beside her. Shammy a pace behind. Ace looked down the street. Somewhere out there was the answer. Or the trap. Or both. Her eyes burned amber in the reflection of a darkened storefront. Ace looked at herself. Still Ace. For now. She started walking. --- ## Chapter 7 — Amber Ace made it half a block before Mai said, “Stop.” Ace stopped. Immediately. That mattered. The pull did not. It pressed forward through her like an internal compass that had somehow skipped the part where she agreed to own one. Ace turned. Mai stood under the pale wash of a street sign, watching her with the expression that meant everything unnecessary had already been discarded. Shammy remained slightly behind and to the side. Close. Not crowding. Not yet. The city moved around them without noticing anything unusual. Traffic hissed through wet streets. Neon trembled across puddles. People passed with their own destinations, their own reasons, their own choices. Ace hated them a little for that. “What?” Mai's gaze moved over her. Not her body. Her state. “You're going somewhere unknown.” “Yes.” “With no idea what waits there.” “Yes.” “With your eyes doing that.” Ace's jaw tightened. “Yes.” Mai held her gaze. “Then we don't improvise badly.” Ace looked back toward the Safehouse entrance. The pull reacted at once. Wrong direction. Pressure climbed inside her. Not pain. Worse. Correction. Ace turned forward again. The pressure eased. Mai saw the whole thing. “You really can't go back.” “I can.” “Ace.” Ace's mouth flattened. “I can physically walk back.” “That isn't what I asked.” “No.” Shammy spoke quietly. “How much worse when you turn around?” Ace considered lying. Didn't. “Enough that I don't want to test how far it goes.” Mai nodded once. No argument. No attempt to make Ace prove resistance for pride. Good. Ace's hand went automatically toward the familiar absence over her shoulders. No hilts. Of course. She had not been preparing for an operation. She had been inside the Safehouse carrying coffee. The realization irritated her more than it should have. Mai caught the gesture. “Kiro.” The response came instantly through comms. “Yeah.” “Bring Ace's katanas.” A pause. Then: “Already moving.” Ace looked toward the Safehouse. “You people are annoying.” Kiro's voice came back dry. “You like us.” “Debatable.” “Documented.” The joke helped. Barely. Ace stayed where she was. Standing still was worse than walking. Every second made the pull more obvious. Go. Not language. Not a voice. Not an emotion. Just certainty embedded beneath everything else. Ace shifted her weight. Mai noticed. “You're fighting it.” “Yes.” “How?” “Badly.” That got the smallest movement from Mai's mouth. Good. Still them. Still normal enough for that. The Safehouse door opened. Kiro came out carrying Ace's sword rig. Two katanas. Nothing else mattered. Ace's eyes went to them immediately. Emerald-frequency blades still sheathed, familiar weight hanging from the harness. The pull did not react. No surge. No aversion. No change. Useful. Kiro stopped in front of her. “Hands?” “Mine.” “Balance?” “Mine.” “Vision?” Ace stared at her. “Apparently not aesthetically.” Kiro looked into the amber. “Pupil response still looks normal.” “You keep saying normal.” “Because most of you still is.” That landed harder than Ace expected. She looked away. Mai took the rig from Kiro. “Arms.” Ace lifted them. Mai stepped behind her and settled the harness into place. Straps tightened. Weight returned. The twin hilts rested where they belonged. Ace reached back. Touched one. Then the other. There. Something inside her eased. Not the pull. Ace. Mai checked the fastening at her side. “Comfortable?” “Yes.” “Too tight?” “No.” “Good.” Ace glanced back toward her. “Done?” “Almost.” Kiro had the handheld scanner out again. Ace sighed. “Kiro.” “One minute.” “You said that last time.” “Thirty seconds, then.” “Liar.” “Hold still.” Ace did. Barely. The scanner passed across her eyes. Amber. Still amber. No visible fluctuation. Kiro checked tracking. “Look left.” Ace looked left. The pull protested. “Right.” Ace looked right. Relief. Kiro noticed. “So direction changes pressure immediately.” “Yes.” “Eyes respond normally to light.” “Thrilling.” “Tracking normal too.” Mai asked, “Meaning?” Kiro lowered the scanner slightly. “Whatever this is, it isn't driving her eyes like hardware.” Ace looked at her. “Can you stop calling it reassuring when it isn't?” “I didn't.” “Good.” Shammy watched the street. “Direction?” Ace closed her eyes. The pull remained. She turned her head slightly. Wrong. Back. Better. “Still the same.” “Watson?” “Feels like it.” Kiro clipped the scanner away. “No implant intrusion. No local handshake. No spoof. No known signal hitting anything.” Ace opened her eyes. “Again.” “Again.” “So either you're missing it—” “Yes.” “—or it isn't tech.” Kiro's face tightened. “Yes.” Ace preferred the first option. Strongly. Mai saw that too. “You want Kiro to be wrong.” “I want her to be slow.” “Rude.” Kiro looked offended. Ace almost smiled. Then the pull surged. Her body leaned forward before she caught it. Ace stopped herself. Shammy moved half a step. Ace looked at her. “Don't.” “I didn't.” “Good.” Kiro looked between them. “I'm staying here.” Ace's attention snapped to her. “What?” “I'll be more useful on systems.” The pull wanted movement. Ace wanted argument. For one moment the two aligned enough to be irritating. “Kiro.” “City cameras. Traffic. public nodes. Route reconstruction. If I walk with you, I lose most of that.” Ace knew she was right. Hated it. Mai said, “She tracks. We stay with you.” Ace looked at Kiro. “Public only.” Kiro understood exactly what she meant. “Yes.” “No private system diving because you get nervous.” “Yes.” “No homes.” “Yes.” “No bedrooms.” Kiro gave her a flat look. “Ace.” “I'm serious.” “So am I.” Ace held her eyes another moment. Then nodded. “Good.” Kiro looked at the amber again. “I'll have you on camera as soon as you hit the next intersection.” Ace turned toward the street. The pull approved instantly. That made her angry enough to move. She started walking. Mai beside her. Shammy behind. Kiro returned inside. The first intersection came quickly. Ace knew the turn before she reached it. Right. She did not think. She simply knew. That was the problem. Ace stopped at the corner. Mai stopped with her. “What?” Ace stared across the street. “Right.” “You know?” “Yes.” “How?” “I don't.” Mai looked at the other directions. “Try left.” Ace turned her head left. Pressure climbed. Not pain. Wrongness. She turned right. Relief. Ace's expression went cold. “Right.” Shammy said nothing. That was probably wise. They crossed. Ace walked faster. Mai matched her. Kiro's voice returned through comms. “I have you.” Ace looked up. Camera above the crossing. “Congratulations.” “I can see your face.” “Then admire from a distance.” “Amber is visible.” Ace's humor thinned. “Clearly?” “Yes.” Mai looked toward the camera. “Same shade as before?” Kiro answered after a beat. “Same.” Ace saw herself in the dark side of a parked vehicle. Amber eyes. Still wrong. Still hers in every other way. She looked away. They kept moving. Another intersection. Straight. Next. Left. Every correct choice brought tiny relief. Every wrong angle brought pressure. Kiro tracked. “Your gait is normal.” Ace looked up toward another camera. “Wonderful.” “Stride timing normal. Balance normal. No visible motor override.” Mai asked, “So she is choosing movement?” Kiro hesitated. “That isn't what I said.” Ace appreciated that. “Say what you know.” “Her body moves like hers.” “Better.” Kiro continued. “No lag. No puppet pattern. No external correction I can see.” Ace's jaw tightened. Because that left the ugly possibility intact. The control did not need to move her body. It only needed to make one direction feel inevitable. They crossed beneath the elevated transit line. Ace stopped suddenly. The pull changed. Left. She turned. Mai caught the change immediately. “What?” “New direction.” Kiro spoke. “Traffic closure ahead.” Ace looked toward the nearest public display. A warning appeared. Partial blockage. Reroute. Mai's gaze sharpened. “When did you feel the change?” Ace thought. “Before I looked at that.” Kiro went silent for two seconds. “I hate that.” “Join the club.” Shammy looked down the blocked street. “So whatever this is adjusts.” Ace said, “Or I saw something without noticing.” Kiro answered, “Possible.” Ace liked her for saying it. No supernatural conclusion. No unsupported leap. Just possible. They turned left. The pull eased. Ace muttered, “Fuck you.” Mai glanced sideways. “To whom?” Ace looked ahead. “Currently the universe.” “Specific.” “I'm narrowing suspects.” Shammy's mouth moved faintly. They kept going. Kiro remained in their ears. Camera to camera. Block to block. Ace became increasingly aware that she was not wandering. The route curved. Adjusted. Corrected. But it converged. Somewhere. Kiro noticed the same thing. “I think you're heading toward a defined area.” Ace looked up. “How defined?” “Too early.” “Then don't speculate.” “Wasn't going to.” “Good.” Mai said quietly, “She hates this.” Kiro answered, “I know.” Ace looked at Mai. “I'm right here.” “I know.” “Then stop narrating me.” Mai's expression remained calm. “Make better faces.” Ace nearly laughed. Nearly. Then Kiro said, “Stop.” Ace stopped. Instantly. Again, that mattered. The pull did not stop. It pressed onward. Ace looked up. “What?” “Face toward the camera.” Ace found it. “Why?” “I want a clean capture.” “You have twenty.” “I want this sensor.” Ace sighed and looked directly toward the lens. “Happy?” “Don't move.” Ace held still. The pull pushed. Her weight shifted forward. She corrected. Kiro worked silently. Mai stayed close. Shammy scanned the street. Thirty seconds passed. Then Kiro exhaled. “Got it.” Ace's patience was thinning. “Got what?” “Consistency.” “Meaning?” “Amber across different cameras, different optics, different lighting. Same result.” Mai looked at Ace. “So not one compromised feed.” “No.” Kiro continued. “And facial structure is unchanged.” Ace frowned. “Why check that?” “Because if this was some kind of visual overlay or face modification artifact, recognition geometry could drift.” “And?” “It doesn't.” Ace stared into the camera. “Kiro.” “Yeah.” “I'm still me.” Kiro's voice softened. “Yes.” Ace swallowed. That should have been obvious. It wasn't. Not right now. Kiro added, “Behaviorally too.” Ace's eyes narrowed. “You've been comparing.” “Archived footage.” “Of course you have.” “Posture. timing. reaction patterns. facial movement.” “And?” “You're still annoying.” Ace smiled despite herself. “Good.” Mai touched the back of Ace's arm. Small. Grounding. Then Kiro went quiet again. Ace knew that silence. “What now?” “I went back to Safehouse footage.” Ace's face changed. “Common areas only?” “Common areas only.” Good. “What did you find?” “The eye change.” Ace stopped breathing for one beat. Mai went still. “Show us.” Kiro sent the clip. Ace opened it in her retinal display. There she was. Cup in hand. Violet eyes. Normal. Head turning. Frame. Violet. Next frame. Amber. Ace replayed it. Again. One frame violet. Next frame amber. No fade. No transition. No visible mechanism. Mai watched the same feed. Shammy leaned slightly closer. Kiro said, “I checked dropped frames.” Ace already knew the answer. “None.” “None.” “Compression?” “No.” “Different angle?” “Same change.” Ace closed the feed. The city suddenly felt too bright. “What does it give us?” Kiro answered immediately. “A timestamp.” Ace looked up. That mattered. Not theory. Not magic. Not explanation. Fact. Exact moment. “Log it.” “Already.” “Pull everything around it.” “Already doing it.” “Traffic.” “Yes.” “Power.” “Yes.” “Network noise.” “Yes.” “Public camera anomalies.” “Yes.” Ace thought. “Anything that changes within a few seconds of that timestamp.” Kiro paused. “That is a large dataset.” Ace resumed walking. “Work faster.” “There she is.” Mai smiled faintly. Shammy did too. Good. The pull led onward. Ace followed. Not because she wanted to obey it. Because now she had a timestamp. A route. Observers. Two katanas over her shoulders. And an increasingly sharp desire to meet whatever sat at the end of this. They crossed another intersection. Then another. Kiro's voice returned. “Ace.” “What?” “I've got enough route now.” Ace slowed. Mai looked up. Shammy's attention sharpened. “To know where?” “Not exact destination.” Ace waited. Kiro continued. “But you're converging deeper into Watson.” “That we knew.” “More specific now.” “How specific?” “Residential.” Ace's face hardened. Not warehouse. Not club. Not alley. Not operational site. Residential. Mai looked at her. “A person?” Ace shook her head. “Don't know.” The pull did not answer. It simply pointed. Forward. Kiro said, “I'm checking public identity data around the likely area.” Ace's tone sharpened instantly. “Public.” “Public.” “No digging through private lives unless we have cause.” “I know.” “Say it.” Kiro sighed. “Public only.” “Good.” Shammy murmured, “You're very ethical for someone currently being kidnapped by geometry.” Ace looked up at her. “Shut up.” Shammy grinned. That helped more than it should have. They walked. The amber remained. The route narrowed. And somewhere ahead, completely unaware that anyone was coming, Harry sat in his apartment with an old book closed on the table and believed nothing had happened. --- ## Chapter 8 — Camera Trail Kiro stopped looking at Ace. Not literally. That was impossible now. Ace occupied six camera feeds at once. A traffic pole. A storefront security lens. A municipal crossing camera. A public transit node. Two privately owned exterior systems whose feeds happened to be openly mirrored into neighborhood safety networks. Kiro had all six tiled across the Safehouse terminal wall. Different angles. Different resolutions. Same small figure moving through Watson. Same two women beside and behind her. Same amber eyes whenever the cameras caught her face. Kiro hated those most. She had seen Ace in bad states before. Bleeding. Drugged. Exhausted. Furious enough that other people developed survival instincts. None of those had ever made her look less like herself. The amber did not either. That was the problem. It sat inside Ace's face as if it belonged there. Everything else remained correct. Movement. Timing. Expressions. The little turn of her head when Mai said something she disliked. The brief upward glance toward a camera when Kiro spoke in her ear. Ace. Entirely Ace. With the wrong eyes. Kiro expanded the Safehouse timestamp. One frame violet. Next frame amber. She had already checked the original recording twice. Then the mirrored backup. Then the local time source. Then clock drift. Then frame integrity. No missing data. No signal break. No corruption. Nothing she could point to and say there. Hardware. Attack. Cause. The change simply existed. Kiro disliked facts without mechanisms. They were rude. She shifted one window aside and opened the city map. Ace's path drew itself across Watson in a thin tracked line. Not straight. But convergent. That mattered. Kiro fed in every turn from the moment Ace left the Safehouse. Then estimated likely continuation based on the last six direction changes. A cluster of blocks lit. Residential. Mixed-use. Small businesses beneath apartments. Older buildings. Nothing immediately tactical. No obvious gang concentration. No known hostile site. No active contract tied to Ace. No public alert suggesting someone had prepared an ambush. Kiro stared at the map. “Come on.” The map declined. She opened traffic data. The reroute Ace had responded to had been legitimate. Road obstruction. Municipal timestamp matched. No suspicious advance posting. No obvious attempt to herd her. The pull had adjusted to reality. Or Ace's subconscious had. Or some third thing existed that Kiro currently had no category for and therefore deeply resented. She opened local network telemetry. Nothing. Opened power irregularities. Nothing. Public transit disturbances. Nothing relevant. Medical emergency calls. No. Police activity. Several. Night City. None intersected. A weapons discharge report three blocks away from Ace's current route appeared, but the timestamp was wrong by twelve minutes and the direction was opposite. Kiro dismissed it. No forcing patterns. Facts first. Ace had told her that enough times. Usually after Kiro had become excited about something. Kiro switched feeds. Ace entered another intersection. Mai beside her. Shammy behind. A cluster of pedestrians briefly blocked the camera. Kiro's stomach tightened despite knowing the next camera would catch them. Three seconds. Four. Then Ace appeared on a different feed. Kiro exhaled. Ace immediately looked toward the lens. “You breathing over there?” Kiro leaned back. “Maybe.” “Stop.” “Helpful.” “You sound like Shammy.” Shammy's voice came through. “Thank you.” “That was not praise.” “Still taking it.” Kiro smiled despite herself. Then watched Ace turn right. The route narrowed again. Kiro updated the map. Likely destination cluster reduced. Five blocks. She checked public property records. Residential ownership. Rental listings. Registered storefronts. Nothing screamed trap. That was not reassuring. Most traps did not register themselves under **TRAP LLC**. Kiro opened public-facing identity information attached to the likely addresses. No deep records. No private accounts. No unauthorized intrusion. Ace's line remained hard in her head. **Public only.** Kiro respected it. Even now. Especially now. Because fear was exactly when ethics became easy to rationalize away. She started with registered residents where information was openly available. Families. A retired mechanic. Two students. A freelance editor. A middle-aged woman who apparently ran a tailoring business from her apartment. Three addresses had no public occupant data. One belonged to a rental shell. One to a private owner. Another— Kiro stopped. She zoomed in. “Interesting.” Ace's voice arrived immediately. “Don't say that.” Kiro almost laughed. “Sorry.” “You aren't.” “No.” Mai cut in. “What?” Kiro opened the record. “Public registration on one apartment inside the convergence area.” Ace kept walking. “Name?” “Harry.” A beat. “Harry what?” Kiro stared at the public record. “Not relevant yet.” Ace's tone sharpened. “Kiro.” “I have first name from an open local record and enough to confirm adult resident. I'm not going deeper unless the route actually lands there.” That silenced Ace for half a second. Then: “Good.” Kiro felt absurdly relieved by that one word. She opened the publicly indexed profile linked to the building. Nothing remarkable. Adult male. No obvious affiliation. No visible gang markers. No public corporate role. No weapons business. No known fixer listing. No publicly indexed contract activity. Ordinary. Suspiciously ordinary was a phrase Kiro refused to think. Ordinary people existed. Even in Night City. Apparently. She checked the surrounding addresses. Nothing obvious. Then Ace turned again. The projected route tightened. Harry's building moved closer to the center. Kiro's expression flattened. “Oh, I really don't like that.” Ace heard her. “What?” “You just improved the odds on one address.” Mai answered before Ace. “How much?” Kiro calculated. “Enough that I care.” Shammy asked, “Hostile?” “No evidence.” “Known?” “No.” “To us?” “No.” Ace's voice was dry. “Excellent.” Kiro switched to exterior cameras around the building. Street-facing only. Public angles. No intrusion. One camera showed the front entrance. Another covered the opposite sidewalk. A third caught the intersection. No unusual people waiting. No parked combat vehicles. No obvious surveillance team. No one reacting to Ace's approach because she was still several blocks away. Kiro opened public historical clips. Not inside. Exterior only. Routine traffic. Residents. Deliveries. No pattern. No setup. “Civilian,” Kiro said. Mai asked, “Confirmed?” “Confirmed adult. Civilian as far as public data shows.” Ace's voice changed slightly. Not fear. Attention. “Male?” “Yes.” Shammy said, “Huh.” Ace immediately replied, “Don't.” “I said one syllable.” “It had meaning.” “It did.” Mai remained quiet. Kiro could almost picture her expression without a camera. She watched Ace instead. No visible reaction beyond irritation. The amber remained. Kiro checked the route again. Two blocks. Maybe three minutes. “Ace.” “Yeah.” “If it lands on this building, I want to know whether the pull changes when you see it.” “Fine.” “Don't tell me what you think you should feel.” Ace's answer