Morning didn’t arrive clean. It never did in Night City—but this was messy in a different way. Not just the light or the noise. The rhythm. Something was a fraction of a millimeter out of place, and the body noticed it before the mind could name it. Ace felt it first. Not as a thought. As movement. She stood in the kitchen, coffee already half gone, back against the sink. Same old mug. Same too-strong coffee. Same stance, like space was something to control, not use. The fridge clicked. Ace moved. Too fast. The katana wasn’t in her hand. Wasn’t even close. But the motion was perfect—the angle, the weight shift, the way her shoulder dropped just before the body caught itself. An attack. Half-formed. Empty. She froze there. Didn’t correct the stance immediately. Just looked at her own hand for a moment, like it had done something without permission. “…faster than needed,” she muttered. --- Mai saw it. She sat across the table, agent open but unused, coffee untouched, hair still slightly damp. She didn’t speak right away. She just shifted her gaze. Ace’s hand → shoulder → stance. The analysis would’ve been easy. Too easy. She didn’t do it. Instead: “Don’t do that again.” Not a question. Not an explanation. --- Ace glanced at her. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” “I didn’t say you did.” “Sounded like it.” “That’s how it sounded to you.” A beat. Ace’s mouth twitched. “Rude.” “Accurate.” --- Footsteps from upstairs. One. Then another. Shammy. Normally, Ace wouldn’t even look. Didn’t need to. Shammy was… Shammy. The space knew her before she entered it. This time, Ace looked. And caught something worse. Shammy’s step landed on the exact same creak in the floor. Twice. Perfectly identical. Not almost. Exactly. --- Shammy stopped halfway down the stairs. She noticed it too. You could see it in the way her gaze dropped—not to Ace or Mai, but to the step itself. Then she took the next one— deliberately wrong. The floor didn’t creak. Good. --- “Okay,” Ace said quietly. “So not just me.” Mai didn’t answer immediately. She was already moving. Not fast. Not slow. She stood, circled the table, stopped in the center of the kitchen. “Test.” Ace exhaled. “Of course.” --- Mai lifted her mug. Set it down. Lifted it again. Placed it somewhere else. Small movements, deliberately broken. “If this was just a single reaction,” she said, “it won’t repeat systematically.” Ace leaned back. “And if it does?” Mai looked at her. “Then it’s not just memory anymore.” --- Shammy came down the rest of the stairs. This time, her steps weren’t symmetrical. Good. But when she stepped into the kitchen— the air shifted. Not dramatically. But it moved. Exactly as Ace’s fingers tightened around her mug. --- Three things happened at once. - Ace tightened her grip - The air around Shammy compressed, just slightly - Mai’s gaze shifted A perfect chain. Perfect synchronization. Exactly the same structure as— --- “Stop.” Mai’s voice cut it off before it could continue. Not loud. Not aggressive. Precise. --- Everything stilled. No drama. No sudden movement. Just that moment where the body tries to continue something and the mind pulls the brake. --- Ace set the mug down. Too hard this time. “That was close.” “Too close,” Mai said. Shammy didn’t speak. She just stood there, gaze moving from Ace’s hand to Mai and back. “That wasn’t a thought,” she said finally. “It was… ready.” --- Silence. Not comfortable. But not panic, either. --- Ace leaned forward, both hands on the table’s edge. “We did the same thing.” Mai nodded. “And it went all the way.” “Except it didn’t,” Ace said. “Except it didn’t,” Mai corrected. --- Shammy stepped closer. Not too close. Not within reach. She stopped at a distance that, before, wouldn’t have even been considered. “It’s not external,” she said quietly. “Not Gary.” “Not the Vault.” “It’s—” She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to. --- Ace let out a short, dry laugh. “Our own movement.” Mai’s gaze dropped to the table. Fingers resting lightly on its surface. No diagrams. Not this time. “Learned structure,” she said. “And now it’s trying to repeat itself.” --- Ace looked up. “Without permission.” “Without control,” Mai added. --- Shammy took a slow breath. One inhale. Not in sync. On purpose. “It’s not dangerous yet.” A pause. “That’s why it’s dangerous.” --- Ace smiled. A little more real this time. “Nice.” Mai closed her eyes for a moment. “The solution isn’t to stop moving.” “No,” Ace said. “And it’s not going back to how it was.” “No.” --- Shammy tilted her head slightly. “We break it.” Ace raised a brow. “Sounds violent.” “It’s how we learn,” Shammy said. --- Mai opened her eyes. Clear now, but different. “We don’t build a new structure.” “We don’t fix the old one.” “We don’t let it continue on its own.” --- Ace straightened. Picked up her mug. This time, she didn’t hold it normally. Tilted it at an awkward angle, deliberately uncomfortable. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s make it messy.” --- The corner of Shammy’s mouth moved. “That helps.” --- Mai shifted her mug. Not directly. Not logically. Just… elsewhere. “It shouldn’t feel natural.” --- Ace took a sip of coffee. Grimaced. “Good. I hate natural right now.” --- A moment. Then another. No perfect chain. No automatic continuation. Movements stuttered. Glances came a second too late. The air moved without permission. And none of it locked together. --- The fridge clicked. Ace glanced at it. Didn’t move. “Good choice,” she muttered. --- This time, no one reached for anything. Not immediately. And because of that— the space didn’t reach either. --- Shammy leaned lightly against the table’s edge. Not centered. Not where balance would be easiest. “It’ll pass,” she said. --- Mai nodded. “But not on its own.” --- Ace smiled again. Sharper now. “So we break it every time it tries to come back.” --- Shammy looked at her. “Together.” A small pause. Not synchronized. --- Ace lifted her mug. “Together.” Mai didn’t mirror the motion. She just nudged hers slightly closer. “That’s enough.” --- This time— nothing extra happened. No chain. No automatic continuation. Just three people in a kitchen, their movements not entirely their own yet— but no longer someone else’s, either. --- And that was enough.