## Chapter 1 — Because Sleep Is for Corpses The advertisement was terrible. That was the first thing Reyes noticed. Not dangerous. Not suspicious. Not even illegal-looking in the usual Night City way, where half the city’s marketing departments had apparently been taught by people who thought human organs were a subscription service. Just terrible. It hung above a narrow storefront wedged between a discount ammo kiosk and a ripperdoc supply broker that absolutely did not have the licenses implied by its holographic window display. Rain ran down the sign in thin, oily lines. The animated skull in the center kept winking at pedestrians, steam pouring from its eye sockets while a black cup rotated beneath it like a holy relic for people with no impulse control. The copy flashed in violent red letters. **DEATH’S COFFEE** Then, beneath it: **BECAUSE SLEEP IS FOR CORPSES.** Reyes stopped walking. Behind her, a courier drone buzzed past too close, clipped the edge of a streetlamp, corrected badly, and vanished into Watson’s wet evening noise. Somewhere across the street, two men argued about a debt neither of them could afford to remember correctly. A food stall hissed steam into the cold. The pavement reflected neon in broken strips. Reyes stood still in the middle of it all and stared at the ad. The skull winked again. A second line appeared. **10X STRONGER THAN ANYTHING LEGAL, ILLEGAL, OR MEDICALLY ADVISABLE.** Reyes narrowed her eyes. “That,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, “is either fraud or a war crime.” The skull gave a thumbs-up. Reyes hated it immediately. Not the product. She did not know enough about the product yet to hate it properly. She hated the claim. Ten times stronger. Nobody honest advertised like that unless they were selling to idiots, addicts, mercs, netrunners, students, overworked medtechs, or the kind of people who saw a warning label and considered it a dare. Which, she admitted after half a second of professional self-awareness, covered most of Night City. She shifted the bag over her shoulder, let her thumb rest near the holster under her jacket out of habit, and read the smaller text crawling along the bottom of the ad. **SYNTH-ROASTED. BLACK-MARKET INSPIRED. CORP-FREE. PURE WAKEFULNESS. NO REFUNDS AFTER CARDIAC DIALOGUE BEGINS.** Reyes blinked. “Cardiac dialogue.” The skull winked again. She took a picture. Not because she intended to buy any. Obviously. She sent it to Ace. The reply came so fast Reyes suspected Ace had been waiting for an excuse to be unreasonable. **ACE:** No. Reyes looked at the message. Then at the advertisement. Then back at the message. **REYES:** You answered before I asked. **ACE:** I heard the stupid through the image. Reyes’s mouth twitched. A second later, Mai appeared in the thread. **MAI:** Why does the warning label have branding language? **REYES:** Because Night City. **MAI:** That is not an answer. **MAI:** Unfortunately it is also the answer. Then Kiro joined. Nobody had added Kiro. Reyes stared at the thread. **KIRO:** WAIT. **KIRO:** Is that Death’s Coffee?? **KIRO:** I thought that was an urban myth. **KIRO:** Or a joke product. **KIRO:** Or both. **KIRO:** It can be both. Night City has category rot. **MAI:** Kiro. Why do you know this name? There was a pause. A suspiciously brief pause. **KIRO:** Academic curiosity. **ACE:** That means crime. **KIRO:** Not always. **MAI:** Kiro. **KIRO:** Fine. Mostly. Reyes looked up at the sign again. The storefront underneath the ad had blacked-out windows, a scratched security gate, and a vending slot framed by hazard stripes. A little camera above the slot tracked her face with the twitchy optimism of cheap surveillance software. The rain made the skull shimmer. She should keep walking. She had food in the bag. Ammunition in the side pocket. A small replacement part for a handgun that had started behaving like it had opinions. Normal errands. Normal Watson survival maintenance. She had no reason to engage with a beverage whose marketing strategy included flirting with organ failure. The vending slot lit up. A soft mechanical voice came from the wall. “Interested in dying awake?” Reyes stared at it. “No.” The slot clicked. “First-time buyer discount available.” “No.” “Two sample bags for the price of one.” Reyes exhaled slowly through her nose. Behind the irritation, something small and tactical shifted into place. Two sample bags. Samples were useful. Samples could be tested. Samples could confirm whether the ad was lying, whether the product was