came sharp. “I know how observation works.” “I know.” “Then stop teaching.” “Stress response.” “Yours.” “Correct.” Mai said, “You two can flirt through methodology later.” Ace nearly stumbled. Not physically. Her face did something spectacularly offended. Kiro grinned. “Did you just call that flirting?” “Yes.” “No.” Ace said, “Absolutely not.” Shammy added, “Little bit.” “Fuck all of you.” Kiro watched Ace's mouth twitch despite herself. Good. Still Ace. Still enough room for annoyance. Then the next camera caught the amber again. Kiro's amusement vanished. She opened the timestamp comparison once more. Exact onset. She had been pulling all local events around it. So far: No city-wide network spike. No power anomaly. No local EMP. No nearby unusual transmission. No public infrastructure failure. No recorded cyberattack. No recognized device handshake touching Ace. Nothing. Kiro widened the window by sixty seconds. Then two minutes. Thousands of events. Advertisements. Payment transactions. Traffic pings. Public terminal activity. Vehicle handshakes. Comms. Noise. Night City breathing electronically. Somewhere inside all of it, if this was technological, there should have been a footprint. There wasn't. Not yet. Kiro's fingers moved faster. She hated not yet. Ace reached the next corner. Kiro looked at the projected route. One block. “Okay.” Ace stopped beneath a public camera. “What?” “The likely building is one block ahead.” Mai's face appeared in profile on the feed as she turned toward Ace. Shammy stopped too. Ace stared down the street. Kiro zoomed. Her amber eyes looked almost luminous under the signage. “Anything?” Ace did not answer immediately. Kiro waited. That mattered. Finally Ace said, “Stronger.” Kiro's stomach sank. “Direction?” “Straight.” “The building is straight.” “I assumed.” Mai asked quietly, “Any recognition?” Ace looked ahead. “No.” “Memory?” “No.” “Expectation?” “No.” Kiro watched her. “Do you know Harry?” “No.” Immediate. “Name means anything?” “No.” “Seen him before?” “Not that I know.” “Good.” Ace looked directly up at the camera. “Why good?” “Because if you knew him, we'd have another variable.” Ace considered. “Fair.” Shammy looked down the block. “So random civilian.” Kiro corrected automatically. “Unknown civilian.” “Same difference.” “No.” “Fine.” Mai's voice remained calm. “Does he know Ace?” Kiro hesitated. There it was. The next ethical line. Public data could answer part of that. Maybe. Open posts. Visible follows. Public comments. Nothing private. Ace heard the silence. “Kiro.” “I can check public footprint.” Ace's amber gaze stayed on the camera. “Only public.” “Only public.” Kiro searched. Harry. Ace. Public mention patterns. Open boards. Archived comments. One clip repost. Another. Discussion thread. A few remarks. Nothing obsessive. No threats. No attempts to locate her. No weird surveillance content. No fixation that crossed immediately visible lines. But yes. Interest. Very clear interest. Kiro leaned back. Mai spoke first. “Well?” “He knows of Ace.” Ace's face went flat. “Most of Night City knows of Ace.” “True.” Kiro opened another public thread. Harry had commented on a slowed combat clip months earlier. Technical observation first. Then one sentence about Ace's movement. Nothing creepy. Another archive entry. Discussion of the Blood Red Sandman club footage. Kiro froze. “Fuck.” Ace reacted immediately. “What?” Kiro stared. There it was. Open discussion. Harry had talked about the phrase. Not recently. Not today. But publicly enough that indexing had caught it. Kiro's fingers stopped above the terminal. Mai's voice sharpened. “Kiro.” “Blood Red Sandman.” Silence. Even Shammy stopped breathing for a beat. Ace's expression changed. Not recognition. Something colder. “What about it?” “He's discussed it.” “When?” “Not today.” “Before this?” “Yes.” “How long?” Kiro checked. “Enough that it isn't reaction to us.” Ace looked toward the building she still could not quite see from her position. “Content?” “Public discussion. Curiosity. Nothing that looks like a threat.” Mai asked, “About Ace?” “Yes.” Ace said, “Of course.” Kiro heard the irritation. But beneath it, something else. The first real connection. Not explanation. Connection. Harry. Ace. Blood Red Sandman. Amber eyes. The pull. Kiro refused to build theory. Not yet. She said, “This does not prove he's causing anything.” Ace answered immediately. “I know.” “Could be coincidence.” “I know.” “Could be algorithmic noise.” “Kiro.” “Yeah.” “Stop protecting me from conclusions I'm not making.” Kiro closed her mouth. Fair. Ace started walking again. One block. The camera followed. Kiro switched to the building entrance feed. Nothing unusual. A woman left carrying groceries. A delivery drone hovered, deposited a package, departed. A man in work clothes entered. No Harry. Kiro checked the public resident image. There. Adult. Young. Normal-looking. No visible threat indicators. No public chrome profile worth noting. No known violent history accessible in public sources. No affiliation. Ace reached the next intersection. The building came into view. Kiro watched her face. “That's it.” Ace stopped. Mai stopped beside her. Shammy behind. Ace looked at the building. The pull surged visibly this time. Not in her eyes. Her whole posture changed. Weight forward. Shoulders setting. Attention narrowing. Ace caught herself. “Yeah.” Mai's voice softened. “This is the place?” Ace stared. “Yes.” Kiro felt cold. Not because the route had ended. Because Ace sounded certain. No address. No name. No memory. Still certain. Kiro checked everything again. Building. Resident. Exterior. No danger visible. No armed team. No ambush. No anomalous traffic. Nothing. Just a home. Ace looked up toward the exterior camera. “Kiro.” “Here.” “Harry inside?” Kiro checked only what she could legitimately know. Public entrance logs were not public. Private building network was off limits. No interior cameras. No intrusion. But the building's external utility-facing status showed normal occupancy load across units without identity. That was useless. She checked open messaging presence. Nothing decisive. “No confirmation.” Ace nodded. “Good.” Kiro frowned. “Good?” “You're not cheating.” That landed. Kiro swallowed. “No.” Ace looked back at the entrance. Shammy said, “We can go in with you.” The pull surged. Ace's face tightened. Mai caught it. “What?” Ace stared at the door. “I don't think so.” Shammy's expression darkened. “Don't think or can't?” Ace tested the idea. Shammy beside her. Mai beside her. All three entering. Pressure. Wrong. Then Ace alone. Relief. Her jaw clenched. “Fuck.” Mai stepped closer. “It wants you alone.” Ace looked at her. “Yes.” Kiro's hands froze over the terminal. Every instinct she had screamed no. Shammy's voice went low. “Then no.” Ace looked at her. The air around Shammy seemed to deepen. Not lightning. Not yet. Kiro said, “Ace, we do not have enough information.” “I know.” “Then don't go inside.” The pull intensified. Ace's face hardened. Mai watched her for several seconds. Then asked the important question. “Can you walk away?” Ace looked back down the street. Away from the building. Pressure. Immediate. Severe. She took one deliberate step backward. The pull hit harder. Ace stopped. Her breathing changed. Kiro saw it through the camera. “Ace.” “I know.” Another step backward. Ace's shoulders tightened. Third— She stopped completely. Not because her legs failed. Because the command inside her had become enormous. Forward. Her body trembled once. Small. Controlled. Mai reached toward her but did not touch. Ace turned forward. Relief flooded visibly through her posture. Kiro felt sick. Ace breathed out. “Not far.” Shammy stared at the building. “I can carry you home.” Ace looked up at her. “And then?” Shammy did not answer. That was the problem. They could restrain Ace. Physically. Probably. They could take her back. Lock doors. Hold her. Wait. But they did not know whether the pull would weaken. Or strengthen. Or hurt her. Or redirect. Or do something else entirely. Mai said quietly, “We follow as far as we can.” Ace looked at her. “If it won't let you inside?” “Then I stay outside.” Shammy's jaw tightened. “Me too.” Kiro said, “And I keep every exterior eye I can legally access.” Ace looked toward the camera. “Legally?” “Ethically.” “Better.” Kiro switched windows. Harry's public record. Building exterior. Ace. Route. Timestamp. Blood Red Sandman reference. Facts. Still only facts. She forced herself not to make them a story. Ace walked toward the entrance. The pull eased with every step. Mai followed. Shammy followed. At the door, Ace stopped. No forced entry required. Someone exited. The door opened. Ace caught it. Mai reached the threshold behind her. Ace flinched. Not from Mai. From inside. The pull reacted. Mai saw. “I stop here?” Ace tested. Mai outside. Better. “Yes.” Mai's face became unreadable. Shammy looked ready to remove the building from Watson manually. Ace looked at both of them. “I'm still me.” Mai answered, “I know.” “Then trust me.” Mai's expression shifted. “I do.” That hurt more than Kiro expected. Ace looked toward the camera one last time. “Kiro.” “Here.” “Track the exits.” “All of them.” “Public only.” “Yes.” “If I come back out different—” Mai cut in. “No.” Ace looked at her. Mai's voice stayed calm. “You come back out. Then we assess.” Ace held her gaze. Then nodded. “Fine.” Shammy said, “If you need me, scream.” Ace's mouth twitched. “You'll hear it from outside?” “Yes.” Kiro believed her. Ace turned. Walked into the building. The door closed behind her. The exterior camera lost her. Kiro stared at the feed. For the first time since Ace left the Safehouse, there was no camera on her. Nothing. Just a closed residential entrance. Kiro's hands remained above the controls. Every part of her wanted to break the rule. Find a building camera. Open a private system. Trace a resident device. Get eyes inside. Anything. She did none of it. Mai stood outside the door. Shammy beside her. Kiro watched them instead. Then opened the clock. Started a timer. And waited for Ace to appear somewhere she was allowed to see. --- ## Chapter 9 — Nothing Happened Harry had stopped thinking about the ritual. Mostly. That was the embarrassing part. Not because anything had happened. Because nothing had. Absolutely nothing. No sound. No movement. No lights failing. No impossible temperature drop. No shadow crossing the wall. No sudden appearance of a very small, very dangerous Japanese woman in his living room. Harry had performed the ritual, stared at the room for several minutes like an idiot, documented the complete lack of observable result, and then done the sensible thing. He had moved on. Or tried to. The book remained closed on the table. He had not put it away. That was less sensible. Harry sat on the couch with a tablet balanced against one knee, reading a technical manual he had already reread the same paragraph of three times. Neural interface architecture. Old model. Dry. Reliable. Comfortingly real. He made it to the end of the paragraph. Then looked at the book again. “Nothing happened.” The book did not respond. “Good.” Still nothing. Harry looked back at the tablet. The ritual had been ridiculous. Historically interesting, maybe. Textually weird. Morally ugly in concept. Mechanically impossible. Most importantly: It had failed. Exactly as physics, common sense, and every remotely responsible part of his brain had predicted. Harry leaned back. He should have felt relieved. He did. Mostly. There was also disappointment. That annoyed him. Not because he had truly expected Ace to appear. He hadn't. Not really. But curiosity had its own appetite. Harry knew that about himself. He had spent years buying books no sane person needed because one page contained a notation he hadn't seen before. He had followed translation trails across dead languages because a marginal note irritated him. He had once spent two weeks proving to himself that an apparent historical contradiction was actually a printer's error. Curiosity was not virtue. It was not vice either. It was a tool. Sometimes an addiction. Sometimes both. Harry looked at the old book again. The handwritten phrase on the earlier page remained burned into his memory. Blood Red Sandman. That still bothered him. Not because he had solved anything. Because he hadn't. The phrase was real. The club footage was real. The writing in the book appeared older than the event. At least probably. Maybe. Assuming the ink assessment was right. Assuming the pages had not been altered later. Assuming he was not being seduced by coincidence because coincidence was boring and mystery was fun. Harry had written himself a warning about exactly that. He had then performed the ritual anyway. “Excellent discipline.” He rubbed both hands over his face. The room remained offensively normal. Good. He looked at the clock. Not late. He should eat. He stood. The book stayed on the table. Harry walked into the kitchen alcove, opened the refrigeration unit, stared inside, and discovered the same inadequate selection he had discovered earlier. He closed it. Opened it again. The food had not improved. “Magic remains fake.” He took out the least disappointing option. A packaged noodle bowl. Protein substitute. Something green enough to qualify legally as vegetable. He set the bowl to heat. The apartment hummed. Outside, Watson continued existing. Traffic. Distant voices. An engine revving too hard. A siren several blocks away. Nothing unusual. Harry rested both hands on the counter. The ritual returned to his mind. Not the words. The decision. That was the part that bothered him now. He had known what the text claimed. Direction of a living subject. Control depends upon clarity of designation. The subject remains themselves. Direction acts upon choice. If magic existed, the ritual was not cute. It was coercion. Harry knew that. He had known before starting. He had done it anyway because he believed there was no mechanism through which anyone could be harmed. That distinction still mattered. But it did not make the decision elegant. Harry sighed. “Idiot.” The food unit chimed. He ate standing up. Halfway through, he looked toward the table. The book sat there. Silent. Dead. Ordinary. He finished eating. Then carried the bowl back to the counter. His apartment was small but comfortable. Books occupied more space than furniture. One wall held shelves. Another held a workstation. The couch had survived several moves and looked like it knew too much. There was nothing curated about the place. Harry liked objects because they meant something to him, not because they matched. Leo had once described the apartment as a bookstore after a structural collapse. Harry considered that praise. He cleaned the bowl. Then finally picked up the old book. It felt heavy. Not unnaturally. Just old books being old books. Harry carried it to his desk. He opened to the ritual again. The lines looked no more powerful than before. Some faded. Some rewritten. Some crossed out. Margins crowded with notes from people long dead. Maybe dead. Probably dead. One note bothered him enough that he reread it. **The subject remains themselves. Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.** Harry frowned. That phrasing was disturbingly specific. Not possession. Not replacement. Not transformation. Choice. He tapped the page with one finger. “If someone wrote you as fiction, they had issues.” He kept reading. There was no clear termination sequence. That bothered him. He flipped several pages. Nothing. No cancel phrase. No reversal. No description of failure states. No explanation of duration. No mechanism. He checked the pages before and after. Still nothing. Harry leaned closer. Some text was missing where pages had been removed. Of course. “Perfect.” The book continued offering no assistance. Harry opened his notes. He added: **Ritual contains no obvious termination clause. Another sign text is symbolic/theatrical or incomplete.** He paused. Then added: **If hypothetical mechanism existed, this omission would be ethically unacceptable.** Harry stared at the sentence. Deleted “hypothetical.” Typed it again. Left it. The ritual had failed. Nothing happened. Therefore the ethical risk remained theoretical. That was the conclusion. Reasonable. Logical. Comforting. Harry closed the notes. Then heard footsteps outside. He ignored them. Apartment building. People walked. More footsteps. Closer. Harry kept reading. The building's corridor acoustics were terrible. Every door made someone sound as if they were arriving specifically for you. He had learned not to react. The footsteps passed. Another door opened. Closed. Silence. Harry turned a page. A section describing what might have been ritual geometry appeared. Not useful. He took a photo. Zoomed. There was a repeated symbol in the lower corner. Harry recognized it. Same family as the mark near the Blood Red Sandman reference. He went still. “No.” Not because the connection was impossible. Because he had already decided not to force one. He opened the earlier scan. Compared. Similar. Not identical. Could be scribal habit. Could be decorative. Could be copied from a common source. Could be nothing. Harry wrote: **Visual similarity only. Insufficient to link sections.** Better. He sat back. A few seconds passed. Then something moved outside his window. Harry looked up. Someone crossing the street below. Not unusual. He returned to the book. Then looked again. Small figure. Dark clothing. Two swords. Harry stopped breathing. The figure moved out of view. Harry remained completely still. His brain rejected the image first. Cosplayer. Mercenary. Someone else. Night City contained thousands of women. Some of them short. Some carried swords. Very few— Harry stood. Too fast. His knee struck the desk. “Fuck.” He moved to the window. Carefully. The street angle was bad. He could see part of the opposite pavement. Part of the building entrance. A strip of road. Nothing. Harry waited. His heart had accelerated hard enough to become annoying. “No.” He said it quietly. To himself. To the possibility. To the book. Nothing happened. That had been established. He looked toward the table. The book lay open. Impossible. The thought came clearly. Then another: Check outside. Harry did not move. He listened. Corridor. Distant elevator machinery. Someone speaking two floors down. No knock. No alarm. Nothing. Harry laughed once. Short. Nervous. “This is stupid.” He walked back to the desk. Sat. Picked up the tablet. Read one line. Nothing remained in his head. He looked toward the window again. Then at the book. Then at the door. No. He was building a pattern because he had primed himself. That was all. He had spent an evening thinking about Ace. Performed an idiotic ritual involving Ace. Seen a short woman outside carrying swords. His brain had filled in the rest. Confirmation bias. Classic. Embarrassing. Harry forced himself to sit still. Thirty seconds. One minute. Two. No knock. His pulse began to settle. There. Proof. Nothing happened. He exhaled. Then his building comm chimed. Harry froze. One notification. Entry system. Someone had entered the building. That was all. The building handled dozens of people. Resident. Visitor. Delivery. Meaningless. Harry did not check. That felt important. He refused to become ridiculous. The book sat open beside him. He reached over. Closed it. Harder than necessary. “There.” The room became quiet again. Harry returned to the technical manual. Another minute passed. Then footsteps sounded in the corridor. Harry's eyes lifted. Soft. Controlled. Approaching. His body knew before his mind accepted it. Not because he recognized the gait. Because the footsteps stopped outside his door. Harry stared. Silence. No knock. His mouth had gone dry. He stood slowly. The door remained closed. Harry took one step toward it. Stopped. His eyes went to the old book. Nothing happened. His own words came back to him. If magic were real, this would be wrong. But magic isn't real. Harry looked at the door. His heart hammered. The building comm remained quiet. No message. No identity request. Nothing. He walked closer. Another step. He could see the door display from there. External camera. Harry hesitated. Then activated it. A woman stood outside. Tiny. Short black hair. Two katanas across her back. Face he knew from a thousand public images and nowhere that mattered. Harry forgot how to breathe. Ace looked directly toward the door. Her eyes were amber. Harry stared at the screen. Every argument he had made to himself collapsed at once. Nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. Nothing had— “Oh, fuck.” Ace raised one hand. And knocked. --- ## Chapter 10 — Destination Harry did not open the door. Not immediately. He stood three steps away from it and stared at the display as if the image might correct itself if he gave it enough time. Ace remained outside. Small. Still. Two katanas across her back. Amber eyes fixed on the door. Harry looked at the book. Then back at the display. His heartbeat had become embarrassingly loud. He knew what he was seeing. That was worse than not understanding it. The ritual. The designation. Ace. The note. **Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.