## Interlude The safehouse was quieter than usual. Not silent. Silence implied absence, and the apartment was too inhabited for that now. The ventilation hummed softly behind the walls. Rain tapped now and then against the narrow kitchen window. Somewhere outside, Night City continued grinding itself against its own teeth. Inside, the lights stayed low. Nobody had turned the main ceiling panels on. That alone said enough. Ace sat sideways on the couch with one leg over the armrest, hood discarded somewhere near the door, black-violet hair still slightly damp from a shower she had clearly taken too hot. One katana leaned against the wall within arm’s reach instead of strapped to her back. Progress. Mai sat at the kitchen counter with a mug of tea she had reheated twice without drinking properly. Her shard rested dark beside her. Also progress. Shammy occupied approximately sixty percent of the couch despite technically sitting “normally.” White-blue hair spilled over one shoulder, one sock missing for reasons nobody had investigated. The television displayed a paused menu screen from something none of them intended to watch. The room had that strange afterglow that came after successful decompression: bodies calmer than minds expected, nervous systems still waiting for the universe to remember it was cruel. Nobody said much. That was fine. Ace stared at her phone. Typed something. Deleted it. Typed again. Mai glanced up briefly from her own screen. Looked back down immediately. Shammy’s mouth curved very slightly. Ace narrowed her eyes without lifting her head. “You’re smiling.” “No.” “You are.” “Residual weather.” “Suspicious weather.” Mai’s thumbs paused over her phone for exactly one second too long. Ace noticed instantly. “…wait.” Mai did not look up. “No.” Ace sat up a little straighter. “No what?” “No thing.” “That’s not a sentence people use when innocent.” Shammy tilted her head lazily from the couch. “Structural guilt.” Mai closed her eyes briefly. “I hate all of you.” Ace pointed immediately. “You’re texting Kiro.” Mai’s head lifted at last, silver hair falling partly across one eye. “You are texting Reyes.” Ace froze. Shammy started laughing first. Not loudly. Worse. Quiet delighted laughter. Ace looked betrayed. “You checked?” “You made the exact same face you make before stabbing electronics.” “That is not a defined expression.” “It absolutely is,” Mai replied. Shammy lifted one hand from the couch cushions. “You both tilt left.” Ace looked horrified. Mai looked equally horrified. Shammy looked unbearably pleased. “Pattern recognition,” she said. Mai pointed at her. “You are also holding your phone.” Shammy immediately lowered it against her chest like a criminal hiding evidence. Ace’s eyes narrowed. “Oh no.” Shammy smiled slowly. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” Shammy stretched luxuriously across the couch, clearly debating whether denial was worth the effort. Then gave up. “Lena sent me a photo.” Mai blinked. “Of?” Shammy turned the phone slightly. A picture filled the screen. Marco asleep in a chair at the loft the previous morning, still holding the empty bowl from “second-phase servings,” mouth slightly open, blanket halfway sliding off his shoulder while Kiro slept upright beside him with her head against Lena. Ace stared. Then immediately covered her mouth. Mai failed next. Shammy completely lost composure. All three of them dissolved into exhausted laughter at once, the kind that collapsed inward because nobody had enough remaining energy for proper volume. Ace wheezed first. “Oh my god.” Mai leaned forward against the counter, shoulders shaking silently. Shammy nearly slid sideways off the couch. “The bowl,” Ace managed. “The bowl stayed,” Shammy gasped. Mai pressed both hands briefly against her face. “He looks like a defeated king.” That destroyed them again. Ace laughed hard enough that she had to lean back against the couch armrest, one hand over her eyes. For one bright minute, the apartment contained nothing except tired laughter and the memory of a man refusing to surrender communal leftovers. When it finally settled again, the room felt lighter. Not healed. Loosened. Ace wiped one eye and pointed weakly at Shammy. “Send me that.” “Already did.” Ace checked her phone. There it was. Reyes: _You people broke him._ Attached beneath it: the same image, except someone — almost certainly Lena — had added crude glowing angel wings behind Marco’s head. Ace made a noise somewhere between a cough and a dying laugh. Mai’s phone buzzed. She checked it automatically. Then stopped moving. Ace noticed immediately. “What.” Mai looked at the screen for another second before answering. “Kiro.” “Obviously.” Mai hesitated. That got both Ace and Shammy’s attention. “What?” Ace repeated. Mai’s expression softened in a way that made her look younger and far more dangerous emotionally. “She says…” Mai glanced down again. “‘Thank you for staying long enough that the room became real.’” The apartment went quiet for a moment. Not bad quiet. The other kind. Shammy’s eyes lowered. Ace stared at her own phone. Mai read the message one more time. Then, very carefully, set the phone face-down on the counter like it had acquired weight. Shammy spoke first, voice softer now. “She built it hoping.” Mai nodded