actually dangerous, whether someone in Night City had turned stimulant chemistry into a skull-themed joke with potential medical consequences. Also, Ace had said no. That was not relevant. Probably. Her agent pinged again. **PANAM:** Why am I seeing this? **PANAM:** Reyes. **PANAM:** Tell me you are not buying skull coffee. Reyes looked at the group thread. Then at the vending slot. Then at the skull. “Controlled experiment,” she said. The skull winked. The machine asked for payment. Reyes paid. Two matte-black packets dropped into the retrieval tray with a heavy little thunk. They were smaller than she expected. Dense. Vacuum-sealed. The packaging showed the same skull, this time wearing sunglasses and holding a steaming cup in both skeletal hands. Across the front, in silver lettering: **WOW, NOW THIS IS STRONG COFFEE!** Reyes picked up the packets. The smell leaked through the seal somehow. Sharp. Clean. Bitter in a way that felt less like coffee and more like the concept of alertness had been sharpened into a needle. She held one packet at arm’s length. “Mm.” Her agent pinged. **ACE:** Reyes. Reyes took a picture of the two packets in her hand. Sent it. The thread exploded. **PANAM:** NO. **ACE:** Reyes. **MAI:** Define “controlled.” **KIRO:** OH MY GOD. **SHAMMY:** The package has aggressive weather. **MARCO:** Food first. Whatever this is, food first. **LENA:** I am already tired. Reyes slipped the packets into her bag. “Samples,” she typed. Ace answered immediately. **ACE:** That word is doing too much work. Reyes started walking again. She made it three steps before the vending slot clicked behind her. “Bulk special available for verified first-time buyers.” Reyes stopped. The rain tapped against her jacket. The city moved around her, indifferent and ugly and alive. She did not turn around right away. That would have looked guilty. Instead, she stood still, adjusted the strap of her bag, and let the idea sit in the back of her head where bad ideas liked to put their boots on the furniture. Bulk special. No. Obviously no. The first rule of dangerous substances was never buy more before testing the sample. The second rule was never trust a product whose mascot looked happier than its consumers. The third rule was that Kiro existed, which meant any quantity above zero had to be treated as a public safety issue. Reyes turned halfway. The skull stared down at her from the sign. The vending slot displayed a smaller line now, almost discreet. **SPECIAL OCCASIONS REQUIRE SPECIAL COFFEE.** Reyes looked at it for a long moment. Then she said, very quietly, “That is manipulative.” The skull winked. Reyes did not buy the bulk crate. Not then. She walked away with the two sample bags in her pack and the rain running down the back of her jacket. But three blocks later, while waiting under a cracked awning for a street argument to stop spilling into the crosswalk, she opened the vendor page on her agent. Just to check. For information. For threat assessment. For controlled experiment logistics. The bulk crate was discounted. Twenty-four bags. Free delivery to a storage locker. The purchase button pulsed red. Reyes stared at it. “Special occasions,” she muttered. Then she closed the page. The city hummed. A second later, she opened it again. ## Chapter 2 — Controlled Experiment By the time Reyes reached Safehouse, the rain had become heavier and meaner, the kind of Watson rain that seemed less interested in weather and more interested in reminding concrete that it was temporary. Safehouse sat where it always did: unromantic, defensible, lived-in, and warmer inside than Night City deserved. There were lights on in the kitchen. That was the first warning. Marco had arrived before her. The second warning was Ace opening the door before Reyes touched the handle. Ace stood in the doorway barefoot, black hair uneven around her face, violet eyes narrowed with the kind of suspicion that made taller people reconsider entire careers. She wore a loose dark shirt too big for her and an expression too sharp for domestic space. Behind her, the hallway light bent very slightly wrong around her outline. Reyes lifted the bag. “Groceries.” Ace looked at the bag. Then at Reyes. Then at the bag again. “You smell like bad decisions.” “Watson rain.” “No.” Reyes stepped inside. Ace did not move out of the way immediately. She just tilted her head, small and compact and dangerous enough that the hallway seemed to wait for permission to continue existing. Reyes looked down at her. “Going to search me?” Ace’s