** Harry's stomach dropped. “No.” Ace knocked again. Not hard. Not impatient. Just once. Harry moved toward the door. Stopped. He did not know what the correct action was. Opening the door felt wrong. Leaving her outside felt wrong. Calling anyone felt— He looked at the screen again. Ace did not look distressed. That meant nothing. If the text was even approximately true, she could remain completely herself while still being influenced. That was the point. Harry closed his eyes. “You fucking idiot.” He had done this. Maybe. No. Not maybe. Ace was at his door. The woman he had named in an impossible ritual was standing outside his apartment with eyes that were not her normal color. There was no rational route left to coincidence. Harry opened the door. Ace stood there. For one second neither of them spoke. Harry had seen her before. Public footage. News captures. Combat recordings. Interviews. Still images. Too many discussion threads. None of those had prepared him for scale. Ace was tiny. Not delicate. That distinction arrived immediately. Compact. Controlled. Built around motion even while standing still. The katanas made more sense in person. So did the danger. Harry's attention caught on her eyes. Amber. Unmistakably. Ace looked up at him. Harry forgot every sentence he had prepared during the entire zero seconds available to prepare them. “You're Ace.” Ace's mouth twitched. “Good start.” Her voice was exactly wrong for the situation. Normal. Dry. Hers. Harry stared. Ace tilted her head. “You Harry?” His stomach turned. “Yes.” The answer came too slowly. Ace noticed. Of course she did. “Thought so.” Harry looked past her into the corridor. Empty. Not entirely. At the far end, near the stairwell, Mai stood. Shammy beside her. Harry recognized both. His pulse climbed further. Ace saw his gaze move. “They're with me.” Harry looked back at her. “That doesn't make this better.” “No.” Ace's expression changed slightly. Not softer. More attentive. Harry tried to gather himself. “Did you—” He stopped. Wrong question. “Why are you here?” Ace looked at him. “I don't know.” That was worse than anything else she could have said. Harry's face drained. Ace watched. “You know something.” Not a question. Harry looked at the table behind him. The book. Ace followed the glance. There. Recognition. Not of the object itself. Of his reaction. Harry stepped back from the doorway. “Don't come in yet.” Ace stopped. Immediately. Harry noticed. Ace noticed him noticing. The silence became very precise. Harry swallowed. “I need to tell you something.” Ace's eyes stayed on him. “Tell me.” “I found an old book.” Ace's expression did not change. Harry continued. “It had a ritual in it.” Still nothing. “A control ritual.” That landed. Ace's face went still. Behind her, Mai's posture changed. Shammy's did too. Harry felt the temperature of the corridor drop even though it almost certainly had not. Ace said, “Keep talking.” Harry forced himself to. “The text claimed it could direct a living subject.” Ace's amber eyes narrowed. “Subject.” “Yes.” “You used it.” Harry could have lied. There was no point. “Yes.” The word hurt coming out. Ace did not move. Harry continued before fear could turn him cowardly. “I didn't believe it could work.” Ace said nothing. “I knew that if it was real, using it would be wrong.” Mai's eyes sharpened at the far end of the corridor. Harry saw it. Kept going anyway. “I believed there was no possible mechanism. I thought I was testing nonsense.” Ace looked at him for a long moment. Then: “Who did you name?” Harry held her gaze. “You.” Silence. Harry felt sick. Ace's expression did not collapse into fury. That might have been easier. She simply absorbed the fact. Harry looked at the amber again. “I think it worked.” Ace's mouth tightened. “Yeah.” That quiet agreement was somehow worse. Harry stepped farther back. “Don't come inside.” The pull hit Ace hard. Her body reacted visibly. Not dramatically. A small forward shift. A sudden tension. Harry saw it. He went still. Ace stopped herself. Mai moved one step closer from the corridor. Shammy did not. She did not need to. Harry looked at Ace. “That was it.” Ace's jaw clenched. “Yes.” “That's the control?” “Direction.” Harry's stomach dropped further. “The book said—” “I know what direction means.” “Right.” Harry looked at the doorway between them. Ace outside. Harry inside. The threshold had become a physical problem. He took another step back. Ace breathed out slowly. Harry said, “I can bring the book to you.” Ace's eyes moved toward the apartment. The pull reacted. Her shoulders tightened. “No.” Harry misunderstood. “No?” “Not enough.” Ace looked irritated at the answer itself. Harry tried again. “I can put it in the corridor.” Ace tested the thought. He saw her do it. Her eyes unfocused slightly. Then returned. “No.” “What does it want?” Ace looked directly at him. “Inside.” Harry felt cold. Mai spoke from behind Ace. “Harry.” His attention snapped to her. Mai's voice was calm. That frightened him more than shouting would have. “Step away from the door.” Harry did. Immediately. Farther into the apartment. Mai looked at Ace. “Better?” Ace waited. “Yes.” Harry understood. Not him. Position. Distance. Access. Something was pulling Ace toward the apartment itself. Or toward Harry. Or toward— Harry's eyes went to the book. Ace saw that too. “Could be the book.” Harry nodded. “Could be.” “Could be you.” “Yes.” “Could be both.” “Yes.” Ace looked at the threshold. Harry's mouth had gone dry. “I don't want you coming in if you don't want to.” Ace's expression changed. The sentence mattered. Harry repeated it more carefully. “I mean that.” Ace looked at him. “I know.” The pull pressed. Her right foot moved to the threshold. Stopped. Harry's heartbeat thudded. Ace looked down at her own foot. Then back at him. “What else did the ritual say?” Harry glanced at the book. “Not enough.” “That wasn't the question.” He deserved that. Harry forced himself to remember. “Designation.” “Meaning?” “Identify the subject clearly.” “How?” “Name. Image. Association.” Ace's face hardened. “You used an image?” “Yes.” “Which?” Harry hesitated. Ace's eyes sharpened. “Harry.” “A public one.” “Which.” He described it. Ace recognized the shoot. No reaction beyond irritation. Harry continued. “The text said the subject remains themselves.” Ace's mouth flattened. “Convenient.” “I know.” “Does it say how long?” “No.” “Stop condition?” “I couldn't find one.” That got a reaction from all three women. Mai moved closer. Shammy's expression became something Harry did not want directed at him ever. Ace remained strangely calm. “Broken by what?” Harry frowned. “What?” “The note. Direction acts upon choice until direction is broken.” Harry looked at the book. “I don't know.” “Excellent.” “I know.” “Do you?” “Yes.” That answer came harder than the others. Harry looked at her. “I know exactly how bad this is.” Ace studied him. Not forgiving. Not condemning. Assessing. Harry accepted that. Ace turned slightly toward Mai. “The pull doesn't want them inside.” Harry heard it. “What?” Ace looked back at him. “It gets worse if they come closer.” Harry's stomach twisted. “No.” Ace raised an eyebrow. “No what?” “No, that's not okay.” “Agreed.” “Then don't come in.” Ace looked at the door. The pull pressed harder. Harry saw the change in her breathing. She took one step back. The pressure hit immediately. Ace's face tightened. Harry watched. “Stop.” Ace took another step back. Her body trembled once. Mai moved. Ace lifted one hand. “Don't.” Harry felt horror settle fully into place. This was real. Not abstract. Not a bizarre success. Not fantasy becoming reality. Coercion. He had caused it. Ace stepped forward again. Relief. Her expression turned furious. Not at Harry. At the mechanism. Harry almost wished it were at him. Mai said quietly, “We can't solve it in the corridor.” Ace looked at her. “No.” Shammy's voice was low. “I still don't like this.” “Neither do I.” Harry said, “I can leave.” Ace looked at him. The pull reacted visibly. Forward. Toward him. Harry saw it. “No.” Ace's expression hardened. “That made it worse.” Harry swallowed. “So it's me.” “Maybe.” “Or the book.” “Maybe.” Harry looked behind him. The book sat on the table. He suddenly hated it. He moved toward it. Ace's body shifted forward. Harry stopped. Ace noticed. “Again.” Harry took one step toward the book. The pull intensified. Ace's eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” Harry took one step away. The pressure eased slightly. Mai said, “Book.” Ace nodded. “Probably part of it.” Harry stared at the object. “I can destroy it.” Ace's gaze snapped to him. “No.” Harry froze. Ace continued. “Not until we know what that does.” Right. Of course. Harry felt stupid again. “Right.” Mai spoke. “Do not touch it unless Ace asks.” Harry nodded. “Understood.” Ace looked at him. That seemed to matter. Not obedience. Boundaries. Harry remained where he was. The apartment door stayed open. Ace stood outside. The pull continued. Minutes could not solve this. They all knew it. Ace looked at Mai. “If I go in, you stay outside.” Mai's face tightened. “Yes.” “If I tell you I'm okay, don't assume that proves anything.” “Yes.” “If I tell you to leave—” “I won't.” Ace's mouth twitched faintly. “Good.” Harry watched them. The ease beneath the tension. The trust. The lack of performance. He suddenly understood something he had only seen from the outside before. Whatever this was, he was not part of that structure. He was the problem currently standing inside the door. Ace looked at Shammy. “You too.” Shammy's eyes were very dark. “I stay.” “Good.” Then Ace looked at Harry. He straightened. “If I tell you to back off?” “I back off.” “If I tell you don't touch me?” “I don't.” “If I change my mind?” “You don't owe me consistency.” Ace's eyebrows rose slightly. Harry continued. “I mean it.” “If I tell you to get the fuck out of your own apartment?” “I get the fuck out.” That finally produced the smallest real smile. “Good.” Harry did not return it. He had not earned lightness yet. Ace looked down at the threshold. The pull waited. No. Not waited. Demanded. She took one step forward. Inside. Relief went through her so visibly Harry hated himself. Mai stayed outside. Shammy beside her. Ace took another step. Then another. Harry moved farther back. Giving space. Ace entered the apartment fully. The pull eased. Not vanished. Eased. She turned. Looked at Mai through the open doorway. “Still here.” Mai nodded. “Eyes still amber.” Ace's mouth flattened. “Yeah.” Kiro's voice came faintly through Ace's comm. “We see the doorway.” Harry realized there was another person involved. Watching externally. Tracking. Good. He wanted witnesses. He wanted every possible safeguard. Ace looked toward the table. The book. The pull sharpened. Harry saw it. “So it is that.” Ace walked toward it. Not quickly. Harry stayed away. Ace stopped beside the table. Looked down. Old leather. Broken spine. Ancient pages. Nothing about it looked capable of reaching across Night City and rewriting direction inside a human mind. Ace stared. Harry stood several meters away. The distance felt important. Mai remained at the door. Shammy beyond her. No one spoke. Ace reached toward the book. Harry's voice came immediately. “Careful.” Ace stopped. Looked at him. Harry almost apologized. Didn't. Ace lowered her hand. “No touch yet.” “Good.” She circled the table instead. The pull changed with her position. Harry watched her test it. Closer to the book. Relief. Farther. Pressure. Closer to Harry. Relief too. Ace noticed. Harry saw that. Neither said anything. Not yet. Ace looked around the apartment. Books. Workstation. Old couch. Food container still on the counter. Nothing staged. Nothing prepared. No candles. No ritual space. No restraints. No trap. Just someone's home. Harry knew exactly how pathetic that looked compared to what he had done. Ace's eyes moved to the open notes on his terminal. Then to Harry. “You documented it.” “Yes.” “Everything?” “Everything I did.” “Good.” That surprised him. Ace looked toward the book again. Harry asked, “Can you leave?” Ace turned toward the door. Took one step. Pressure. Another. Harder. She stopped. Mai's expression tightened. Ace turned back. Relief. “No.” Harry closed his eyes briefly. “Fuck.” Ace looked at him. “Yeah.” Harry opened them. “I am sorry.” Ace's face remained unreadable. “I know.” Not forgiveness. Recognition. Harry accepted it. Then Ace's attention shifted. Not toward the book. Toward him. Harry went still. The pull changed. Something in Ace's posture changed with it. Not only direction now. Harry could not name the difference. That made him afraid. Ace took one step toward him. Harry stepped back. Ace stopped. Her amber eyes fixed on him. Harry felt the air leave his lungs. “Ace.” “Yeah.” “You don't have to—” “I know.” He shook his head. “No. I don't think you do.” That got her attention. Harry continued. “If the book is affecting choice, then I can't treat anything you do right now as normal.” Ace stared at him. Behind her, Mai said nothing. Harry knew he had said the correct thing because no one corrected him. Ace looked down briefly. Then back up. “The problem is I still feel like me.” Harry's throat tightened. “I know.” “You don't.” “The book said you would.” Ace went still. Harry hated himself for knowing that. “It specifically said the subject remains themselves.” Ace's jaw tightened. Harry forced the next words out. “So feeling like yourself does not prove you're free.” Silence. Ace looked toward Mai. Mai's face held no comfort. Only agreement. Ace exhaled slowly. “Fuck.” Harry nodded. “Yes.” The pull remained. Ace stood inside Harry's apartment. Amber-eyed. Fully aware. Fully herself. And none of them could yet tell where Ace ended and the book began. --- ## Chapter 11 — It Worked Harry had wanted Ace in his apartment. That fact became unbearable the moment she actually stood there. Not the idea of her. Not an image. Not a public recording frozen at exactly the right frame. Ace. Alive. Watching him. Amber-eyed. Harry stood several meters away and understood, with perfect clarity, that he had accomplished something he had never believed possible. It worked. The thought carried no triumph. Only horror. Ace broke the silence. “Stop looking like that.” Harry blinked. “Like what?” “Like you just discovered gravity and it killed your dog.” From the doorway, Shammy made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. Harry looked at Ace. She looked irritated. That was strangely comforting. “Sorry.” “Don't apologize for your face.” “Right.” “Apologize for the book.” “I already did.” “Then we're efficient.” Harry stared. Ace's mouth twitched. There. Again. Her humor. Her timing. Everything about her said Ace except the eyes. Harry hated the eyes. Ace noticed. “You keep looking at them.” “Yes.” “Understandable.” “They're normally violet.” “I know.” Harry immediately regretted saying it. Ace raised an eyebrow. “Fan?” There was absolutely no safe answer. Harry decided the truth had already ruined his evening thoroughly enough. “Yes.” “How much?” Harry looked toward Mai. Mai looked back. No help there. Shammy appeared actively interested now. Harry returned his attention to Ace. “Enough.” “That means too much.” “Probably.” Ace considered him. The amber made the attention unnerving. Not empty. Not supernatural-looking. Just wrong. “How long?” “What?” “Have you been following me?” Harry winced at the phrasing. “Following your public work.” “Better answer.” “Years.” Ace tilted her head. “That's why you picked me.” Harry could have complicated it. He didn't. “Partly.” “Other part?” Harry hesitated. Ace waited. Harry sighed. “I find you extremely attractive.” Shammy coughed. Mai did not move at all. Harry looked toward the door. “Should I have lied?” “No,” Mai said. Somehow that was not reassuring. Ace studied Harry. The pull remained inside her. She could feel it. Toward the apartment. Toward the book. Toward Harry. The distinctions were becoming less clean. That bothered her. His answer did not. Attraction was ordinary. People found Ace attractive. Ace found people attractive. Nothing supernatural required. She looked Harry over more deliberately now. Young. Adult. Taller than her by an amount that described most of Night City. Not built like a mercenary. Not soft either. Ordinary clothing. Slightly disordered hair. A face currently losing a prolonged argument with guilt. Ace found him attractive. The realization came easily. Too easily. She immediately distrusted it. Harry saw something change in her expression. “What?” “Nothing.” “That didn't look like nothing.” Ace's eyebrows rose. “You've known me in person for six minutes.” “Fair.” “Don't get ambitious.” “Not planning to.” Good answer. Again. Annoying. Ace looked at the book. The pull strengthened. Then she looked at Harry. Also stronger. Different? Maybe. She walked toward the table. Harry moved farther away from it. Ace noticed. “You're scared of me.” Harry considered. “Yes.” Shammy laughed openly this time. Ace looked offended. “Rude.” Harry shook his head. “Not like that.” “You should probably clarify before Shammy enjoys herself to death.” “I don't think you're going to hurt me.” Ace waited. Harry looked at the amber. “I'm scared I'll mistake something this is making you do for something you chose.” That killed the humor. Ace stared at him. Mai remained silent. Harry wished he could take the sentence back only because it sounded too clean. Reality was not clean. He continued. “And I don't know how to tell the difference.” Ace looked toward the book. “Neither do I.” There. The actual problem. Harry exhaled. Ace walked around the table. The book remained closed. She did not touch it. “Tell me exactly what you did.” Harry nodded. He moved to the workstation, keeping distance between himself and Ace. “Can I show you?” “Yes.” He opened his notes. Ace approached. Harry stepped aside. She noticed that too. The notes were methodical. Photographs. Translations. Alternative readings. Confidence estimates. Warnings. Ace scrolled. Then stopped. Read one line. Looked at Harry. He knew which one before checking. **ALSO DO NOT DO STUPID SHIT JUST BECAUSE A DEAD PERSON WROTE INSTRUCTIONS.** Ace stared at him. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “In my defense—” “No.” “Fair.” “You wrote yourself a warning.” “Yes.” “Then ignored yourself.” “Yes.” “Impressive.” “Thank you.” “That wasn't praise.” “I know.” Ace continued. Another note. **If mechanism were real, use on a living subject would constitute coercion regardless of retained personality. Do not confuse retained agency with free agency.