once. Ace leaned back slowly into the couch. “Yeah.” No sarcasm. No deflection. Just agreement. Her phone buzzed again. Reyes. Ace checked it. A photo this time. Not of Marco. Of Ace herself. Taken sometime during the night without her noticing. Ace asleep on the rug, one hand still tangled in the blanket, Mai against one shoulder, Shammy’s arm around her waist, Reyes’s own knee barely visible at the edge of frame. Low warm light. Rain against the windows behind them. Underneath: _You looked safe._ Ace stared at the screen too long. Mai noticed. So did Shammy. Neither interrupted. Ace swallowed once. Then locked the phone and tossed it onto the couch beside her with deliberate casualness. Shammy smiled faintly. “Dangerous message?” Ace pointed at her without looking up. “Quiet.” Mai picked up her tea again. Actually drank from it this time. Warm silence settled over the apartment. Three people. Three phones. Three separate conversations quietly pulling the edges of the night forward into whatever came next. No urgency. No performance. Just the strange realization that after everything — MercyPoint, Saint Voltage, nanomachines, Objects of Power, blood, steel, and pressure — someone out there was now texting them things like: _Did you eat?_ _Drink water._ _You looked safe._ _Get sleep._ _Come over tomorrow._ _I miss you already._ Ace stared at the dark television screen. Then at the katana leaning against the wall. Then at her phone again. A tiny smile appeared before she could stop it. Mai saw it in the reflection of the kitchen window. Did not comment. Good. Shammy stretched one long leg until her foot nudged Ace’s thigh. Ace glanced over. Shammy’s eyes were half-closed again. “Room still holding?” she asked softly. Ace looked around the apartment. Warm lights. Tea steam. One sword instead of two. Mai without her shard open. Rain outside. Three exhausted idiots texting people they trusted enough to miss already. Ace leaned back into the couch. “Yeah,” she said. This time the answer came instantly. “Still holding.” ## Part II — Typing Indicators The safehouse settled deeper into evening. Not late yet. Just the strange in-between hour where Night City’s neon started reflecting off wet streets hard enough to turn the apartment ceiling faintly blue whenever a vehicle passed below. Nobody had turned the television on. Nobody planned to. Shammy had migrated fully horizontal across the couch now, one arm hanging off the edge, sock situation still unresolved. Mai remained at the counter with her tea and impossible posture. Ace sat with one leg folded under her, phone balanced against her knee, staring at the screen like it had personally insulted her. The room had become comfortable enough for honesty. Unfortunately. Ace typed three words. Deleted two. Typed again. Mai glanced over the rim of her mug. “You are fighting a message.” Ace didn’t look up. “No.” “You’re deleting aggressively.” “That’s called editing.” “That’s called emotional recoil.” Shammy lifted one finger from the couch. “Residual recoil.” Ace pointed at her instantly. “You are banned from adding words tonight.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” Mai hid a smile in her tea. Ace noticed that too. “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “That tiny villain smile.” “It is not villainous.” “It absolutely is.” Shammy murmured from the couch cushions, “Structural villainy.” Mai closed her eyes briefly. “I regret language.” Ace snorted softly and finally hit send before she could overthink it. Reyes answered almost immediately. Of course she did. Ace’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the speed. Reyes: _That fast? Thought you’d stare at the screen another hour._ Ace stared at the message. Then typed: _Was busy._ Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again. Reyes: _Liar._ Ace’s mouth twitched. Mai saw the twitch from the kitchen counter. There. That tiny almost-smile again. Dangerous. Shammy saw it too without opening her eyes. “Ace-face.” Ace looked genuinely offended. “That is not a category.” Mai answered immediately. “It is now.” “Traitors.” “Yes,” Mai said calmly. Ace sighed through her nose and typed again. _Yesterday was… good._ She stopped there. Stared. Deleted the period. Added it again. Hit send with visible irritation. Reyes took slightly longer this time. Reyes: _Yeah. It was._ _You okay today?_ Ace leaned back slowly into the couch. That question still hit strangely. Not because she disliked it. Because she was starting to believe the people asking actually wanted the answer. Ace typed: _Better._ _You free tonight?_ No games. No setup. No subtlety. Mai looked over again the instant Ace hit send. “…direct.” Ace didn’t look up. “Efficient.” “Emotionally armed robbery.” “Worked?” Before Mai could answer, Ace’s phone buzzed. Reyes: _Yeah._ _Come over?_ Ace stared at the screen for a second too long. Then typed immediately: _Yep._ Shammy made a low pleased sound from the couch without opening her eyes. Ace threw a cushion at her. Shammy caught it blindly. “Evidence-based reaction.” “Shut up.” --- Mai’s approach looked completely different. Of course it did. Her phone remained flat on the counter for almost a full minute before she picked it up again. She typed with maddening precision, paused, erased half of it, rewrote the sentence shorter, stared at it, rewrote it longer again. Ace watched openly now. “This is painful.” Mai ignored her. Ace slid lower into the couch. “You’re building a briefing document.” “I am constructing a message.” “You’re making tea nervous.” Shammy lifted her head slightly. “The tea has posture.” Mai inhaled once through her nose. Then finally typed: _How are you feeling today?