mouth twitched. “Don’t tempt me.” “That a threat?” “Depends how much coffee you bought.” Reyes held up two fingers. “Two samples.” Ace’s eyes narrowed further. “Say that again slower.” “Two,” Reyes said. “Samples.” From the kitchen, Mai called, “The pause between those words is legally significant.” Reyes closed the door behind her. Safehouse smelled like food, warm metal, rain-damp clothes, and the faint electrical brightness that usually meant Shammy was either amused or thinking too hard near an appliance. Voices overlapped from the kitchen and main room. Not mission voices. Domestic voices. The kind that had edges because everyone in the house had edges, but warmth underneath because nobody was pretending otherwise. She followed Ace in. Marco stood at the counter with sleeves pushed up, broad shoulders relaxed, cutting vegetables with the competent rhythm of someone who had decided the universe could be managed better if everyone ate first. A pot simmered on the stove. Something spicy and heavy enough to make the room feel less stupid. Lena sat at the table with a mug in both hands, calm and observant, dark hair controlled, eyes already on Reyes’s bag. That was not good. Lena noticing things was usually fine. Lena noticing things before speaking was dangerous. Mai leaned against the far counter, silver hair pulled back loosely, eyes already in that precise half-focused state that meant she had run three risk models and disliked all of them. Kiro sat beside her on a stool, one leg tucked under herself, uneven pale-silver hair falling into her face, signal tattoos visible along her forearm as she drummed her fingers against her knee with too much anticipation. Shammy occupied half the couch and somehow also the air above it. At 195 centimeters, she made the furniture look like it had agreed to a difficult assignment. Her silver-white hair lifted faintly at the ends. Electric-blue eyes tracked the bag with open curiosity. Panam stood near the window, arms crossed, still wearing road-dust and irritation like a second jacket. She looked at Reyes the way a person looked at a leaking fuel line. “No,” Panam said. Reyes set the grocery bag on the table. “I didn’t say anything.” “You walked in.” “That’s usually allowed.” “Not with skull coffee.” Kiro slid off the stool so fast Mai’s hand moved automatically, catching the back of her shirt before she could collide with the table. “Is it actually here?” Mai did not release her shirt. “Kiro.” “I am observing.” “You are vibrating.” “That is unrelated.” “It is very related.” Marco pointed the knife toward the stool without looking away from the cutting board. “Sit before you become part of dinner.” Kiro sat. Mostly. Reyes unpacked the normal groceries first. Food. A sealed container of something from a street vendor Marco had recommended. Ammunition. The handgun part. A packet of cheap fruit because Lena had once said the Safehouse snack situation was becoming nutritionally insulting and Reyes had pretended not to hear while remembering anyway. Then, last, she placed the two matte-black Death’s Coffee packets on the table. The room changed. Not dramatically. There was no thunderclap. No ominous music. No corporate kill squad crashing through the windows. But the room noticed. Ace leaned closer. Mai went very still. Kiro made a small sound that might have been awe, hunger, or pre-incident liability. Shammy tilted her head. A faint ripple passed through the steam rising from Marco’s pot, bending toward the packets as if curious and then retreating. Panam said, “Absolutely not.” Lena reached for one packet, turned it over, and read the back. Her face did not change. That was worse. Marco glanced over. “How bad?” Lena read aloud, “‘Not recommended for pregnant individuals, cardiac patients, minors, people operating heavy machinery, netrunners, pilots, cyberpsychosis-adjacent persons, monks, monks with implants, anyone currently haunted by unpaid taxes, or customers who are emotionally attached to sleep.’” Silence. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes looked back. “That last one is marketing.” Mai closed her eyes for half a second. “Reyes.” “What?” “You purchased a beverage that specifically warns against netrunners.” Kiro raised one hand. “I object to being categorized as a warning demographic.” “You are the warning demographic,” Panam said. Kiro pointed at her. “That is profiling.” “That is experience.” Shammy leaned forward, elbows on knees, hair shifting with a soft static whisper. “The packet is very loud.” Marco paused mid-cut. “It’s coffee.” “No.” Shammy’s gaze stayed on the packet. “Coffee is usually warm-bitter-busy. This is…” She considered. “Standing on a roof during a lightning storm and calling it productivity.” Kiro whispered, “That sounds amazing.” Mai turned her head slowly. “Kiro.” “I said it quietly.” “I heard the future lawsuit.” Ace picked up one packet. It looked absurdly large in her small hand, or maybe everything looked absurd when Ace held it with that much intent. The black packaging reflected her face wrong for half a second. Her Shadow Aura stirred faintly at her feet, not rising, not flaring, just taking interest in the room’s new pressure. Reyes saw it. So did Shammy. Mai saw Reyes seeing it. That was how Safehouse worked now. Nobody got to notice anything alone for long. Ace read the front. “Wow, now this is strong coffee.” “It says that?” Panam demanded. Ace turned the packet around. Panam stared. “Who writes that on something that might kill a netrunner?” “Someone who understands their target market,” Reyes said. Kiro pointed at her with both hands. “Thank you.” “No,” Mai said. Kiro lowered both hands. Marco put the knife down and wiped his hands on a towel. “Food first.” “I ate,” Reyes said. Marco looked at her. Reyes paused. “Some.” Marco looked at Ace. Ace looked away. Marco looked at Mai. Mai suddenly found the warning label very interesting. Marco looked at Kiro. Kiro said, “I consumed a nutrient bar in the last—” “Real food,” Marco said. “It had protein.” “It had sadness.” Lena set the packet back down and reached for a pen. Reyes watched her. “What are you doing?” “Beginning documentation.” “That seems aggressive.” Lena wrote on a small adhesive label with careful, dark letters. Then she placed it on the first packet. **DO NOT LET KIRO DEFINE DOSAGE.** Kiro leaned over. “Rude.” Lena wrote another label. **RUDE BUT ACCURATE.** Ace made a sound under her breath. It might have been a laugh. Mai’s mouth tilted in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to reward anyone. Panam pointed at the packets. “We are not drinking that.” Reyes leaned back against the counter. “We are testing a small amount.” “No. You are calling a bad idea a test because it sounds better.” “That is how tests work.” “No, that is how disasters write cover letters.” Shammy raised one hand slowly. Everyone looked at her. “I would like to smell it.” Panam turned toward her. “Shammy.” “Not drink. Smell.” Shammy paused. “The room is already arguing with it. I want to know why.” That was the problem with Shammy. She could make an absurd request sound like emotional field research. Mai considered the packets. “Smelling it is probably safe.” Panam gave her a betrayed look. “Probably?” Mai’s expression remained controlled. “I am not prepared to guarantee anything involving a product that lists monks twice.” Ace slit the top of one packet open before anyone could stop her. The smell hit the room. Not like normal coffee. Not even like synth-coffee, which already had a habit of smelling like burnt ambition and corporate legal departments. This was cleaner. Sharper. A black, bitter brightness that seemed to climb into the sinuses, kick open a door, and start rearranging furniture. It had coffee underneath, yes, but coffee dragged through a laboratory, baptized in bad judgment, and released without supervision. Kiro inhaled. Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Mai immediately moved the packet away from her. “No.” “I only breathed.” “You breathed enthusiastically.” Reyes leaned in and took a careful smell. Her eyebrows rose. Ace sniffed it once, then leaned back. “Strong.” Kiro looked at her. Ace glanced at the packet, then at Reyes. “Wow,” she said flatly. “Now this is strong coffee.” Reyes smiled. Panam groaned. “Do not encourage the bag.” Shammy bent closer. The air went briefly still. Her hair lifted, not much, just enough that the static along the couch edge answered. She inhaled through her nose and blinked slowly. “The smell has corners.” Marco stared at her. “Coffee should not have corners.” “No,” Shammy agreed. “It is very confident.” Lena wrote another label. **COFFEE SHOULD NOT HAVE CORNERS.