** Ace stopped. The room became quiet. She read it again. Harry wished the floor would open. Ace looked at him. “You wrote this before?” “Yes.” “And then did it anyway.” “Yes.” “Because?” “I thought the probability of it being real was zero.” Ace's eyes narrowed. “Zero.” “Yes.” “Not low.” “Zero.” “And now?” Harry looked directly at her amber eyes. “One hundred.” Ace almost smiled. “Good calibration.” “Bit late.” “Very.” Harry accepted that. Ace scrolled farther. She found the designation notes. Image. Association. Identity. Her. Harry watched her read. Ace looked at him again. “Show me the image.” Harry did. Public capture. Ace recognized it immediately. A job. Months ago. Her expression was neutral in the image. Katanas visible. Violet eyes. Harry had not chosen anything sexualized. That mattered more than Ace expected. She glanced at him. “Why this one?” Harry answered without hesitation. “It's the one I think of first when someone says Ace.” “Why?” “You look like you're about to do something stupid.” Ace stared. Mai laughed. Actually laughed. Ace turned toward the doorway. “Excuse me?” Mai covered her mouth badly. Shammy did not bother. Harry looked mortified. “I meant—” Ace turned back. “No, no. Finish.” Harry knew death when invited toward it. “You looked happy.” The laughter stopped. Ace blinked. Harry pointed awkwardly toward the image. “Not smiling. But...” He struggled. Ace waited. “You looked like you were exactly where you wanted to be.” Ace looked at the image. She remembered the moment. He was right. That irritated her less than expected. “Hm.” Harry wisely stopped speaking. Ace continued through the notes. The ritual itself was there. Every line Harry had spoken. Every uncertainty marked. Every translation caveat. No hidden section. No secret instruction omitted from the record. Ace looked toward the old book. “Show me the original.” Harry hesitated. “Without touching it.” “Yes.” He moved toward the table. The pull inside Ace changed instantly. She felt it. Toward him. Toward the book. She followed. Harry stopped. Ace stopped too. They looked at each other. “That.” Harry's voice was quiet. Ace nodded. “Yeah.” “Was that me?” “Don't know.” Harry stepped sideways away from the book. Ace tested the sensation. Pressure changed. She frowned. “Again.” Harry moved closer. The pull eased. He moved away. Pressure. Ace's jaw tightened. “Fuck.” Harry looked sick. “Me.” “Partly.” “That's worse.” “Stop deciding rankings.” “Sorry.” Ace walked closer to him deliberately. Harry did not move. One step. Relief. Another. More. The pull rewarded proximity. Ace hated it. She stopped an arm's length away. Harry's breathing had changed. So had hers. That could mean anything. Ace looked up. Harry looked down. Attraction. Again. Clearer now. Ace wanted to close the distance. That thought arrived naturally. Too naturally. She examined it. Harry was attractive. She had already decided that. His voice worked for her. His guilt did too, oddly—not the guilt itself, but what it revealed about him. He was not celebrating. Not exploiting. Not pretending the ritual absolved him. Ace liked that. Did she like it? Or did the book want her to like it? Fuck. Ace stepped back. The pull protested. Harry saw. “Don't force it.” Ace's irritation snapped toward him. “Don't tell me what to do.” Harry raised both hands. “Right.” Ace stopped. Looked at him. Then sighed. “No. That was unfair.” “You're allowed.” “Don't do that either.” “What?” “Turn into a fucking doormat because you feel guilty.” Harry lowered his hands. “I don't know what the correct behavior is.” “Congratulations.” Ace gestured between them. “Neither do I.” Harry gave a tiny, helpless laugh. Ace felt herself respond to it. Warmth. Interest. Again impossible to classify. Mai's voice came from the doorway. “Ace.” Ace looked at her. “Yeah.” “How strong?” “The pull?” “Yes.” Ace considered. “Strong.” “Stronger near him?” “Yes.” “The book?” “Yes.” “Can you separate them?” “No.” Mai nodded. No conclusions. Good. Ace looked back at Harry. He was watching Mai now. Not with resentment. Not possessiveness. Mostly gratitude that someone else knew Ace better than he did. Also good. Too many good things. Ace hated that. “Harry.” He looked at her. “Yeah?” “If this had happened the way you imagined—” “I didn't imagine this.” Ace's eyebrow rose. Harry corrected himself. “I imagined you. Not this.” That answer landed somewhere inconvenient. Ace continued. “If I had appeared here with violet eyes, because I wanted to, what would you have done?” Harry stared. “That is a deeply unfair question.” “Answer.” He looked toward Mai. Mai's face said nothing. Shammy looked delighted again. Harry returned to Ace. “Probably stopped functioning for several minutes.” Ace smiled. “After?” Harry swallowed. “Asked why you were here.” “And if I told you?” Harry understood where the question was going. His face changed. Ace watched carefully. “If you told me you wanted me?” “Yes.” Harry's eyes moved over her face. Not lower. Interesting. “I'd make sure you meant it.” Ace's smile faded. “Then?” Harry took a breath. “Then I'd probably have the best night of my life.” Shammy made another choking sound. Mai looked toward the ceiling. Ace laughed. A real one. Short. Bright. Hers. Harry stared at her. The pull remained. The amber remained. But the laugh had come from somewhere Ace recognized completely. That mattered. Not enough. But something. Ace stepped closer again. Harry's amusement disappeared. “Ace.” She stopped. “Still scared?” “Yes.” “Good.” “That is not reassuring.” “It is to me.” Harry looked at the distance between them. Less than a meter. Ace could feel the pull. Could feel attraction. Could feel curiosity. Could feel the strange post-Flash restlessness that had become an increasingly familiar resident inside her skin. All of them layered together. No clean borders. She hated that. She also wanted him. That was the most dangerous fact in the room. Ace looked at his mouth. Harry noticed. He did not move. Ace looked back into his eyes. “Don't.” Harry went perfectly still. “I wasn't.” “I know.” Ace remained there another second. Then stepped away. The pull punished her. She ignored it. Harry exhaled. Ace walked back to the book. “Read me the ritual.” Harry's face tightened. “Again?” “No. What you already read.” Relief. “Yes.” He opened his notes. Read. Slowly. Every line. Ace listened. Designation. Direction. Approach. Choice. Association. The language was fragmented. Translation uncertain. Nothing about amber eyes. Nothing about destination mechanics. Nothing about duration. Nothing about what happened after arrival. Nothing about desire. Then Harry reached one line he had translated three different ways. He stopped. Ace noticed. “What?” “This one.” “Read it.” Harry looked at the screen. “Closest version is...” He hesitated. “‘Let the subject find favor in the presence named.’” Silence. Ace's face went still. Mai's expression changed. Harry immediately continued. “But ‘favor’ could mean acceptance. Ease. Recognition. Absence of hostility. The word is ambiguous.” Ace stared at him. “Or attraction.” Harry looked miserable. “Possibly.” Shammy said softly, “Fuck.” Ace agreed. “Yeah.” There it was. The missing piece. Not proof. Possibility. The pull might not only be directing her body toward Harry. It might be weighting how she perceived him. Harry stepped farther away. Ace looked at him. “What are you doing?” “Giving you space.” The pull immediately objected. Ace's jaw tightened. “Stop.” Harry stopped. Ace froze. Everyone heard it. The command had come from her. Hadn't it? Ace closed her eyes. “Fuck.” Harry did not move. Mai said quietly, “Ace.” “I know.” Ace opened her eyes. Amber. Harry remained where she had told him to remain. Ace looked at him. “You wanted to move away.” “Yes.” “I told you not to.” “Yes.” “Do you want to stay there?” Harry understood. “No.” “Then move.” Harry stepped back. The pull inside Ace surged. She let it. Did not follow. Harry stopped farther away. Ace breathed through the pressure. One second. Two. Five. Ten. She remained where she was. Mai watched. Shammy watched. Harry watched. Ace opened her eyes fully. “Okay.” Mai understood. “You can contradict it.” “Some of it.” “That's something.” Ace nodded. Yes. Something. Harry looked at the book. Then at Ace. “I wish I'd burned it.” Ace's amber eyes fixed on him. “Don't.” “I know.” “No uncontrolled variables.” “Right.” Ace exhaled. Then looked at the old book again. An object that should have been impossible. An object that had reached across Night City. Changed her eyes. Pulled her through streets she had not chosen. Brought her into the home of a man who had wanted her before they ever met. And perhaps, somehow, made her want him back. Ace hated it. Harry hated it. Mai and Shammy clearly hated it. Nobody knew how to stop it. Harry looked at Ace. The words came quietly. “It worked.” Ace turned her amber eyes toward him. “Yeah.” Harry swallowed. Ace's expression hardened. “Now we find out what the fuck it thinks that means.” --- ## Chapter 12 — The Kiss Kiro saw Ace again twelve minutes later. The exterior camera caught the apartment building entrance. Door opened. Ace stepped outside. Amber eyes. Harry followed. Kiro sat forward so fast her chair complained. “Got them.” Mai's voice came immediately. “We see.” Mai and Shammy had moved farther down the block. Not gone. Just far enough that the pull no longer reacted badly to their presence near the entrance. Ace had insisted. Mai had disliked it. Shammy had disliked it more. Neither had argued after the second test made the effect obvious. Now they watched from across the street through reflected storefront glass rather than standing directly outside Harry's door. Harry stopped beside Ace. He looked terrible. Not injured. Guilty. Nervous. Very much like a man who had accidentally discovered magic and strongly wished he had discovered plumbing instead. Kiro had decided she approved of that part. Ace looked up at the sky. Then toward the street. The pull had changed. She could feel Harry beside her. The book remained upstairs. That separation mattered. Ace had suggested it. Harry had agreed immediately. The idea was simple. Move away from the book. See what changed. Nothing had vanished. The pull still existed. But it was different outside. Less concentrated. Less like a single point. Ace stood beneath the city lights and tried to separate layers. Book. Harry. Direction. Attraction. Curiosity. Her own irritation. Her own body. Too many signals. None labeled. Harry remained a careful distance away. Ace noticed. “You can stop looking like you're waiting for sentencing.” Harry glanced at her. “I think sentencing would be simpler.” “Probably.” Mai watched from across the street. Shammy stood beside her with both arms folded. Kiro watched all of them through three different cameras. No one relaxed. Ace looked at Harry. “Walk.” Harry blinked. “Where?” “Anywhere.” “That's reassuring.” “Don't make me regret inviting you.” Harry almost smiled. “Right.” They started down the sidewalk. The pull went with them. Ace noticed immediately. Not just the book. Harry. Probably. She turned away from him while walking. Pressure increased. She looked back. Relief. “Fuck.” Harry stopped. “What?” Ace stopped too. “It moved.” “The pull?” “Yes.” “With me?” “Looks like.” Harry closed his eyes briefly. “That is worse.” “Stop ranking.” “Right.” Ace resumed walking. Harry followed. They made half a block. Kiro tracked. Mai and Shammy followed at distance. Nothing dramatic. No attack. No collapse. No strange signal. Just two people walking through Watson while one of them had impossible amber eyes and the other had caused them. Ace tested distance. “Stay.” Harry stopped. Ace continued. One step. Two. Three. Pressure rose. Four. Five. Harder. She stopped. Turned. Harry stood where she had left him. Concerned. Obedient. Ace walked back. Relief. Harry hated watching it. Ace saw that. “Still real.” “I noticed.” “Good.” Harry gave her a look. Ace's mouth twitched. The humor came easily. Again. That bothered her less now. Not because she trusted it. Because she recognized the pattern. Book or not, Harry gave her material. That was his fault. They started again. Kiro's voice came through Ace's comm. “Eyes unchanged.” Ace looked toward the nearest camera. “You've said that.” “Still matters.” “Fine.” Harry followed her gaze. “Kiro?” Ace nodded. “Watching public feeds.” “Good.” “Very.” Harry looked toward the camera. Then, awkwardly, “Hi.” Kiro stared at the screen. Shammy laughed over comms. Mai looked toward the same camera. Ace closed her eyes. “Oh, for fuck's sake.” Harry looked mortified. “I panicked.” “You greeted surveillance.” “Yes.” “Adorable.” Harry stared at her. Ace immediately hated the word. Not because it was inaccurate. Because it had come out too naturally. Harry heard the change in her voice. “Ace.” “I know.” He stopped walking. Ace did too. Harry looked at her carefully. “Was that you?” Ace's jaw tightened. “Don't.” “Sorry.” “No.” Ace faced him. “Don't ask me every time I say something whether it was me.” Harry nodded slowly. “Why?” “Because I don't fucking know.” That landed. Harry looked away. “Right.” Ace continued. “And if you keep asking, eventually every sentence out of my mouth becomes evidence.” Harry's face changed. He understood. “So what do I do?” Ace thought. “Listen.” “To you?” “Yes.” “But—” “Listen doesn't mean believe everything blindly.” Harry stopped. Ace continued. “It means stop treating me like a test bench.” Harry swallowed. “Okay.” “Good.” Ace resumed walking. Harry followed. Across the street, Mai exhaled. Shammy looked at her. “She sounds like herself.” Mai nodded. “That doesn't mean enough yet.” “No.” Kiro heard both. She watched Ace's face on the camera. Amber. Still wrong. But the irritation had been real. Kiro knew that much. Or thought she did. That was the nightmare. Ace and Harry reached a corner. Ace stopped. The pull did not demand a specific turn now. Interesting. She looked left. Right. Straight. No meaningful difference. “Harry.” “Yeah?” “Pick.” He hesitated. “Left.” Ace waited. No pressure change. “Left.” They turned. Kiro updated route. Mai and Shammy followed. Harry looked at Ace. “So the book got you here.” “Seems like.” “And now?” “Now you seem to be the anchor.” Harry winced. “Anchor sounds too nice.” “Fine.” Ace looked him over. “Problem.” “Accurate.” They walked another half block. Harry's guilt had become repetitive enough that Ace was starting to get annoyed with it. That felt reassuringly hers. “Tell me something.” Harry looked at her. “What?” “Something unrelated to this.” Harry blinked. “Why?” “Because I am tired of talking about magical coercion.” “Fair.” He thought. Ace waited. “Leo's coffee is terrible.” Ace stared. “That is your conversation opener?” “He thinks it's coffee.” “And what is it?” “Possibly a solvent.” Ace smiled. “Who's Leo?” “Antiquarian.” “The book guy.” “Yes.” “Friend?” Harry considered. “Almost.” Ace raised an eyebrow. “Almost?” “I've known him for years. We talk. I buy too much from him. He insults my taste. I insult his coffee.” “Sounds like a friend.” “We don't do birthdays.” “High bar.” Harry laughed. Ace felt the response in herself. Warm. Easy. She liked the sound. Fuck. Harry saw her expression change. He did not ask. Good. Ace continued. “What do you buy?” “Old technical books. Local histories. Weird print runs. Things nobody else wants.” “Why?” “Because sometimes nobody else wants them for stupid reasons.” Ace looked at him. “And sometimes?” “Because I have bad judgment.” Ace glanced at her amber reflection in a window. “Documented.” Harry laughed again. Ace did too. Short. Real. Maybe. She hated maybe. They reached a quieter section of sidewalk. Less traffic. Kiro switched cameras. One exterior security feed. Then another. Mai and Shammy remained behind. Harry said, “You're not what I expected.” Ace looked up. “Dangerous sentence.” “I know.” “What did you expect?” Harry thought. “More intimidating.” Ace stopped walking. Harry stopped too. Ace stared. “You are currently saying that to a woman carrying two katanas.” “Yes.” “And you think I am insufficiently intimidating.” “That came out wrong.” Shammy's laughter burst through Ace's comm. Kiro covered her mouth at the terminal. Mai actually smiled. Ace folded her arms. “Continue.” Harry looked at the ground. “I expected you to be harder to talk to.” Ace's eyebrow rose. “Better.” “Not safer.” “Much better.” Harry looked at her. “You're easy to talk to.” Ace considered. “That could be the book.” Harry's face tightened. Ace immediately regretted saying it. Not because false. Because it had destroyed the moment. Harry nodded. “Could be.” Ace watched him. He did not exploit the uncertainty. Did not say it probably wasn't. Did not reassure her. Good. Again. Too many good things. Ace stepped closer. Harry noticed. Did not move. The pull eased. Ace looked up at him. “How attracted are you to me?” Harry's brain visibly failed. Kiro whispered to nobody, “Oh no.” Mai heard. Shammy definitely heard. Harry swallowed. “That seems like a trap.” “It is.” “Very?” Ace waited. Harry sighed. “Very.” “How very?” Harry looked toward the camera. Ace followed his gaze. “Don't look at Kiro.” “I wasn't—” “You absolutely were.” Kiro sat perfectly still. Ace looked back at Harry. “Well?” Harry rubbed one hand over his face. “Enough that this situation is deeply inconvenient.” Ace smiled. “That is not a number.” “I don't think numbers improve it.” “Coward.” “Yes.” The smile remained. Ace stepped closer. Harry's breathing changed. So did hers. Attraction was there. Strong. Not subtle. Ace had no trouble identifying it. Only ownership. Harry looked down at her. “Ace.” “Don't ask.” “I wasn't going to.” “Good.” She stood close enough now that the pull softened significantly. Harry's eyes flicked to hers. Amber. Then away. Ace noticed. “You really hate them.” “Yes.” “Why?” Harry answered instantly. “Because I wanted you before they existed.” Ace went completely still. Harry realized what he had said. But did not take it back. Ace looked at him. “That's a good answer.” “It wasn't planned.” “Even better.” Harry's pulse was visible in his throat. Ace noticed that too. Her gaze lingered. Harry did not move. The city noise seemed farther away. Across the street and half a block behind, Mai watched. Shammy watched Mai. Kiro watched everyone. Ace lifted one hand. Stopped before touching Harry. Her own hesitation surprised her. Not because she didn't want to. Because she did. She looked at her hand. Then at Harry. “If I touch you, don't interpret it.” Harry nodded. “Okay.” Ace placed her fingertips lightly against his chest. Contact. The pull eased. Her body responded. Warmth. Interest. Curiosity. Harry held perfectly still. Ace could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Fast. Very. That amused her. “Scared?” “Yes.” “Of me?” “Currently mostly of fucking this up.” Ace's mouth curved. She moved her hand slightly. Harry inhaled. Ace noticed. She liked that reaction. Again. Whose? Fuck. Ace removed her hand. Pressure increased. She frowned. Harry did not follow. Good. Ace looked up. “Come closer.” Harry hesitated. Then moved one small step. The pull eased. Ace exhaled. Harry searched her face. “What?” Ace looked at his mouth. “I'm deciding.” Harry's entire body went still. “About what?” “You know.” He did. Kiro realized it at the same time. “No fucking way.” Mai's attention sharpened. Shammy's eyebrows rose. Harry shook his head slightly. “Ace.” “What?” “I don't think that's a decision you can trust right now.” Ace's expression cooled. “Neither do I.” Harry looked confused. Ace continued. “That's different from pretending I don't want it.” Harry had no answer. Ace stepped closer. Very close now. Her hand rose again. Touched the side of his face. Harry shut his eyes for half a second. Ace watched. She liked that too. The pull was quieter. Her own interest felt louder. That did not prove anything. Nothing proved anything. Ace was getting tired of proof. Harry opened his eyes. “Ace.” “Still here.” “If you kiss me—” “I know.” “I won't assume—” “I know.” “Anything.” Ace's mouth twitched. “You talk too much.” “Stress response.” “Mine too.” Harry almost smiled. Ace looked toward the nearest camera. Kiro's feed. Public. Watching. She knew Mai and Shammy were still nearby. Witnesses. No secrecy. No hidden room. No way for Harry to later pretend this had happened differently. Ace turned back. Then she made the choice she could make in that moment. Not because she trusted the desire. Because she wanted more information about it. Ace rose slightly onto her toes. Harry froze. Ace kissed him. Kiro stopped breathing. Mai went perfectly still. Shammy whispered, “Well.” The kiss was brief. Soft. No urgency. No escalation. Ace withdrew first. Harry did not follow. Good. Ace looked at him. Harry looked stunned. “That was...” Ace raised one eyebrow. “Careful.” Harry closed his mouth. Smart. Ace studied herself. The pull. Still there. Attraction. Still there. No sudden revelation. No clean division. No magical voice. No obvious shift. Just Harry. Close. Warm. Very kissable. Fuck. Harry watched her face. Ace looked up. “Kiss me back.” Harry's expression changed. “Ace.” “That was an instruction.” “Yes.” “I'm aware.” “You're sure?” “No.” Harry stared. Ace's voice softened. “Neither are you.” “No.” “Good.” That was the truth. Ace leaned closer again. Harry hesitated. One second. Two. Then he met her halfway. The second kiss lasted longer. Still careful. Harry's hand lifted instinctively. Stopped in the air. Ace noticed. She took his wrist. Placed his hand at her waist herself. Harry inhaled sharply. Kiro stared at the feed. “Oh, come on.” Shammy laughed quietly. Mai said nothing. Her eyes never left Ace. Ace felt Harry's hand at her waist. Warm. Controlled. Not