_ Pause. Delete. New version: _Did you sleep enough?_ Pause. Delete again. Ace groaned dramatically into the couch cushions. “Oh my god.” Mai looked up at last. “What.” “You are emotionally parallel parking.” “That is not a thing.” “It absolutely is.” Shammy nodded solemnly. “Tiny careful reversals.” Mai pointed at both of them. “Neither of you are helping.” Ace grinned openly now. “You like her.” Mai froze for exactly half a second. Ace immediately pointed. “THERE.” Mai closed her eyes. Shammy’s shoulders shook silently with laughter. Finally, Mai gave up on elegance entirely and typed: _Yesterday helped more than I expected._ _Thank you._ _Are you working tonight?_ She stared at it. Did not delete it. Sent. The silence afterward was somehow worse. Mai set the phone down immediately and picked up her tea with the composure of someone pretending she had not just exposed a vital organ voluntarily. Ace looked delighted. “Holy shit.” Mai looked at her over the mug. “You sent ‘You free tonight?’ like a mercenary issuing a duel invitation.” “Worked.” Shammy tilted her head thoughtfully. “Mai-message warmer.” Mai’s phone buzzed. All three of them looked at it. Mai tried to maintain dignity for approximately one second before picking it up. Kiro: _I slept nine hours._ _I blame you._ _And yes. Free tonight._ Mai’s expression changed instantly. Softened from the inside out. Ace actually sat up to see it better. “There it is again.” Mai looked genuinely confused. “What.” “That face.” “What face?” “The one where you look like somebody unplugged your apocalypse mode.” Shammy whispered, “Safe Mai.” Mai stared at both of them in horror. “I hate this apartment.” “No you don’t,” Ace replied immediately. Mai looked back at the screen. Kiro had sent another message. _Also you left your hair tie here._ Mai blinked once. Then typed before thinking: _Keep it for now._ The second the message sent, Mai stopped moving. Ace saw the exact moment realization hit. “Ohhhh,” Ace said immediately. Mai covered her eyes with one hand. Shammy made the happiest sound either of them had heard all day. --- Shammy took the longest. Not because she hesitated. Because she kept getting distracted. By rain. By the couch. By the fact that one sock remained missing under circumstances she described as “textile atmospheric uncertainty.” Her phone rested against her stomach while she stared at the ceiling with profound concentration. Ace watched for almost thirty seconds. “You asleep?” “No.” “Dead?” “Thinking.” “That’s worse.” Shammy smiled faintly. “Words difficult.” Mai lowered her phone slightly. “You have never once struggled with emotional honesty.” “Yes I have.” “No,” Ace said immediately. “You say horrifyingly sincere things all the time.” “Correct,” Mai agreed. Shammy considered this. Then nodded. “Fair.” She unlocked the phone again. The screen reflected in her eyes while she typed with one thumb painfully slowly. Ace leaned sideways trying to peek. Shammy immediately covered the screen against her chest. “Privacy.” “That means it’s embarrassing.” “Yes.” Mai actually laughed softly into her mug. Shammy typed for another minute. Deleted the entire thing. Typed again. Finally she sent: _The apartment is quieter tonight._ _I think I miss your noise already._ _Also Marco still owes me breakfast potatoes._ Ace stared. Then pointed dramatically. “She weaponized longing.” Mai whispered, “And potatoes.” Shammy looked deeply pleased with herself. Lena answered first. Lena: _Miss you too, stormcloud._ _Marco says the potato debt is legally disputed._ A second later another message arrived. Marco: _Lies. Potatoes pending._ _Come over tomorrow. Both of you._ Shammy read both messages twice. Then smiled so openly that even Ace stopped joking for a second. There it was again. That thing. Not romance exactly. Belonging. The room felt it too. Rain at the windows. Warm lights. Three exhausted operators quietly texting people who had somehow become part of their recovery patterns. Ace leaned back against the couch. Mai rested her cheek briefly against her own shoulder while rereading Kiro’s messages. Shammy curled slightly around the phone like it carried warmth physically. No one spoke for a while. Typing indicators appeared and vanished across three screens like tiny heartbeat monitors. Finally Ace broke the silence. “So.” Mai glanced over. “So?” Ace lifted her phone slightly. “We all have plans tonight.” Shammy nodded immediately. “Yes.” Mai looked down at her own screen. Then, very carefully, admitted: “Yes.” Ace stared at both of them. Then started laughing again. Not hard. Not mocking. Just tired and happy enough that the sound escaped on its own. Shammy joined in first. Mai resisted for almost twelve seconds. Then lost. The safehouse filled with warm evening laughter again while outside Night City kept pretending it was impossible for people like them to survive softness twice in a row.