** Then placed it beside the first one. Mai took the packet from Ace with the care of someone handling evidence. “All right. If we are doing this—and I want the record to show that I said if in a tone of serious objection—we do it properly.” Kiro perked up. Mai pointed at her without looking. “You do not define properly.” Kiro deflated. Reyes crossed her arms. “Small amounts.” “Yes,” Mai said. “Measured. Diluted. Food first. Water available. No second servings until effect curve is established.” Panam shook her head. “I hate that you’re making this sound reasonable.” “I am making it less unreasonable.” “That is not the same thing.” “No,” Mai said. “But it is the available category.” Marco returned to the stove. “Everybody eats first.” Ace opened her mouth. Marco pointed the spoon at her. “Everybody.” Ace closed her mouth. Reyes leaned down slightly toward her. “Tiny disaster.” Ace looked up. “Coffee criminal.” “Sample criminal.” “Worse.” Reyes’s smile was quick and dry. From the table, Lena watched both of them and wrote one more label. She did not place it yet. Ace saw the motion. “What does that one say?” Lena held it up. **WATCH REYES.** Reyes stared at it. Then, very calmly, she reached over, took the label, and placed it on her own sleeve. “Accurate.” Ace looked at her for two seconds. Then she laughed. Not loudly. Not softly either. The kind of laugh that slipped past her defenses before she could decide whether it was tactically sound. Reyes felt it land somewhere behind her ribs. Annoying. Warm. Dangerous in the other direction. Panam rubbed her face with one hand. “We are all going to regret this.” Kiro leaned toward Mai and whispered, badly, “But scientifically.” Mai looked at her. “Kiro.” “What?” “Eat.” Kiro picked up a fork. Shammy watched the steam from the pot curl through the kitchen light. “The room is less stupid when Marco makes food.” Marco pointed the spoon toward her without turning. “That is the nicest weather report I’ve ever received.” “It is also true.” “Even better.” For a while, the Death’s Coffee sat unopened except for the slit packet, black and smug in the center of the table. Food came first. Marco made sure of it with the calm authority of a man who understood that bodies were not optional just because everyone around him had become fascinated by a skull-branded stimulant. Plates appeared. Water appeared. Kiro received extra food and made a face until Mai looked at her. Ace pretended not to be hungry and failed because Marco had learned her lies had a very specific shoulder angle. Shammy ate slowly, still glancing at the packet as though it might begin speaking. Panam remained deeply unhappy and ate anyway because Marco’s food had that unfair quality where refusing it felt like insulting civilization. Reyes ate. She did not admit she needed to. Lena noticed anyway. Of course. Afterward, Mai cleared a section of the counter like a lab bench. Which, in retrospect, should have been the moment everyone stopped. But nobody did. Because Safehouse was warm. Because the rain was outside. Because the night had no mission in it. Because the people in the room had survived corps, anomalies, cults, bad data, worse fixers, Night City violence, and each other’s emotional avoidance patterns. Because two black packets of skull coffee on a kitchen counter felt stupid enough to be safe. Mai measured the first dose. Then halved it. Then looked at Kiro and halved it again. Kiro placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “I am being oppressed by responsible math.” “You are being preserved by responsible math,” Mai said. “That sounds less poetic.” “It is.” Reyes watched Mai dilute the Death’s Coffee into a larger pot of normal synth-coffee. The liquid darkened immediately, black swallowing brown with unsettling efficiency. Ace leaned beside her. “You’re too calm.” Reyes looked down. “I’m always calm.” “No.” “No?” “You’re calm when the problem is outside.” Ace glanced at the coffee. “This is inside.” Reyes followed her gaze. The pot sat under the kitchen light, quiet and obscene. “That supposed to mean something?” Ace shrugged one shoulder. “Means I’m watching you.” Reyes touched the label on her sleeve. “Already documented.” Ace’s mouth twitched. Mai poured the first round into small cups. Very small. Kiro stared at hers. “That is not a serving. That is a rumor.” Panam pointed at her. “You are lucky you got a rumor.” Shammy lifted her cup and studied the surface. “It reflects too quickly.” Marco looked into his own cup. “I don’t know what that means and I already agree.” Lena did not drink yet. She was watching everyone else. Mai noticed. “Lena?” “I am establishing baseline behavior.” Reyes nodded once. “Smart.” Lena looked at the label on Reyes’s sleeve. “Someone has to be.” Reyes accepted that. Fair. They stood and sat around the kitchen and main room with tiny cups of Death’s Coffee diluted beyond what any