gripping. Not claiming. The pull eased further. Ace deepened the kiss slightly. Harry followed. Nothing more. Nothing yet. Ace broke it. Harry's hand immediately dropped away. Ace looked at him. “Good.” Harry breathed out. “I have no idea what that means.” “Neither do I.” Ace looked toward the street. Then back at him. “But I know you listen.” Harry swallowed. “That part I can promise.” Ace nodded. The amber remained. That ruined everything. Kiro saw it too. “Eyes still amber.” Ace closed hers. Of course. Harry's face tightened. The kiss had solved nothing. No proof. No liberation. No answer. Just another fact. Ace had kissed Harry. Harry had kissed her back only after she asked. She had liked it. And her eyes were still amber. Mai spoke through comms. “Ace.” Ace opened her eyes. “Yeah.” “You okay?” Ace considered. “Yes.” Mai waited. Ace understood what she was actually asking. “Not free.” Mai nodded from half a block away. “Okay.” Harry heard the distinction. His expression changed. Ace looked at him. “We go back.” “To the apartment?” “Yes.” Harry hesitated. “The book?” “Yes.” “And then?” Ace looked at him for a long moment. “I don't know.” Harry accepted that. They turned back. Kiro followed them camera by camera. Amber eyes. Harry walking beside Ace. Mai and Shammy moving behind them. The public kiss now permanently timestamped in city footage. Kiro looked at the clock. Logged it. Then muttered, “You are never going to hear the end of this.” Mai heard. “Not unless the amber goes away.” Kiro's humor disappeared. “Yeah.” They watched Ace approach Harry's building again. The kiss had changed nothing they could measure. And everything they were afraid they might eventually have to interpret. --- ## Chapter 13 — Threshold Harry opened the apartment door and stepped aside. Ace entered first. The pull eased immediately. Not vanished. Never vanished. But the pressure that had followed her through the street softened the moment she crossed the threshold. That made the apartment feel complicit. Ace hated that. Harry noticed the change in her posture. “Better?” “Less bad.” Mai remained outside. Shammy beside her. Neither tried to cross. Kiro had the exterior camera again. Ace could feel the open comm in her ear like another thread tying her back to the world. Harry left the door open. Ace noticed. “Keep it that way.” “Yes.” No hesitation. Good. She walked toward the center of the room. The book remained on the table. Closed. Still. Old. Completely incapable of looking guilty. Ace stared at it. Harry kept distance. “What now?” Ace did not answer immediately. The pull inside her had become more complicated since the kiss. Before, it had been directional. Go. Approach. Remain near. Now it carried something warmer. Not command exactly. Expectation. Harry. Closeness. Touch. Ace clenched her jaw. “Now I stop pretending this is only about the book.” Harry went still. Ace looked at him. He understood too quickly. That was becoming a pattern. “Ace.” “Don't.” “I was going to say we don't have to do anything.” Ace's expression sharpened. “I know.” “Okay.” “That doesn't mean I don't want to.” Harry exhaled. “No.” Ace walked closer. Harry did not move. Two meters. One. The pull softened. Her body relaxed slightly. That was infuriating. Ace stopped in front of him. Close enough to touch. Did not. Harry looked down at her. Amber eyes. Wrong eyes. He hated them. Ace saw that. “You can stop looking guilty for five seconds.” “I can try.” “Try harder.” Harry almost smiled. Ace did too. Then the smile faded. She lifted one hand. Touched his chest. Same place as outside. Harry's heart accelerated beneath her palm. Ace felt it. Warm. Alive. Real. Her fingers spread slightly. Harry breathed in. He did not touch her. Ace looked up. “You still want me.” “Yes.” Immediate. No performance. No strategic hesitation. Ace appreciated that. “How much?” Harry closed his eyes briefly. “Ace.” She smiled. “There it is.” “What?” “The panic.” “I am standing in my apartment with a woman I've wanted for years who may be under magical compulsion.” “Strong opening line.” Harry looked at her. “I am trying not to become the worst person alive.” Ace's expression changed. Not humor this time. Something softer. Maybe hers. Maybe not. She hated maybe. Ace let her hand fall. The pull protested. Harry saw the change. “Was that because you stopped touching me?” “Yes.” His face tightened. Ace stepped back anyway. Pressure increased. She stayed there. Harry said nothing. Good. Ace breathed through it. The command inside her wanted proximity. Her own body wanted proximity too. The overlap was the problem. Mai's voice came quietly through comms. “Ace.” “Yeah.” “You want us closer?” Ace checked. Mai nearer the doorway. Pressure. Wrong. “No.” Mai accepted that. “We're here.” Ace looked toward the open door. She could see part of Mai. Shammy behind her. Real. Home-shaped people standing in the corridor. Ace looked back at Harry. “You understand none of this counts as proof.” “Yes.” “If I tell you I want something—” “I listen.” “Not what I meant.” Harry nodded. “I don't assume it's free choice.” Ace studied him. “Good.” He looked miserable. Ace sighed. “And stop acting like that means you have to be afraid of me.” “I am not afraid of you.” “You should be a little.” “That part is normal.” Ace's mouth twitched. She walked closer again. Harry stayed still. Ace reached up. Touched the side of his face. Harry closed his eyes briefly. Ace watched. She liked how visibly he responded to her. That attraction felt familiar. Not magical. Not directional. Physical. Ace had felt that before. Many times. Different people. Different contexts. That did not prove this instance belonged to her. Still. It was familiar. She leaned closer. Harry opened his eyes. Ace waited. He did not move. She kissed him. Slowly this time. No public camera. No city noise. No distance. Harry responded carefully. So carefully it almost irritated her. Ace pulled back. “You're thinking too much.” “Yes.” “Stop.” “I don't think I can.” “Fair.” Ace kissed him again. Longer. Harry's hands remained at his sides. Ace noticed. She took one of them. Placed it at her waist. Harry inhaled. His fingers settled lightly. No grip. No pull. Ace guided the other hand herself. Higher. Still safe. Still clothed. Still deliberate. Harry's breathing changed. So did hers. Ace felt warmth spread through her. Desire. Simple. Recognizable. Except nothing about tonight was simple. She broke the kiss. Harry's hands dropped immediately. Ace frowned. “Why?” Harry looked confused. “Why what?” “Why did you let go?” “Because you stopped.” Ace stared. Then nodded. “Good.” Harry swallowed. Ace moved closer again. She could feel the pull quieting with each centimeter. That was the ugly part. The pleasurable part was that she wanted the distance gone anyway. Ace rested her forehead briefly against Harry's chest. He froze. Then slowly relaxed. No arms around her. No assumption. Ace stayed there for several seconds. Listened to his heartbeat. Fast. That made her smile. Harry felt it. “What?” “Nothing.” “That is always a lie.” “Your heart.” Harry sighed. “Right.” “Very flattering.” “You're terrifying.” “Also flattering.” Ace lifted her head. Harry looked down. The humor dissolved slowly. His attraction was obvious now. Not crude. Not hidden. Ace recognized the look. She had seen variations of it before. Wanted. Desired. Observed. It usually made her feel powerful. This time it made her feel divided. Because she liked it. And she could not yet trust liking it. Harry saw the shift. “We can stop.” Ace's expression sharpened. “I know.” “I am not saying you should.” “Good.” “I am saying we can.” Ace looked at him. That mattered. She stepped away. The pull surged. Ace's face tightened. Harry immediately stepped back too. Wrong instinct. The pressure increased further. Ace held up one hand. “Stay.” Harry stopped. Ace breathed. Ten seconds. Fifteen. The pull did not weaken. She looked at him. “Come here.” Harry hesitated. Ace's eyes narrowed. “Harry.” “I am checking.” “Checking what?” “That you want me to.” Ace laughed once. Not kindly. “You think we are getting a clean answer tonight?” Harry winced. “No.” “Then listen to the answer I can give you.” Harry moved closer. Slowly. Ace watched every step. The pull eased. So did something inside her body. She hated how good that felt. Harry stopped within reach. Ace took his hand again. Placed it at her waist. This time she left it there. Then she kissed him. Harry responded. Less carefully now. Still controlled. But no longer treating Ace like contact might break her. Better. Ace moved closer. Harry's hand shifted slightly along her side. Stopped before going farther. Ace felt the hesitation. She took his wrist. Guided it. Not far. Just enough to make the instruction clear. Harry breathed out against her mouth. Ace smiled. There. Reaction. Hers to cause. Maybe. She hated the thought. Pulled back. Harry immediately stopped. Ace looked at him. “Fuck.” Harry's face tightened. “What?” “I keep finding things I like.” Harry said nothing. Ace appreciated that too. She walked away from him. Three steps. The pull followed. Four. Pressure increased. Ace turned. Harry had not moved. He looked like he wanted to. Did not. Ace stared at him. “Come here.” He did. The pull eased. Ace closed her eyes. “That is so fucking annoying.” Harry stood close. “I'm sorry.” “Not useful.” “I know.” Ace opened her eyes. Amber. Harry looked directly into them. Ace almost flinched. Not because he stared. Because he did not look away. “I wish they were violet.” Harry's voice was quiet. Ace's expression softened. “Yeah.” “Not because I don't like the color.” Ace raised an eyebrow. Harry almost laughed. “Bad timing.” “Terrible.” “I mean I want to know it's you.” Ace studied him. “It is me.” Harry nodded. “I know.” “Then why say it?” “Because I want to know you're free.” That hit somewhere deeper. Ace looked away. The book sat on the table. Still closed. Still waiting. She turned back. “Come with me.” Harry followed. Ace walked toward the couch. Sat. Harry remained standing. Ace looked up. “Sit.” He sat at the opposite end. Too far. Ace stared. Harry shifted closer. Not close enough. Ace sighed. “Seriously?” Harry moved again. Now within reach. Ace leaned back. Not relaxed. Testing. She watched her own body. Watched the way proximity changed tension. Watched the way Harry's presence made the pull quiet. Watched the way her own interest sharpened at the same time. Harry sat perfectly still. Ace looked at him. “You can touch me.” Harry's breathing caught. Then he asked, “Where?” That answer did something very inconvenient to Ace. She smiled. “Good question.” Harry looked both relieved and doomed. Ace took his hand. Placed it at her side. “Start there.” He did. Lightly. Ace leaned into the contact. Warmth. Desire. Familiar. The pull. Also familiar now. Too familiar. They overlapped. Ace closed her eyes briefly. Harry's hand remained still. Ace moved against it deliberately. His fingers responded. Careful. Ace opened her eyes. Amber reflected faintly in the dark window across the room. Wrong. Still wrong. She turned away from the reflection. Looked at Harry instead. “Kiss me.” He did. No hesitation this time. The kiss deepened. Ace's hand moved behind his neck. Harry's arm settled more securely around her. Ace shifted closer on the couch. Their bodies aligned more fully. The change was unmistakably intimate. Harry paused. Ace felt it. She pulled back slightly. “What?” “I want you to have room to change your mind.” Ace stared. Then glanced down at the very small amount of couch left between them. “You're adorable.” Harry closed his eyes. “Please don't.” Ace laughed. A real laugh. He smiled despite himself. The tension broke just enough. Ace leaned back toward him. “I'm not promising anything.” “I know.” “I may stop.” “I know.” “I may tell you to back off.” “I will.” “I may tell you to keep going.” Harry's face changed. Ace saw it. Interesting. “And?” Harry swallowed. “I listen.” Ace nodded. “Good.” She kissed him again. This time the progression did not stop at the kiss. Hands moved. Slowly. Clothing shifted under deliberate fingers. Nothing rushed. Every change happened where both of them could feel it happening. Harry paused often. Too often at first. Ace began answering those pauses before he could ask. A hand guided. A nod. A quiet yes. Sometimes a no. Once a small, “Not that.” Harry immediately changed. Ace noticed. Stored it. The pull remained. Amber remained. But so did the fact that Harry listened every single time. That mattered. Ace shifted closer until she was partly against him. Harry's hands stayed where she had allowed them. Ace could feel his restraint. Not lack of desire. Restraint. That did something to her. She kissed him harder. Harry responded. The room grew quieter. The open door remained visible. Mai outside. Shammy beyond. Kiro in Ace's ear. Ace could have spoken at any moment. Could have called. Could have stopped. She knew that. The book did not prevent her. That was almost worse. Because the amber desire lived inside choices that still felt like choices. Ace pulled back. Breathing faster now. Harry's forehead rested briefly against hers. Neither spoke. Ace looked at him. “Bedroom?” Harry went completely still. There it was. Threshold. Not metaphor. Not anymore. Harry searched her face. Amber. Still amber. His expression tightened. “Ace.” “I know.” “I don't think—” “I know.” Harry closed his mouth. Ace looked toward the door. Mai was visible at the edge of the corridor. Ace could go there. She knew physically she could. The pull would hurt. Pressure. Direction. Correction. But she could. Ace looked back at Harry. Then at the hallway leading deeper into the apartment. Her body wanted that direction too. Fuck. She stood. Harry did not. Ace looked down at him. “You stay there.” Harry nodded. Ace walked several steps toward the bedroom. Alone. The pull eased. She stopped. Interesting. She turned around. Harry still sat on the couch. The pull did not demand that he follow. Not yet. Ace frowned. She walked back toward him. Relief shifted again. Harry watched her. “What?” “Testing.” “Results?” “Unclear.” “Consistent evening.” Ace smiled. “Yeah.” She held out one hand. Harry looked at it. Then at her. Ace waited. He took it. Ace pulled gently. Harry stood. The moment he did, the pull inside her sharpened with unmistakable approval. Ace's smile disappeared. Harry felt the change in her grip. “That?” “Yes.” He immediately let go. Ace's hand remained in the air. She looked at it. Then at him. “Fuck.” Harry stepped back. Ace's amber eyes narrowed. “Don't.” He stopped. Ace thought. The book wanted progression. Or proximity. Or both. That was now hard to deny. Harry understood too. “We should stop.” Ace looked at him. The words caused immediate anger. Was that hers? Probably. Maybe. Fuck. “Maybe.” Harry waited. Ace breathed. She looked toward the door again. Mai. Shammy. Open escape. Then toward Harry. Warmth. Attraction. Curiosity. Body already awake. Every familiar post-Flash spark inside her telling her she wanted more. Every impossible amber reflection reminding her she could not trust any of it completely. Ace stood between the two directions. Then made the only choice she could make honestly. “Not yet.” Harry exhaled. Not relief. Not disappointment. Acceptance. “Okay.” Ace looked at him. “Not yet means not yet.” “Yes.” “Not no.” Harry nodded. “Yes.” “Don't look happy.” “I am trying very hard not to have facial expressions.” Ace laughed again. Harry smiled. Ace walked back to the couch. Sat. Harry waited. Ace patted the space beside her. He sat. This time close. Ace leaned against him. Not sexual. Not entirely. Harry remained careful. Ace rested her head against his shoulder. The pull eased. Her body settled. For a moment nobody spoke. Mai's voice came softly through the comm. “Ace?” “Still here.” “You okay?” Ace looked at Harry. At the book. At the amber reflection in the dark window. “Yes.” Then, after a beat, “Complicated.” Mai's answer came warm and steady. “Okay.” Ace closed her eyes. Harry's arm stayed around her. Exactly where she had placed it. No more. No less. The evening had crossed a threshold. Not the final one. Not yet. But enough. Ace wanted Harry. The book wanted something involving Harry. And somewhere between those two truths, neither of them knew where the line actually was. On the table, untouched, the old book remained silent. --- ## Chapter 14 — Fire For a while, Ace did nothing. She stayed against Harry on the couch, head resting against his shoulder, his arm around her exactly where she had placed it. The apartment was quiet. The door remained open. Mai and Shammy remained somewhere outside. The book remained on the table. And the pull remained inside Ace. Present. Patient. She had become almost accustomed to it. That was disturbing in its own right. Harry did not speak. Ace appreciated that. His heartbeat had slowed. Not much. She could still hear it. “You're calming down.” Harry glanced at her. “Marginally.” “Disappointing.” “Sorry.” Ace smiled. “Don't be.” Silence again. Not uncomfortable. That surprised her. Harry had spent years knowing a public version of her. Ace had known Harry for less than an hour. Yet sitting beside him did not feel awkward. Possibly because of the book. Possibly because Harry was easy company. Possibly both. Always possibly. Ace was beginning to hate that word. She lifted her head. Harry looked at her. Amber met brown. His attention immediately sharpened. Ace saw it. “You did it again.” “What?” “Looked at my eyes.” Harry sighed. “Yes.” “They haven't changed.” “I know.” “Kiro would scream if they did.” From Ace's comm: “Correct.” Harry blinked. Ace grinned. “You forgot she could hear us.” “Yes.” “Again.” “Yes.” Kiro's voice remained perfectly dry. “I am developing an excellent opinion of him.” Harry looked toward the ceiling. “Wonderful.” Ace laughed. Mai spoke quietly through the same channel. “Ace?” The question carried no demand. Just presence. Ace understood. “Still good.” A pause. Then: “Okay.” Ace settled again. Harry did not tighten his arm around her. That restraint was becoming irritatingly attractive. Ace noticed the thought. Examined it. Nothing happened. No internal pressure. No sudden directional correction. Just attraction. Or something perfectly imitating attraction. Fuck it. Ace sat upright. Harry immediately moved his arm away. She turned toward him. “Harry.” “Yeah?” “I changed my mind.” He waited. Ace could almost see him refusing to guess. Good. “About the ‘not yet’ part.” Harry stopped breathing for approximately one second. Ace noticed. Of course she noticed. “You're enjoying this.” “A little.” “Ace.” She studied him. The humor faded. “I know.” Harry looked toward the book. Then back at her amber eyes. “You know why I'm hesitating.” “Yes.” “And?” “And I am tired of both of us pretending hesitation makes this clean.” Harry said nothing. Ace continued. “You want me.” “Yes.” “I want you.” Harry's jaw tightened. Ace raised one finger. “I know.” She tapped lightly beneath one amber eye. “This means we cannot know why.” Harry nodded. “Yes.” Ace leaned closer. “But not knowing isn't the same as not feeling it.” “No.” “And I'm not going to lie about what I'm feeling just because I can't prove where it came from.” Harry looked at her for a long moment. “What do you want me to do?” Ace's answer came immediately. “Listen.” Harry nodded. “Okay.” Ace stood. The pull shifted. Not stronger. Expectant. She hated that word too. Harry remained seated. Ace looked toward the hallway. Then toward the book. “Bring it.” Harry frowned. “The book?