reasonable product should have noticed. For one breath, nobody drank. Then Ace raised her cup. “To bad ideas.” Panam groaned. Reyes raised hers. “To controlled experiments.” Mai’s expression sharpened. “That phrase is now on probation.” Kiro lifted her cup with both hands. “To science.” “No,” said Panam, Marco, Lena, and Mai at the same time. Shammy smiled into her cup. “To corners.” Everyone looked at her. She sipped. So did Ace. So did Reyes. One by one, against better judgment, so did the rest. The taste hit Reyes like a punch delivered by a librarian. Precise. Bitter. Clean. Violent without being loud. She swallowed. Her eyes narrowed. Across the room, Ace made a small thoughtful sound. Kiro froze. Mai blinked once. Marco stared into his cup. Lena looked at her own as if it had disappointed her personally. Shammy’s hair lifted half an inch. Panam lowered her cup slowly. Silence held. Rain battered the windows. Somewhere in the building, a pipe knocked. Kiro whispered, “Oh.” Mai turned toward her immediately. “Kiro?” Kiro’s eyes were wide, bright, terrified, delighted. “It has architecture.” Panam set her cup down. “Nope.” Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes looked back. For five full seconds, nothing else happened. Then Kiro smiled. That was the first real warning. --- ## Chapter 3 — Nothing Happened For ten minutes, nothing happened. That was the lie. The room believed it because the room wanted to believe it, and because most disasters understood the value of good timing. Kiro sat on the edge of her stool with both hands wrapped around her tiny cup, expression held in the fragile zone between scientific awe and personal betrayal. She looked at the cup. Then at Mai. Then at the cup again. “I feel normal.” Mai did not look reassured. “You said that with disappointment.” “It claimed ten times stronger.” “We diluted it.” “Yes, but spiritually?” Panam made a sound from near the window. “Spiritually, I want all of you arrested.” Ace sat cross-legged on the floor near the couch, one elbow resting on her knee, cup empty beside her. The angle made her look smaller than usual and somehow more dangerous, like someone had placed a blade on the floor and expected the room not to notice it was still sharp. Her Shadow Aura had settled again, though the corners around her were a little too deep for the lighting. Reyes noticed. Ace noticed Reyes noticing. Neither said anything. Shammy sat on the couch with her long legs folded awkwardly because the furniture had once again failed to understand her proportions. She held her cup in both hands and watched the surface with open suspicion. Her silver-white hair had stopped lifting, but the air near her shoulders still carried a soft electrical prickle. Marco stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, looking at the group like a man waiting for the first bad symptom so he could feed it. Lena had a notebook now. No one had seen her get it. That was normal for Lena. Objects appeared around her because she had already understood the room’s future needs and refused to make a speech about it. She wrote calmly. Mai glanced at the page. “Baseline?” “Yes.” “What are you tracking?” “Speech rate, movement, irritability, questionable confidence, and whether Kiro attempts to define the word ‘safe.’” Kiro turned. “I have never—” Lena looked up. Kiro stopped. “Fine. I have occasionally.” Marco nodded. “That’s growth.” “It is not growth if everyone keeps being mean about my scientific vocabulary.” Ace leaned back against the couch and looked at Reyes. “Questionable confidence should have its own column.” Reyes lifted one eyebrow. Ace pointed at the label still stuck to Reyes’s sleeve. **WATCH REYES.** Reyes looked down at it. “Documented.” Panam pushed off from the window. “Good. Since we all survived the terrifying espresso thimble, we can agree this was dumb and stop.” “That is premature,” Mai said. Panam stared at her. Mai’s expression did not change, which was how everyone knew she knew exactly how bad the sentence sounded. “I mean,” Mai clarified, “we do not yet know the onset curve.” “I hate that more.” “As a concept or personally?” “Yes.” Kiro’s eyes brightened. “There could be delayed absorption.” Mai turned toward her. “Correct.” “Or staged metabolic release.” “Possible.” “Or the stimulant architecture could be layered.” Mai’s gaze sharpened by a fraction. “Layered how?” Panam pointed between them. “No.” Kiro ignored this in the manner of a woman hearing the first notes of a dangerous song. “Okay, so the smell had corners, right?” Shammy raised her cup slightly. “It did.” “That’s not chemically meaningful,” Marco said. Kiro pointed at him. “Not to you.” “Correct. I’m blessed.” Kiro slid off the stool again. This time Mai caught her wrist, not sharply, just enough to remind her that gravity existed and had opinions. Kiro looked down at the hand around her wrist. Then at Mai. Then she smiled in a way that made Mai’s expression go very still for the wrong reason. Ace saw it. Of course Ace saw it. Ace opened her mouth. Mai did not look at her. “Ace.” Ace closed her mouth with visible regret. Reyes leaned closer to Ace and murmured, “You looked like you were loading a weapon.” “I was.” “With words?” “Worse.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. For another two minutes, the room remained almost normal. That was the problem with almost. Marco returned to the stove and started cleaning because he was constitutionally incapable of letting a kitchen become evidence. Lena wrote one more line in the notebook. Panam checked her agent, probably to reassure herself that the Badlands still existed and did not contain skull coffee. Shammy watched the light above the table with focused curiosity. Mai and Kiro had begun speaking quietly about absorption curves despite everyone’s clear moral objections. Ace tapped one finger against her knee. Once. Twice. Five times. Reyes looked down. Ace stopped. “Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything,” Reyes said. “You were about to.” “You’re tapping.” “No.” “You stopped because I looked.” “That proves nothing.” “It proves you noticed I noticed.” Ace stared at her. Then slowly tapped one finger again, deliberately. Reyes smiled. “Brave.” “Tiny.” “Dangerous.” “Accurate.” Across the room, Panam looked up. “Why are you two flirting with caffeine symptoms?” Ace and Reyes answered at the same time. “We’re not.” That made Shammy laugh. It was a soft sound, but the room responded to it. The overhead light flickered once, then steadied. The rain outside seemed to hit the window in a cleaner rhythm for half a second. Panam looked at Shammy despite herself. Shammy looked back, eyes bright with amusement. “What?” “Nothing.” “You are wearing the face that means ‘that was cute and I am angry about it.’” Panam’s jaw tightened. Ace’s head turned slowly. Mai, still near Kiro, said without looking up, “Ace, no.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You inhaled like a criminal.” Marco pointed a spoon toward Ace. “Leave Panam alone for at least five minutes. She’s suffering.” Panam crossed her arms. “I am not suffering.” Lena wrote something. Panam saw. “What?” Lena turned the notebook just enough. **PANAM: SUFFERING. DENIAL ACTIVE.** Panam stared. Then looked at Marco. Marco held up both hands. “I didn’t write it.” “You are smiling.” “I support documentation.” Shammy’s hair lifted faintly again. “The room likes the notebook.” Panam pointed at her. “The room does not get a vote.” “It already voted.” Ace whispered to Reyes, “Unanimous.” Panam heard it. “Shortstack.” Ace brightened. Reyes actually saw it happen — not in the eyes, exactly, but in the way Ace’s whole posture sharpened around the insult like it had been offered a toy. Mai sighed. “Panam, do not arm her.” “I was gone four days and came back to illegal coffee.” “You were in the thread,” Ace said. “That makes it worse.” Kiro raised one hand from beside Mai. “Technically, it was legally gray coffee.” Everyone looked at her. Kiro lowered her hand. “Not the point.” Then she blinked. Once. Twice. Her head tilted. The room’s humor thinned. Mai noticed first because Mai always noticed Kiro first when the signal changed. “Kiro.” Kiro did not answer immediately. Her eyes had shifted focus. Not unfocused. Not exactly. They were focused too widely, as if the room had become larger in layers only she could see. “Kiro,” Mai repeated, softer. Kiro lifted one hand. “Wait.” Panam said, “No waiting. That sounded like a symptom.” Kiro turned her head slowly toward the refrigerator. The refrigerator hummed. It had been humming the whole time. Everyone listened to it now because Kiro was listening to it, and Kiro’s attention had a way of making background noise feel like it had been caught doing something suspicious. Kiro’s lips parted. “Oh.” Mai moved closer. “What?” Kiro pointed at the refrigerator. “It’s sad.” Marco looked at the refrigerator. Then at Kiro. “The fridge?” “It’s not sad sad. It’s…” She frowned, searching for the right layer. “Low-cycle pessimistic.” Panam closed her eyes. Ace