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I'm not leaving that thing alone out here while we're somewhere else.” Harry understood. “Right.” He stood. Walked toward the table. Ace watched him pick up the book. The moment he touched it, the pull changed. Ace's shoulders tightened. Harry stopped. “That?” “Yes.” He almost put it down. Ace shook her head. “No. Keep going.” Harry carried it carefully. Not reverently. Not fearfully. Like an object that had forfeited the right to be treated casually. Ace followed. The bedroom was ordinary. That helped. No dramatic lighting. No prepared fantasy. No evidence Harry had expected anything tonight except reading a technical manual and feeling stupid about an occult experiment. Harry placed the book on a low dresser opposite the bed. Ace could see it clearly. “Good.” Harry stepped away. The book lay closed. Silent. Ace looked at it. “You stay there.” Harry obeyed. Ace walked around the room. Testing. Distance from book. Distance from Harry. Doorway. Bed. No clean answer. The pull changed subtly with both. Harry watched without speaking. Ace stopped beside the bed. Looked at him. Then held out her hand. Harry did not move immediately. Ace waited. He crossed the room. Took her hand. The pull eased. Ace felt something else rise beneath it. Warmth. Anticipation. Desire. She looked up at him. “Still scared?” “Yes.” “Good.” “You keep saying that.” “Because if you stop being scared before my eyes are violet, I'm throwing you out a window.” Harry glanced toward the window. “Ground floor.” Ace stared. Harry's mouth twitched. Ace laughed. “Asshole.” “Stress response.” “I know.” She pulled him closer. Harry came willingly. Ace kissed him. He answered. The difference from the couch was immediate. Not because Harry suddenly became aggressive. He didn't. Because Ace had stopped testing whether she wanted progression. For the moment, she accepted that she did. She kissed him again. Harry's hands found her waist. Paused. Ace moved closer into them. Permission enough for that moment. Harry relaxed slightly. Ace felt it. She liked it. Their kiss deepened. Ace's hands moved over his shoulders, behind his neck. Harry's touch remained deliberate. Nothing taken. Nothing assumed. When he moved somewhere new, he gave her enough time to redirect him. Once, she did. His hand changed course immediately. Ace looked at him. “Good.” Harry gave her a helpless little smile. “I feel like I'm being graded.” “You are.” “Do I get the results?” “Maybe.” “Cruel.” “You summoned me across Night City.” Harry's smile disappeared. Ace regretted the line immediately. Not because it was untrue. Because reality had entered the room again. Harry stepped back. Ace caught his shirt. “Don't.” He stopped. She looked at her own hand. Then at him. The pull had reacted. So had she. No separation. Ace exhaled. “Fuck.” “We can still—” “Harry.” He stopped talking. Ace looked directly into his eyes. “I know we can stop.” He nodded. “Okay.” “If I want that, I'll tell you.” Another nod. “Okay.” “And if you want to stop, you tell me.” That surprised him. Ace saw it. “This isn't only my decision.” Harry looked at her amber eyes. “No.” “It isn't.” He took a breath. “I want you.” Ace's expression softened. “Then stop apologizing for wanting me.” Harry almost laughed. “Working on it.” Ace released his shirt. Then deliberately began removing the first practical barrier between them. Harry watched. Not greedily. Not clinically. Just openly. Ace liked being watched. That fact had belonged to her long before tonight. She knew that one. The certainty felt good. Harry saw her smile. “What?” “That one was mine.” He understood. Ace's smile widened. “One point for me.” Harry laughed. “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” He followed her lead. Slowly. Clothing became less relevant. Not all at once. Not tossed aside in a rush. Each change gave them another moment to stop. Neither did. Ace touched him with increasing confidence. Harry's restraint loosened only where she invited it to. The room grew warmer. The city beyond the window became background. Ace remained aware of the book. Always. A dark old shape on the dresser. Watching nothing. Doing nothing. Yet somehow present in every decision. Ace hated it. She turned her back on it. Harry kissed her. Ace responded immediately. His arms settled around her. She moved closer. Their bodies found a more natural alignment. Harry stopped. Ace opened her eyes. “What?” “You okay?” “Yes.” “Anything you want different?” Ace considered. Then repositioned him slightly. “That.” Harry smiled. “Useful.” “I have moments.” They kissed again. The next few minutes were slower than either of them probably wanted. That was intentional. Ace set the pace. Harry followed. Sometimes Harry paused. Sometimes Ace did. They adjusted. Learned. Laughed once when the difference in their height made one attempted transition ridiculous. Ace looked up at him afterward. “Say one word.” Harry was visibly fighting for survival. “I wasn't going to.” “Liar.” “Yes.” Ace kissed him before he could lose the battle. The humor softened the room. Not the problem. Never the problem. But it reminded Ace that Harry was a person. Not a destination. Not an anchor. Not an occult variable. Harry. The distinction mattered. Eventually Ace sat on the edge of the bed. Harry remained standing in front of her. She looked up. He looked down. The moment became quiet. The last easy exit before something more significant. Ace knew it. Harry knew it. Neither pretended otherwise. Harry crouched slightly so their eyes were closer to level. Amber. Still amber. His expression tightened. Ace touched his face. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” Harry gave a tiny nod. Ace kept her hand against his cheek. “I know what my eyes look like.” “Yes.” “I know what that means.” “Yes.” “I know what we don't know.” “Yes.” Ace breathed out. Harry waited. She could tell him to leave. She could walk back to Mai. She could sit on the floor and wait for something to change. She could refuse the book another inch. Every option existed. And yet the pressure remained. Not preventing those choices. Weighting them. Ace understood that now. That was what made it so insidious. Nothing inside her said _obey_. Nothing moved her limbs. Nothing erased her judgment. It simply made one direction feel right. Harry. Closer. More. Ace looked at him. Then said, “Come here.” Harry closed the distance. Ace kissed him. The last practical barriers disappeared slowly after that. No rush. No performance. Harry gave her room to position herself. Ace took it. She adjusted until the difference between them felt comfortable rather than awkward. Harry watched her face. Ace noticed. “Still grading you.” “I assumed.” “Good.” Harry's mouth curved. Then his expression became serious again. He waited. Ace hated the amber. Hated the book. Hated that this moment could not belong cleanly to either of them. But she refused to become absent from her own experience merely because something had interfered with it. Ace reached for Harry. “Okay.” He moved with her. Carefully. The shift from intimacy toward sex was unmistakable. Ace felt it. Harry felt it. Both slowed. There was still time. Still space. Harry stopped before the final threshold. Ace looked at him. His uncertainty was obvious. So was his desire. “Ace.” She touched his mouth with two fingers. “No speech.” Harry almost smiled. Ace removed her fingers. Then guided him closer. The threshold passed. For a moment neither moved. Ace's breath caught. Harry watched her. Not the amber. Her. Ace adjusted. Found comfort. Nodded once. Harry understood. They began slowly. The first moments were tentative. Learning. Ace's hands settled against him. Harry stayed attentive to every change in her expression. Ace felt the pull quiet almost completely. That should have terrified her. Instead, for several seconds, pleasure overwhelmed analysis. Harry felt good. Very good. Ace closed her eyes. A small sound escaped her. Harry responded instinctively. Ace's grip tightened. “Yeah.” One word. Enough. Harry followed. Carefully. Ace opened her eyes again. Amber. She could see their reflection faintly across the room. Hers. Wrong. Harry moved. Ace met him. Again. The rhythm began to find itself. Nothing frantic. Nothing graphic. Just unmistakably sex now. The line crossed. The book had carried her this far. And Harry had allowed himself to follow. Then Harry saw light. At first his mind interpreted it as movement from outside. A vehicle. A sign. Some shifting Night City glow through the window. Then the light grew. Wrong direction. Harry turned his head. The book was burning. No spark. No smoke before flame. No visible source. One moment it had been a closed old volume on the dresser. Now fire ran across its cover. Harry stopped. Completely. “What the fuck—” Ace stilled. Not because Harry had stopped. Something vanished. No sound. No sensation of breaking. No pain. No release of pressure. It was simply— gone. The pull. Gone. Ace froze. Harry looked back at her. And watched amber disappear from her eyes. Not fade slowly. Not flash. One color ceased to be there. Violet looked back at him. Harry moved away instantly. Hands gone. Body gone. Distance. Everything stopped. “Ace?” She did not answer. Harry backed farther away. Ace remained exactly where she was. Breathing. Thinking. Violet eyes wide. The book burned behind him. Harry glanced at it once. Flame had already consumed most of the cover. Pages curled black and vanished into collapsing ash with impossible speed. No spreading fire. The dresser itself had barely caught. The book simply burned. Harry looked back at Ace. She was more important. “Your eyes.” Ace blinked. “What?” “Violet.” Silence. Ace sat very still. Then closed her eyes. Harry did not approach. Did not touch her. Did not ask again. Ace searched inside herself. The pull had been there for hours. Constant. Direction. Pressure. Relief when she obeyed its shape. She had almost stopped noticing its baseline presence. Now there was nothing. Ace thought of the apartment door. Nothing. Thought of leaving. Nothing. Thought of Harry. Nothing pushed her toward him. Thought of Mai. Nothing pushed her away. Ace opened her eyes. Violet. Harry stood several steps away, pale and horrified. Ace looked toward the dresser. The book collapsed inward. One last fragment of page curled into black. Then nothing remained except ash. Ace stared. No revelation arrived. No hidden knowledge. No explanation. Just ash. She looked down at herself. Memory. Street. Every step. The building. Harry opening the door. His confession. The book. The tests. Leo. The walk. The first kiss. The second. Her hand guiding Harry's to her waist. The couch. Her hesitation. Not yet. Changing her mind. The bedroom. Every touch. Every yes. Every no. Every laugh. Every decision she had experienced as her own. And the moment they had crossed the final threshold. All of it. Nothing missing. Nothing blurred. No dream. No gap. Ace remembered everything. Harry spoke quietly. “I stopped.” Ace looked at him. “I know.” His jaw tightened. “I should have stopped before.” Ace did not answer. Not yet. Harry looked toward the ash. “I knew we couldn't know.” Still Ace said nothing. “I knew.” His voice almost broke on the word. Ace watched him. No excuses. Good. But this was not the time. “Harry.” He stopped. Ace breathed. “Give me a minute.” Harry nodded. “Anything.” He moved farther away. Turned partly aside. Not leaving. Not watching. Just giving her room. Ace sat. Violet-eyed. Free. She tested the word cautiously. Not as philosophy. Not as absolution. Mechanically. She stood. Nothing pulled. One step toward the door. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Ace stopped. Turned toward Harry. Nothing forced the movement. She walked toward the dresser. Nothing rewarded it. The ash remained ash. Ace crouched. Did not touch it. Looked. No recognizable page. No surviving cover. No obvious fragment. Nothing. “Don't touch it,” Harry said. Ace glanced back. “I wasn't going to.” “Sorry.” She stood. Harry remained where she had left him. Ace walked toward the bedroom door. No pressure. She stopped in the doorway. Nothing. The corridor beyond led directly toward the apartment entrance. Mai was somewhere beyond it. Home was beyond that. Ace could walk out. Right now. Nothing inside her objected. She smiled faintly. Harry saw. “Gone?” Ace looked at him. “The pull is gone.” Harry closed his eyes. Relief crossed his face. Then guilt crushed it. Ace watched both. She looked down the hallway again. She could leave. She could call Mai. She could never see Harry again. Every option felt equally available in a way none had since the safehouse. That was the difference. Not what she wanted. The fact that wanting no longer came with pressure attached. Ace stood there for a long moment. Then looked back at Harry. He was still attractive. That realization arrived without force. Ace waited for the second layer. The pressure. The correction. The unnatural certainty. Nothing. Harry was simply standing there. Nervous. Half-dressed. Ash behind him. Looking like a man who had just watched the laws of reality convict him personally. Ace almost laughed. She didn't. Not yet. Instead she examined the rest. The warmth in her body had not vanished. Her curiosity had not vanished. The memory of Harry's touch had not become repulsive. The pleasure she had felt remained pleasure in her memory. That did not make what had happened free. It did not reach backward and change anything. It did not absolve the book. It did not absolve Harry. It did not absolve her uncertainty. Those things remained. But so did something else. Ace looked at Harry. Harry did not move. Did not ask. Did not hope aloud. He waited. For the first time since Ace had left the safehouse, there was absolutely nothing inside her telling her to cross the room toward him. And the deeply inconvenient truth was that she still wanted to. --- ## Chapter 15 — Choice Ace stayed in the doorway. Harry stayed where he was. Neither moved. Behind him, the last tiny ember in the remains of the book went dark. Ace watched it die. Nothing changed. No pull returned. No pressure. No sudden need to stay. Good. She looked at Harry again. Still nothing. Also good. Unfortunately, she still wanted him. Ace folded her arms. Harry waited. “You're not going to say anything?” “I don't think anything I say right now improves the situation.” Ace considered that. “Probably the smartest thing you've said tonight.” “Low bar.” “Yes.” Harry almost smiled. Almost. Ace saw the guilt stop it. That irritated her. Not because the guilt was unjustified. Because she had enough things to examine without Harry turning himself into another one. “Stop that.” Harry frowned. “What?” “That.” Very helpful. Harry remained confused. Ace pointed at his face. “The execution-waiting expression.” “I don't know what expression I'm supposed to have.” “Neither do I.” “That makes two of us.” “Good. Progress.” Harry breathed out. Ace looked down the hallway. The apartment door was still open. She could hear distant Night City traffic beyond it. Mai and Shammy were still outside. Waiting. Trusting her. That landed differently now. Before, the thought of walking toward them had existed alongside resistance. Not enough to stop her. Enough to matter. Now— Ace took one step into the hallway. Nothing. Another. Nothing. She could keep walking. Harry said nothing behind her. Ace stopped. Looked over her shoulder. He had not followed. Good. “Stay.” “I wasn't moving.” “I know.” Ace continued down the hallway. She reached the living room. The couch. The table where the book had been. Her jacket. The open door. Everything looked absurdly ordinary. Ace walked to the threshold. Stopped. Mai stood outside. Shammy beside her. Both looked at Ace. Mai saw her eyes first. Violet. Everything in Mai changed. Not dramatically. No shout. No rush forward. Just the release of something she had been holding under absolute control. “Ace.” Ace smiled faintly. “Yeah.” Mai looked past her. Toward the apartment. Then back. “The book?” “Gone.” Shammy's expression sharpened. “Gone how?” “Burned.” Mai stared at her. “Burned?” “By itself.” Shammy's eyes narrowed. “Of course it fucking did.” Ace almost laughed. Almost. Mai did not. “The pull?” “Gone.” That mattered more. Mai took one step closer. Stopped before crossing the threshold. Ace noticed. Even now. Still letting Ace decide. Ace reached out. Mai took her hand immediately. Warm. Familiar. Ace waited. Nothing resisted it. Nothing rewarded it either. No occult pressure. Just Mai. Ace's fingers tightened. Mai felt that. “Really gone?” “Yes.” Mai searched her face. Ace knew exactly what she was looking for. Not only eye color. Ace. “Yes,” Ace repeated. Mai nodded. Shammy remained several steps back. Watching. Her expression had gone very still. Ace knew that stillness. Dangerously still. “Shammy.” Black eyes met violet. “I'm okay.” Shammy said nothing. “Mostly.” That got a reaction. A tiny shift in her jaw. Ace sighed. “Can we not do the terrifying silent wolf thing yet?” “No.” “Fair.” Mai looked past Ace again. “Where is Harry?” “Bedroom.” “Alive?” Ace stared at her. Mai's expression did not change. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy's expression did not change either. “Oh, for fuck's sake.” “Ace.” “Yes, Mai. He's alive.” “For now,” Shammy said. Ace pointed at her. “No.” Shammy raised one eyebrow. “No.” “Very convincing.” “I mean it.” “So do I.” Ace looked between them. Then sighed. “Okay. We need to establish something before either of you goes inside.” Mai's attention returned fully to her. Ace chose the words carefully. “The book burned after we crossed the line.” Silence. Mai understood first. Of course she did. Her eyes moved over Ace's face. Then briefly lower. Then back up. Shammy understood a second later. The stillness became absolute. Ace held up a hand. “Do not.” Neither spoke. “I mean it. Do not decide what happened for me before I've decided what happened for me.” Mai's expression softened immediately. Shammy took longer. But she nodded. Once. Ace continued. “Harry stopped the second he saw the book burning.” Mai asked quietly: “And you?” “The pull disappeared at the same time.” Mai absorbed that. “My eyes changed back.” “I can see.” Ace squeezed her hand. “I know.” Shammy looked toward the apartment. “The book waited until then.” “Yes.” “That was the trigger.” “Looks like it.” Shammy's voice became colder. “So it got what it wanted.” Ace felt the sentence hit. Harder than expected. Mai saw it. “Shammy.” “I know.” Shammy closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the anger remained. But it had direction now. Not toward Ace. “I know.” Ace nodded. “Good.” Mai looked at her. “What do you want?” There it was. Not _what happened_. Not _what should we do_. What do you want? Ace looked down at their joined hands. Then back into the apartment. Harry remained out of sight. Exactly where Ace had told him to stay. “I don't know.” Mai nodded. No disappointment. No relief. “Okay.” Ace looked at her. “That was annoyingly easy.” “What did you expect?” “Questions.” “I have several thousand.” “Kiro probably has more.” From Ace's comm: “Correct.” Ace closed her eyes. Mai's mouth twitched. Shammy actually snorted. Ace looked toward the ceiling. “Have you been listening the entire time?” Kiro answered immediately. “You never disabled the channel.” Ace stared into empty space. “Fuck.” A pause. Then Kiro added: “I stopped actively monitoring when you entered the bedroom.” Ace blinked. “Oh.” “Telemetry remained active. Audio was routed away.” Ace's expression softened. “Thank you.” “You're welcome.” Another pause. Then: “And your ocular telemetry returned to baseline thirty-eight seconds before you reached the apartment door.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai nodded. “Kiro told us.” “Of course she did.” Kiro continued. “No anomalous fluctuations since.” Ace breathed out. Actual data. Wonderful, beautiful, boring data. “Keep watching.” “I was planning to.” “Good.” Ace released Mai's hand. Immediately tested the sensation. Nothing. She took one step backward into the apartment. Nothing. Mai watched. Ace took another. Nothing. She looked at Harry's hallway. Still nothing. Then at Mai. Nothing but love. At Shammy. Nothing but love there too. Different shape. Same certainty. Ace smiled. This time properly. Mai saw it. “There you are.” Three words. Ace nearly broke. Not visibly. Almost. She walked forward and wrapped both arms around Mai. Mai caught her. Held her tightly. Ace buried her face against her. The familiarity was overwhelming. Not magical. Not amplified. Not demanded. Mai. Home. Shammy came closer. Ace reached one arm toward her without lifting her head. Shammy joined them. For several seconds, the three stood in Harry's doorway. No one spoke. Ace breathed. Mai's hand moved slowly along her back. Shammy rested her forehead against Ace's hair. The Triad closed around itself. Ace felt the last several hours settle somewhere inside her. Not resolve. Settle. There was a difference. Eventually Ace spoke into Mai's shoulder. “I still want to go back inside.” Mai's hand stopped. Shammy went still. Ace lifted her head. There. She had said it. No amber. No pull. No book. Just her. Mai looked at her carefully. “To Harry.” “Yes.” Shammy's expression was unreadable. Ace continued before either could speak. “I don't know what that means.” Mai nodded slowly. “I don't know whether what I felt before the book burned was mine, the book's, or some fucking mixture of both.” Another nod. “But right now there is nothing pushing me.” “We know.” “And I still want to go back.” Mai held her gaze. “Why?” Ace considered the question. Not defensively. Seriously. “Because I want to know.” “What?” “If he's still Harry when the book isn't between us.” Mai understood. Ace continued. “And I want to know who I am with him when it isn't between us.” Shammy finally spoke. “That doesn't require sex.” “No.” Ace looked at her. “It doesn't.” Shammy waited. Ace appreciated that she did not ask the obvious next question. So Ace answered it anyway. “I don't know what happens when I walk back into that room.” Mai's thumb moved once against Ace's side. “Then don't decide before you get there.” Ace looked at her. A slow smile appeared. “That's irritatingly sensible.” “I learned from someone.” “Not me.” “No.” Shammy snorted. Ace elbowed her lightly. “Traitor.” “Tiny menace.” “Wolf.” “Yes.” The normality helped. A lot. Ace stepped away from them. Turned toward the apartment. Stopped. Then looked back. “Stay here?” Mai nodded. “If that's what you want.” “It is.” Shammy's jaw tightened again. But she nodded too. Ace pointed at both. “And no murdering Harry.” Mai raised an eyebrow. “I wasn't planning to murder him.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy stared back. “Shammy.” “I heard you.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the answer you're getting.” Ace sighed. “Close enough.” She turned. Walked into the apartment. One step. Nothing. Two. Nothing. Past the couch. Nothing. Into the hallway. Nothing. Her heartbeat accelerated. That was hers. Ace knew because it felt completely different. No direction. No relief. Just nerves. She reached the bedroom doorway. Harry stood exactly where she had left him. He had pulled on enough clothing to restore some dignity. Ace approved. The ash remained on the dresser. Harry looked at her violet eyes. Then toward the hallway behind her. “Mai?” “Outside.” “And Shammy?” “Also outside.” Harry swallowed. “Should I be worried?” “Yes.” “Fair.” Ace leaned against the doorframe. Harry waited. She studied him. No pull. She deliberately looked away. Nothing objected. Looked back. Nothing rewarded her. Excellent. Harry shifted his weight. Ace immediately pointed. “Don't start apologizing.” “I wasn't.” “You were thinking about it.” “Yes.” “Don't.” Harry nodded. Ace entered the room. Harry stayed still. She stopped halfway between him and the door. The book was gone. That mattered. This was the first time she had ever stood in a room with Harry without it existing somewhere nearby. Ace looked at him. Harry looked back. Different. Not dramatically. But different. The strange inevitability was gone. He was no longer the answer to a question Ace had never asked. He was just a man. A nervous one. A guilty one. An attractive one. A surprisingly funny one. A man who had made a catastrophic decision because he wanted something impossible and had found a book promising to make it possible. Ace should have hated him. Part of her did. That was useful information. Part of her wanted to kiss him again. Also useful. Humans were fucking inconvenient. Harry broke the silence. “What happens now?” Ace tilted her head. “You really don't know?” “No.” “Good.” Harry frowned slightly. “Why is that good?” “Because neither do I.” She walked closer. Harry's breathing changed. Ace noticed. Nothing inside her changed with it. Good. She stopped within reach. Harry did not reach. Better. Ace looked up at him. Violet into brown. “No book.” “No book.” “No pull.” Harry's eyes flicked briefly toward hers. “Violet.” “Yes.” Ace raised a hand. Touched his chest. Harry inhaled. Ace waited. Nothing. She moved her hand slightly. Still nothing. Harry remained motionless. Ace could feel his heartbeat. Fast again. She smiled faintly. “You're not calming down anymore.” “No.” “Disappointing.” Harry stared at her. Then, despite everything, laughed once. Ace smiled. There. Harry. Not anchor. Not destination. Not spell component. Harry. Ace left her hand where it was. “What you did was incredibly stupid.” “Yes.” “Dangerous.” “Yes.” “Selfish.” “Yes.” “You could have hurt me much worse than you did.” Harry's expression tightened. “Yes.” Ace looked directly into his eyes. “And you don't get forgiven because the book burned.” “I know.” “Good.” Harry swallowed. Ace continued. “I don't know what I think about you yet.” “I understand.” “No, you don't.” Harry almost smiled. “Probably not.” “Better.” Ace stepped closer. Harry did not move. She could kiss him. The realization existed plainly. No pressure followed. She could also slap him. Interesting. Ace considered both. Harry apparently saw something in her expression. “Should I be worried?” “Yes.” “About which—” Ace slapped him. Not hard enough to injure. Hard enough to make the point. Harry's head turned slightly. He looked back at her. Ace nodded. “That was for the book.” Harry rubbed his cheek. “Fair.” Ace grabbed his shirt. Pulled him down. And kissed him. Harry froze. Completely. Ace felt it. She kissed him once. Briefly. Deliberately. Then released him. Harry stared. Ace looked up at him. Violet eyes. No book. No pull. No ambiguity about the present moment. “That,” Ace said, “was me.” Harry said nothing. Ace smiled. “Now we start figuring out the difference.” --- ## Chapter 16 — Our Turn Harry stared at her. Ace stared back. Violet into brown. No book. No pull. No excuse. The kiss had been brief. That was deliberate. Ace wanted the difference to remain visible even to herself. Harry touched his cheek where she had slapped him. Then looked at the hand still gripping his shirt. “You’re complicated.” Ace smiled. “You summoned the complicated one.” “Apparently.” “Bad choice.” “Yes.” Ace released his shirt. Harry did not step away. Good. Neither did Ace. Better. For several seconds they stood in silence. This silence felt different from the earlier ones. Before, every pause had contained the book. A third presence. An invisible hand leaning on the scale. Now the room was only a room. Harry was only Harry. Ace was only Ace. That should have made everything simpler. It did not. But it made everything honest. Ace looked toward the dresser. Ash. Nothing else. She turned back. “Sit.” Harry obeyed immediately. Ace raised an eyebrow. “Careful.” Harry stopped halfway down. “What?” “That was suspiciously fast.” Harry stared at her. “You told me to sit.” “I know.” “I’m trying very hard not to misinterpret anything.” Ace sighed. “Fair.” Harry sat. Ace remained standing. Then slowly walked around him. Harry followed her with his eyes. Not nervously. Not entirely. Ace stopped behind him. “Still attracted?” Harry let out a breath. “Yes.” “Good.” “Why good?” “Because if that disappeared the second the book did, I’d have another problem.” Harry considered. “Fair.” Ace came around again. “Your turn.” “My turn what?” “Question.” Harry’s expression changed. He thought about it carefully. Ace liked that. “Do you hate me?” Ace did not answer immediately. Harry’s face tightened. Ace saw it. “Parts of me do.” Harry nodded. No defense. No protest. Ace continued. “Parts of me don’t.” Another nod. “And one very inconvenient part of me wants to kiss you again.” Harry looked up. Ace smiled. “There. See? Complicated.” “Yeah.” “That bother you?” “Yes.” Ace blinked. Good answer. “Why?” “Because if you hated me completely, I’d know what to do.” Ace tilted her head. “And if you didn’t?” “That would be worse.” “Interesting.” Harry looked down at his hands. “I don’t want forgiveness because you’re attracted to me.” Ace’s expression softened by a fraction. “Good.” “I don’t want what happened before to become okay because you chose to kiss me afterward.” “Better.” “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything.” Ace went still. That one mattered. Harry looked up. Ace studied him. “No.” Harry waited. “I don’t.” “Okay.” “I’m not here to prove the book didn’t matter.” Harry nodded. “It did.” “Yes.” “I’m here because it’s gone.” Another nod. “And because I want to know what happens next.” Harry swallowed. Ace saw it. “Still scared?” “Yes.” “Good.” Harry almost smiled. “You really like that answer.” “I really like people being scared of the correct things.” “That sounds like you.” “It should.” Ace sat beside him. Not touching. Harry did not close the distance. For a while they simply sat. The room seemed almost offensively normal. Ace looked at the floor. At Harry’s clothes. At her own. At the dark smear of ash where the book had been. Then at Harry again. “What do you remember from the ritual?” Harry frowned. “All of it.” “Exact wording?” “Most of it.” Ace pointed toward the dresser. “Not from memory. I mean emotionally.” Harry understood. His face changed. “I wanted something impossible.” Ace waited. “I wanted you to notice me.” Ace raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?” “No.” “Good. Because that would be a pathetic use of occult coercion.” Harry winced. “Fair.” Ace continued watching him. Harry exhaled. “I wanted you to want me.” There it was. Ace nodded. “Better.” “Not better.” “More honest.” Harry looked away. Ace leaned back against the wall. “What did you think would happen?” “I didn’t think anything would happen.” “No. Before you decided magic was fake.” Harry was quiet. Ace waited. Finally: “I imagined you showing up.” “Like I did.” “Yes.” “Amber eyes?” “No.” That answer came immediately. Ace noticed. “Good.” Harry rubbed his face. “I imagined you looking like yourself.” Ace said nothing. “I imagined you choosing me.” Ace’s expression flattened. Harry saw it. “I know.” “No. Keep going.” Harry looked miserable. Good. He deserved some of that. “I imagined it feeling real.” Ace’s voice went quieter. “And that didn’t bother you?” “It should have.” “But?” Harry swallowed. “But I convinced myself the impossible part made the ethics theoretical.” Ace stared. “That is spectacularly stupid.” “Yes.” “Almost impressive.” “Yes.” Ace leaned forward. “Elaborate.” Harry looked at her. “I thought because it couldn’t work, I could indulge the fantasy without consequence.” Ace nodded slowly. “Until consequence knocked on your door.” “Literally.” Ace almost laughed. Harry almost did too. The humor landed strangely. Not comfortably. But not wrongly. Ace decided that mattered. She leaned back again. “Okay.” Harry looked surprised. “Okay?” “I understand the stupidity now.” “That sounds worse than forgiveness.” “It should.” Harry nodded. Ace stretched one leg out. Then the other. The tension in her body had shifted. Not disappeared. Changed. Earlier, she had been braced against pressure. Now she was simply tired. Adrenaline. Sexual tension. Occult nonsense. Emotional weight. All of it. Harry noticed. “Want water?” Ace glanced at him. “Yes.” Harry stood. Paused. Ace almost smiled. “Go.” He went. Ace watched him leave. Nothing followed. No pull. No tension. No directional ache. Just a man walking to the kitchen. Ace closed her eyes. Breathed. Violet. Still violet. She opened them again. Harry returned with water. Held it out. Ace took it. Their fingers touched. Nothing magical happened. Ace nearly laughed. “What?” Harry asked. “Nothing.” “That sounds promising.” “It is.” She drank. Harry sat again. This time a little farther away. Ace looked at the distance. Then at him. “Why did you sit over there?” Harry frowned. “Space.” “I didn’t ask for space.” “I know.” “Then don’t assume it.” Harry blinked. Ace shifted closer. Not touching yet. “Listen, remember?” “Yes.” “If I want distance, I’ll say it.” “Okay.” “And if I want closeness?” Harry looked at her. “You’ll say it.” Ace smiled. “Learning.” Harry’s mouth twitched. Ace rested her head against his shoulder. Harry froze for half a second. Then relaxed. No arm around her. Ace waited. Nothing. She took his wrist. Placed his arm around her. Harry exhaled. “Still grading?” “Yes.” “Cruel.” “You knew that already.” “True.” Ace settled. The familiarity was strange. Not because Harry was familiar. Because the position was. She had sat like this earlier. Under the pull. Same couch. Same shoulder. Same arm. Different world. Ace could feel the difference. Before, closeness had eased pressure. Now it only felt good. That distinction was so simple it almost hurt. Ace closed her eyes. Harry stayed still. “Say something.” Harry looked down at her. “Anything?” “Yes.” “You’re very small.” Ace opened one eye. Harry immediately looked doomed. “Interesting choice.” “You said anything.” “I did.” “I panicked.” “Clearly.” Ace shifted slightly. Harry’s arm tightened by reflex. Ace noticed. Did not object. “Again.” Harry thought. “Your eyes look better violet.” Ace closed her eye again. “Better.” “I hated amber.” “I know.” “I really hated amber.” “I know.” Silence. Then Harry said quietly: “I’m sorry.” Ace opened her eyes. Not annoyed this time. Just listening. Harry continued. “For all of it.” Ace looked at him. “Good.” Harry waited. Ace took another sip of water. “That’s enough for tonight.” Harry’s brows rose. “The apology?” “Yes.” “That’s not forgiveness.” “No.” “Okay.” Ace smiled faintly. “See? Learning.” They sat quietly. Time passed. Ace did not know how much. Eventually her comm clicked. Mai. “Ace?” Ace answered immediately. “Yeah.” “You okay?” Ace looked at Harry. “At the moment.” Mai paused. “Do you want us closer?” Ace considered. “No.” “Okay.” Shammy’s voice came after. “Still no murdering?” Ace sighed. “Yes.” “Shame.” Harry stared at her. Ace grinned. “She likes you.” “I’m terrified.” “Correct response.” Shammy snorted over comm. Mai asked: “Are you staying?” Ace glanced toward the bedroom. Then at Harry. The question hung there. Ace answered honestly. “I don’t know yet.” Mai’s reply came without hesitation. “Okay.” Ace smiled. Again that easy trust. No ownership. No demand. No jealousy. Just confidence. The kind built over years. Harry heard it. Ace saw him process it. “What?” she asked after the channel went quiet. “Nothing.” “Lie.” Harry hesitated. “You’re lucky.” Ace’s expression changed. “Yes.” “She trusts you that much.” “Yes.” “And you trust her.” “Yes.” Harry nodded. Ace studied him. “That bother you?” “No.” “Good.” “It intimidates me.” Ace smiled. “Even better.” Harry laughed softly. Ace liked the sound more this time. No occult pressure. No ambiguity. Just liking it. She set the water aside. Then turned toward him. Harry’s smile faded. Attention sharpened. Ace moved one knee onto the couch. Then the other. Harry stayed still. Ace leaned closer. He did not meet her halfway. Good. Ace stopped inches away. “Question.” “Okay.” “If I kiss you again, what does it mean?” Harry’s face tightened in concentration. Ace waited. Finally: “That you chose to kiss me again.” Ace smiled. “Good answer.” “Nothing else.” “Better.” “No retroactive absolution.” “Excellent.” “No assumption about what happens after.” Ace’s smile widened. “Very good.” Harry looked nervous again. Ace liked that too. She kissed him. Longer this time. Still deliberate. Harry responded only after Ace made it unmistakable that she wanted response. Ace leaned closer. Harry’s hand rose. Stopped. Ace caught it. Placed it against her waist. The echo of the earlier moment was obvious. Ace felt it. So did Harry. But the sensation was different. No pressure. No reward. No invisible hand. Only choice. Ace deepened the kiss. Harry answered. Ace felt warmth return. Not foreign. Not suspicious. Just hers. She pulled back. Both breathed. Harry looked at her violet eyes. Ace saw him check. She laughed. “You did it again.” “Sorry.” “No.” Harry blinked. Ace touched beneath one violet eye. “You can look now.” Something shifted in Harry’s face. Relief. Pain. Desire. All of it. Ace understood. She kissed him once more. Then rested her forehead against his. “No book.” “No book.” “No amber.” “Violet.” “No pull.” “None.” Ace breathed. Harry waited. Ace smiled slowly. “Our turn.” --- ## Chapter 17 — Our Turn “Our turn.” Harry looked at her. Really looked. Violet eyes. No amber. No book. No invisible pressure hiding somewhere between them. Just Ace. Harry lifted one hand slowly. Stopped before touching her. Ace glanced at it. Then back at him. “You can.” His fingers settled against her cheek. Ace closed her eyes for half a second. Nothing rewarded the contact. Nothing punished her for it. It simply felt good. She opened her eyes. Still violet. Harry smiled faintly. “You checked.” “Of course I checked.” “And?” Ace turned her face slightly into his palm. “And I still want you.” Something in Harry’s expression nearly broke. Ace caught it immediately. “Don’t.” “What?” “Make that face.” “What face?” “The one where you’re about to turn this into some enormous emotional revelation.” Harry gave a helpless little laugh. “It feels fairly enormous from here.” Ace considered that. “Fair.” She kissed him. Not as a test this time. Not to establish a philosophical distinction between coercion and choice. Not to prove anything to Harry, Mai, Shammy, Kiro or herself. She kissed him because she wanted his mouth against hers. That simplicity changed the kiss. Harry felt it too. His hesitation remained for the first few seconds, caution still threaded through every movement. Ace tolerated it. Briefly. Then she caught his shirt in both hands and pulled him closer. Harry laughed against her mouth. “Too careful?” “Much.” “I’m trying.” “I know.” Ace kissed him again. “Stop trying so hard.” “That sounds like dangerous advice.” “Usually.” Another kiss. “But not now.” Harry’s hands found her waist. Ace felt the difference immediately. There was no question hidden inside the sensation. No alien satisfaction. No pressure telling her that this was correct. Only warmth. Harry. Her own desire answering him. Ace drew a slow breath. “Yeah.” Harry stopped. Ace opened her eyes. “What?” “You said—” “I know what I said.” “I thought—” Ace stared at him. Harry closed his mouth. “Good decision.” Ace took his hand. This time when she led him toward the bedroom, there was nothing in the universe helping her do it. That mattered enough that she noticed every step. One. Nothing. Two. Nothing. Three. Still nothing. At the doorway she stopped. Harry nearly walked into her. Ace looked back. “What?” he asked. She smiled. “Just checking.” Harry understood. “No pull?” “None.” Ace stepped through. Entirely because she chose to. Harry followed. The bedroom had not changed. That was almost strange. Same bed. Same light. Same city glowing beyond the window. Only the book was gone. A dark smear of ash remained where something impossible had briefly rewritten the rules between two people. Ace looked at it. Harry followed her gaze. For a moment neither spoke. Then Ace turned her back on the ash. Deliberately. Harry watched her. Ace held out her hand. “Come here.” He did. They kissed again. Slower now. The frantic uncertainty that had haunted everything before the fire was absent. Harry was still cautious, but Ace could work with caution. She could answer it. Redirect it. Laugh at it when necessary. Most importantly, she could change her mind. At any second. The knowledge stayed with her. Not as a warning. As freedom. Harry kissed her temple. Her cheek. Ace smiled when his breath caught. “There you are.” Harry drew back slightly. “What?” “You finally stopped thinking.” “Mostly.” “Progress.” Ace wrapped her arms around him. Harry held her. For a while, that was all they did. No rush. No invisible destination. Ace rested against him and listened to his heartbeat gradually slow. Strange. She had crossed Night City because of an occult command. Now she was staying because she liked the way this particular idiot held her. Night City had produced worse jokes. Ace lifted her head. Harry looked down. “Still here?” he asked. Ace narrowed her eyes. “Ask me that again and I may leave out of spite.” Harry smiled. “Understood.” She kissed him. Their clothes gradually became less relevant. Not discarded in a rush. Not treated like obstacles in a predetermined sequence. Just removed when closeness made them unnecessary. Every small transition gave Ace another opportunity to notice herself. Want this? Yes. This? Yes. Closer? Yes. Harry? Yes. By the time they reached the bed, Ace was smiling. Harry noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “That is definitely something.” Ace settled close to him. “I’m enjoying having boring eyes again.” Harry laughed. “Violet is not boring.” “Compared to supernatural amber?” “Fair.” Ace touched his face. Harry leaned into her hand. That tiny unconscious response pleased her more than she expected. She kissed him again. And when the final distance between them disappeared, Ace chose that too. Her breath caught. Her eyes closed. Her fingers tightened against Harry. For one suspended moment she simply held him close while the first rush of sensation passed through her. Then a quiet sound escaped her. Not surprise. Pleasure. Hers. Ace opened her eyes. Violet. Harry was watching her. Ace smiled. “Don’t stop.” He kissed her. And they found each other. Not perfectly. That would have been ridiculous. There were pauses, adjustments, small moments of uncertainty. Harry occasionally became too careful again and Ace corrected him with a touch, a word, once with an exasperated laugh that made him laugh too. But gradually uncertainty became familiarity. Their breathing settled into the same uneven rhythm. Ace stopped checking her eyes. Stopped checking the room. Stopped checking for something that was no longer there. She simply let herself feel. Harry held her. Ace held him tighter. The city continued outside without them. At some point Harry whispered her name. Ace answered by kissing him. There was no magic in it. That was what made it extraordinary. They made love. The camera stayed. Not to catalogue bodies. To witness the difference. Earlier, an impossible object had placed its weight on Ace’s choices. Now nothing did. Every time Harry slowed, Ace could ask him closer. Every time Ace shifted, Harry listened. Every time either of them laughed, the last traces of ritual solemnity became a little more absurd. And slowly the night stopped belonging to the Book. It became theirs. Much later, urgency finally gave way to stillness. Ace remained where she was. Eyes closed. Breathing slowly settling. Harry did not move away. Neither did she. For several seconds there was only warmth, contact and two heartbeats gradually remembering how to behave. Ace opened her eyes. Violet. She smiled. Harry noticed. “You checked again.” Ace gave him a tired look. “No.” “No?” “No.” Harry waited. Ace’s smile became softer. “I forgot to.” Harry understood. For some reason, that affected him more than anything else had. Ace saw it happen. “Oh, no.” Harry blinked. “What?” “That face again.” “I’m not making a face.” “You absolutely are.” Harry laughed. Ace rested her forehead against him. “Idiot.” “Probably.” Silence returned. Comfortable this time. Harry brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Ace let him. Then she said quietly: “That was me.” Harry did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was equally quiet. “I know.” Ace closed her eyes again. Good. No grand declaration. No attempt to turn one freely chosen night into absolution for the one that had come before. Just acknowledgment. Harry held her. Ace stayed. Because she could leave whenever she wanted. And because, for now, she didn't want to. --- ## Chapter 18 — Still Here For a while, neither of them moved. Harry seemed almost afraid that movement itself might break something. Ace noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes remained closed. “Harry.” “Yes?” “You’re doing it again.” A pause. “Doing what?” “Thinking loud enough that I can hear it.” “I’m not saying anything.” “You don’t have to.” Ace opened one violet eye. Harry was staring at the ceiling. She opened the other. “See?” “I’m looking at the ceiling.” “Suspiciously.” Harry turned his head toward her. “How does someone look at a ceiling suspiciously?” “You’re managing.” That earned a laugh. Good. Ace settled again, comfortable against him. His breathing had almost returned to normal. Hers had too. The silence changed with the laughter. Less fragile. Less like something that needed protection. More like two people simply lying together after something that had mattered. Harry’s hand moved slowly against her back. Ace felt the hesitation return before the movement stopped. She sighed. “You can touch me.” “I know.” “Apparently not.” Harry looked at her. Ace lifted her head. “If I don’t want something, I’ll tell you.” “I know.” “If I want something, I’ll tell you.” “I know.” “If I change my mind—” “You’ll tell me.” Ace smiled. “Look at you.” “I’m learning.” “Slowly.” “That seems fair.” Ace rested her chin against him. For a few seconds she simply studied his face. Harry endured it. Eventually: “What?” “I’m deciding whether I like you.” Harry blinked. “That sounds ominous.” “It should.” “I thought we had moved slightly beyond that question.” Ace raised an eyebrow. “Sex is not a personality test.” “No?” “No.” “I may have misunderstood several decades of human civilization.” Ace laughed. Harry smiled. There. Again. That ordinary thing. Ace had needed ordinary more than she had realized. The Book had made everything significant. Every movement. Every thought. Every reaction. Every step toward Harry had carried the poisonous question of whether it had actually been hers. Now she could lie beside him and argue about absolutely nothing. No metaphysics required. She liked that. Annoyingly. Harry’s expression softened. Ace caught that too. “What now?” “Nothing.” “Bullshit.” “I was thinking.” “We established that’s dangerous.” “Yes.” Ace waited. Harry finally said: “I thought you’d leave.” Ace’s humor faded slightly. “When?” “After.” “After the Book burned?” “Yes.” “I almost did.” “I know.” “No. You guessed.” Harry accepted the correction. “Okay.” Ace looked toward the window. Night City burned quietly beyond the glass. “I didn’t know what I wanted.” Harry remained silent. “I knew what I was supposed to want.” That made him look at her. Ace continued. “I was supposed to be furious.” “You were.” “I was.” “You slapped me.” “Barely.” “I noticed.” Ace’s mouth twitched. “I was supposed to leave. Go back to Mai and Shammy. Let Kiro dissect everything that happened. Probably let Rogue find out eventually and turn the entire thing into somebody else’s extremely unpleasant week.” Harry swallowed. Ace looked at him. “That last one worries you?” “A little.” “Smart.” Harry waited. Ace traced an idle line against his shoulder. “But what I actually wanted was harder.” “To stay.” “To choose.” Harry said nothing. Ace appreciated him for that. She had not asked him to interpret it. “So I chose.” Harry nodded. “And now?” Ace looked around the room. Then at him. “Now I’m still here.” Harry smiled faintly. “Yes.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smug.” “I wasn’t.” “You were thinking about it.” “I was thinking that being alive is pleasant.” “That’s acceptable.” Harry laughed. Ace let herself smile. Then the comm clicked softly. “Ace?” Mai. Ace closed her eyes. Harry went very still. Ace felt it. “Oh, relax.” “I’m naked in bed with her partner.” Ace stared at him. “Do you think she forgot?” “I was hoping not to examine the situation verbally.” Ace laughed hard enough that she had to bury her face against him for a moment. Mai waited patiently. Ace finally managed: “Yeah?” “You okay?” Ace looked at Harry. At the room. At the cold ash beyond the bedroom. At her own hands. Then inward. Nothing. No pressure. No foreign warmth. No reward. Only a pleasant exhaustion and the deeply uncomplicated desire not to move yet. “Yeah.” A pause. Then Mai: “Good.” Ace smiled. “You two still outside?” “Yes.” “Shammy?” “Still here.” Shammy’s voice immediately joined them. “And still not murdering anyone.” Harry whispered: “Please thank her.” Ace covered her eyes. Mai definitely heard him. The silence over comm became dangerous. Then: “Hello, Harry.” Harry stared at Ace in horror. Ace was delighted. “Hello.” Mai’s voice remained perfectly calm. “You survived.” “So far.” Shammy said: “Good answer.” Ace started laughing again. Harry looked betrayed. “You people are terrible.” “You summoned me,” Ace reminded him. “That mistake continues to generate consequences.” “Yes.” Mai asked: “Coming out?” Ace glanced toward the bedroom door. Then back at Harry. “No.” Harry looked surprised. Ace pointed at him. “Don’t.” He closed his mouth. Mai merely said: “Okay.” No interrogation. No hesitation. No request for justification. Just okay. Ace felt that one somewhere deep. “I’ll tell you when.” “We’ll be here.” “Love you.” “Love you too.” Shammy added: “Love you.” Ace smiled. “Love you too.” The comm went quiet. Harry stared at her. Ace noticed. “What?” “That.” “What about it?” Harry searched for the words. “They really are just waiting.” Ace frowned. “Of course they are.” “No, I know, but…” He stopped. Ace waited. Harry tried again. “They know you’re staying in here with me.” “Yes.” “And Mai just said okay.” “Yes.” “And Shammy hasn’t broken the door.” “High praise.” Harry looked genuinely bewildered. Ace understood why. She also understood that explaining it badly would make it sound far stranger than it was. So she kept it simple. “They trust me.” Harry nodded. “And you trust them.” “Yes.” “That’s…” He trailed off. Ace smiled. “Intimidating?” “Extremely.” “Good.” Harry laughed. Then his expression became thoughtful again. Ace groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” “What?” “You lasted almost thirty seconds.” “I have another question.” “Of course you do.” Harry hesitated. “Does Mai know you love her?” Ace stared at him. Harry immediately realized the stupidity. “No. Wait. That came out wrong.” “Spectacularly.” “I meant—” “I know what you meant.” Ace rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. Apparently ceilings were contagious. “She doesn’t need me to come home tonight and prove it.” Harry was quiet. “She doesn’t need me to make what happened with you smaller so what I have with her can stay big.” Harry turned toward her. Ace continued: “And I don’t need her to pretend she’s not worried just to prove she trusts me.” “That sounds complicated.” “It isn’t.” Ace looked at him. “It only gets complicated when people think love is something they can run out of.” Harry absorbed that. Then: “I definitely summoned the complicated one.” Ace grinned. “There he is.” Harry laughed. Ace turned toward him again. The movement brought them naturally closer. Neither made anything of it. That was good too. Harry touched her cheek. No hesitation this time. Ace noticed that. She kissed his palm. “You learned.” “Slowly.” “Still counts.” They stayed like that. No urgency returned. No need to turn closeness into anything else. Eventually Harry asked: “Can I ask one more question?” Ace sighed theatrically. “You’re going to anyway.” “Probably.” “Go.” “Are you going to see me again?” There it was. Ace had known it was coming. She could have avoided answering. Could have made a joke. Could have left him hanging because, technically, she owed him nothing. Instead she thought about it. Honestly. Harry waited. Good. Ace finally said: “I don’t know.” His disappointment appeared for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded. “Okay.” Ace studied him. “You handled that surprisingly well.” “I’m learning not to argue with your answers.” “Excellent survival instinct.” Harry smiled. Ace continued: “But…” Harry looked at her. Ace immediately pointed a finger at him. “Do not make the face.” “I’m not making anything.” “You’re about to.” Harry fought it. Badly. Ace laughed. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again.” “Okay.” “But I’m not sitting here thinking I never want to.” Harry became very still. Ace watched him carefully. “That is all you get.” Harry nodded. “That’s enough.” “Good answer.” He kissed her forehead. Ace let him. Then she settled against him once more. The room became quiet. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Ace stopped counting. Eventually Harry’s breathing changed. Slower. Deeper. Ace lifted her head slightly. He had fallen asleep. She stared at him. “You have got to be kidding me.” Nothing. Ace poked his shoulder. Harry made an incomprehensible sound and remained asleep. Ace stared. Then looked toward the ceiling. “Unbelievable.” She could leave. Right now. Get dressed. Open the door. Walk back to Mai and Shammy. Harry would probably wake up terrified and wonder whether he had imagined the entire second half of the night. The thought amused her. Ace considered it seriously for several seconds. Then she settled back down. Harry moved unconsciously and his arm tightened around her. Ace froze. No pull. No magic. No meaning imposed from outside. Just a sleeping man reaching for warmth. Ace looked at his face. “You are still an idiot,” she whispered. Harry slept through the verdict. Ace smiled. Closed her violet eyes. And stayed. --- ## Chapter 19 — Again Three weeks later, Harry had almost convinced himself it had been a singular event. Not forgotten. That would have been impossible. Not dismissed either. Just filed somewhere in the increasingly crowded section of his mind labeled: **THINGS THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED AND PROBABLY SHOULD NOT HAVE.** The book was gone. Ace had gone. Night City had continued. Harry went to work. Bought groceries. Ignored several messages from Leo. Answered one eventually. Avoided occult bookstores with the dedication of a man who had finally discovered a healthy respect for consequences. Ace had his number. Harry had hers. Neither used it. And Harry, to his credit, did not send her increasingly desperate messages asking what that meant. It meant exactly what Ace had said. Nothing. So when his apartment door chimed at 21:43 on a completely ordinary Thursday evening, Harry expected food delivery. He opened it. Ace stood outside. Violet eyes. Short. Hands in her pockets. A tiny smile already threatening the corners of her mouth. Harry stared. Ace stared back. Five seconds passed. Then: “Hi.” Harry blinked. “Hi.” Ace waited. Harry continued staring. Her eyebrow rose. “You going to let me in?” “Yes.” He stepped aside immediately. Ace walked past him. Harry closed the door. Ace looked around the apartment. Same furniture. Same window. Same bedroom beyond the hall. No book. She nodded once. “Good.” Harry finally found his voice. “What are you doing here?” Ace turned. “What does it look like?” “I have learned not to make assumptions where you’re concerned.” Ace considered that. “Actually, excellent answer.” Harry relaxed by approximately three percent. Ace walked closer. No amber. No pull. No ritual. No excuse. She had spent three weeks doing absolutely nothing about Harry. That had been deliberate. She had wanted distance. Not because Mai demanded it. Mai hadn't. Not because Shammy demanded it. Shammy hadn't either, although she had developed an impressive collection of Harry-related threats delivered exclusively as jokes. Kiro had found the entire situation technically fascinating and personally horrifying. Brenda— Ace had stopped listening to Brenda approximately fourteen seconds after Brenda learned enough to become dangerous. Three weeks. And occasionally Ace had thought about Harry. Sometimes about the Book. Sometimes about what he had done. Sometimes about what happened afterward. Those were different memories. Ace had discovered she could keep them different. That mattered. And eventually one extremely simple thought had started appearing more frequently than all the complicated ones. She wanted him again. Ace stopped directly in front of Harry. Harry looked down at her. “Still violet,” he said. Ace smiled. “You noticed.” “I always notice.” Something about that pleased her. She grabbed his shirt and kissed him. Harry responded immediately. No frozen surprise this time. No existential crisis. Just Harry. Ace pulled back. “There.” Harry breathed out. “There?” “That should clarify why I’m here.” “It clarified several things.” “Good.” Harry looked at her. Ace could see the next question forming. She placed one finger against his lips. “No.” Harry nodded. Ace lowered her hand. “No what?” “No defining this.” “I wasn't going to.” “You were absolutely going to.” “I was going to ask whether you wanted something to drink.” Ace paused. “Oh.” Harry smiled. Ace narrowed her eyes. “Don't get clever.” “I wouldn't dare.” “Water.” Harry went to the kitchen. Ace watched him. No pull. She smiled to herself. Apparently some tests became habits. Harry returned with water. Ace accepted it. He leaned against the counter opposite her. “So.” Ace drank. Harry waited. Ace lowered the glass. “So.” Another silence. Then Harry asked: “How are Mai and Shammy?” Ace blinked. That had not been the question she expected. “Fine.” “Good.” “You're asking about them?” “They matter to you.” Ace studied him. Harry became uncomfortable. “Was that wrong?” “No.” Ace smiled slightly. “That was actually pretty good.” “I'm improving.” “Dangerously.” Harry grinned. Ace finished the water. Placed the glass down. Then: “Mai knows I'm here.” Harry's expression changed. Ace immediately sighed. “Why did I tell you that?” “I didn't say anything.” “Your face did.” “My face is apparently a serious liability.” “Yes.” Harry tried again. “She's okay with this?” Ace gave him a look. Harry corrected himself before she had to. “Right. Wrong question.” “Very.” “Ace decides what Ace does.” “Much better.” Harry nodded. “And Mai trusts Ace.” Ace smiled. “Look at you.” “I took notes.” “You better not have.” “Metaphorical notes.” “Acceptable.” Harry hesitated. “Shammy?” Ace laughed. “Shammy told me to have fun.” Harry relaxed. Ace continued: “Then she told me to remind you she knows where you live.” Harry stopped relaxing. Ace laughed harder. “That wasn't necessary.” “It was extremely necessary.” Harry shook his head. “You enjoy this far too much.” “Yes.” Ace stepped between his knees. Harry's hands settled naturally at her waist. No hesitation. That was new. Ace noticed. She liked it. “You've stopped asking permission every three seconds.” Harry looked at her. “I trust you to tell me.” Ace's expression softened. “Good.” “And I trust myself to listen.” That landed even better. Ace kissed him again. Longer. Warm. Familiar in a way that surprised her. The first night had been dominated by questions. This one didn't need them all. Some answers had survived three weeks. Ace broke the kiss. Harry looked at her. “So this isn't a test?” Ace thought about it. “No.” “Good.” “It isn't forgiveness either.” “I know.” “Good.” Harry touched her cheek. Ace leaned into it. “And tomorrow?” he asked. Ace smiled. “Tomorrow I go home.” Harry nodded. “And after that?” “I don't know.” Harry smiled. Ace narrowed her eyes. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're getting annoyingly good at that answer.” “I had an excellent teacher.” Ace laughed. Then she took his hand. Harry looked toward the bedroom. Back to Ace. This time neither of them needed to say anything. Ace led. Harry followed. Because she wanted him to. Because he wanted her. Because nothing else in Night City had any vote in the matter. And sometime later, when the urgency had passed and Ace lay comfortably against him, Harry made the mistake of speaking. “So.” Ace opened one violet eye. Harry immediately reconsidered. “Never mind.” “Learning.” “I am.” Ace closed her eye again. A few seconds passed. Then she started laughing. Harry looked at her. “What?” Ace shook her head. “Nothing.” “That is definitely something.” Ace settled closer. “I was just thinking about how stupid this is.” “Us?” “The beginning.” Harry winced. “Fair.” “You performed an occult ritual.” “I remember.” “You accidentally summoned me across Night City.” “I remember that too.” “The Book caught fire.” “Yes.” “And somehow the long-term consequence appears to be…” Ace gestured vaguely between them. Harry considered. “You occasionally turning up at my apartment?” Ace smiled. “Apparently.” Harry laughed. “I can live with that.” Ace raised her head. “Careful.” “What?” “No expectations.” “None.” “No entitlement.” “Absolutely none.” “If I don't come back—” “I don't chase you.” Ace nodded. “If I do?” Harry smiled. “You're welcome.” That answer was perfect. Ace kissed him once. “Good.” She settled back down. Harry's arm went around her. No ritual. No amber. No promises. No need for any. Months later, Harry would learn that Ace's visits followed no schedule whatsoever. Sometimes weeks passed. Sometimes longer. Once she appeared twice within eight days and refused to explain herself. Another time she disappeared long enough that Harry assumed the strange little arrangement had quietly ended. Then his door chimed at eleven at night. He opened it. Ace stood there. Violet eyes. That smile. “Busy?” Harry learned the correct answer very quickly. “Not anymore.” Ace walked in. That became their arrangement. Loose. Occasional. Never owed. Never scheduled. Never mistaken for something it wasn't. Harry remained Harry. Ace remained Ace. Mai remained home. Nothing competed with anything else. And whenever a tiny Japanese woman with violet eyes appeared unexpectedly at his door— Harry was always very, very happy to see her.