leaned forward. Reyes muttered, “There it is.” Mai remained very calm. “Kiro, are you hearing the refrigerator differently?” Kiro nodded slowly. “And the ventilation.” Marco’s shoulders dropped by a millimeter. “The ventilation too.” “And the building wiring.” Kiro looked up toward the ceiling. “But the wiring is less sad. More… resentful.” Lena wrote without looking down. Panam turned toward Mai. “This is where you say the experiment is over.” Mai’s gaze was fixed on Kiro. “The drinking phase is over.” “Mai.” “I am not giving her more.” “That is not what I’m worried about.” Kiro turned toward the table. Her eyes were far too bright now. “The cup sounds empty.” Ace looked at her own cup. “No it doesn’t.” “To you.” Shammy sat very still. The air around her had changed. Not stormy. Alert. Like a room holding a breath with lungs it did not usually admit to having. “Kiro is hearing layers,” Shammy said. Mai nodded once. “Yes.” “Not all of them are sound.” Kiro pointed at Shammy with a sudden delighted jerk. “Yes! Exactly! Thank you, tall weather jury.” Panam looked at Shammy. “Do not encourage her.” “I was not encouraging. I was naming pressure.” “That is encouragement in this house.” Kiro laughed. Too fast. Not manic, not yet, but accelerated. She turned toward Mai with the expression of someone who had found a door inside another door and could not believe everyone else was still discussing furniture. “Mai.” “No.” “I did not ask yet.” “You were about to ask for a board.” Kiro froze. Mai’s eyes narrowed. “You were about to ask for a board.” Kiro whispered, “That is intimate and upsetting.” Ace made a small choking sound. Reyes looked at her. Ace had one hand over her mouth. Reyes leaned down. “You alive?” Ace nodded, eyes bright with suppressed laughter. Mai ignored both of them with visible discipline. “Kiro. Sit.” “I am sitting.” “You are standing.” Kiro looked down. She was standing. “Oh.” Marco immediately pulled a chair out with his foot and pointed at it. “Sit in the new location.” Kiro sat. Lena placed a glass of water beside her. Kiro blinked at it. “When did you—” “Drink.” Kiro drank. Reyes watched the room rearrange around Kiro in real time. Mai had gone sharper but not panicked. Marco had shifted into caretaker weight. Lena’s notebook had become a command surface. Panam had moved closer to Shammy without deciding to. Ace had stopped tapping. The Shadow Aura around her had settled into the floor like a cat pretending not to watch a bird. That, Reyes thought, was why Safehouse was dangerous in the opposite direction from Night City. Night City let people fall apart and charged rent. Safehouse caught them, insulted them, fed them, labeled the problem, and then made jokes until breathing became possible again. Kiro stared at the glass. Then looked past it. At the wall. At the faint light from the router unit tucked near a shelf. Her pupils tightened. “Oh no.” Mai’s face sharpened. “What does ‘oh no’ mean?” Kiro lifted a finger slowly toward the router. “I think I can see the Wi-Fi.” There was a long silence. Then Ace, very softly, said, “Nope.” Panam pointed at the coffee pot. “Pour it out.” Reyes moved first. She took one step toward the counter. The coffee pot sat there, black and quiet. Harmless-looking. That was suspicious. She picked it up. And paused. Not because she wanted more. Because the pot felt warm in her hand, and for one split second she could smell that impossible sharpness again. Bitter. Clean. Awake. Her thumb tapped once against the handle. Ace’s voice cut across the room. “Reyes.” Reyes looked at her. Ace was no longer laughing. The violet in her eyes had sharpened. Reyes held her gaze for half a second. Then poured the rest of the pot down the sink. The liquid vanished into the drain like it had somewhere better to be. Kiro made a wounded sound. Mai looked at Reyes with genuine approval. That was new enough to be slightly irritating. Reyes set the empty pot down. “Controlled experiment.” Mai looked at the sink. Then at Kiro. Then at the empty pot. “Barely.” Lena wrote another label. She placed it directly on the coffee machine. **DO NOT BREW.** Marco leaned over and added, with a second pen: **SERIOUSLY.** Shammy watched the label. Then said, “The machine feels accused.” Ace stood. The movement was too fast. Not dangerous. Just fast enough that everyone noticed. Reyes noticed more than everyone. Ace crossed the room and stopped near Kiro’s chair. “Kiro.” Kiro looked up. “I am fine.” Ace stared. Kiro lasted three seconds. “I am very not fine but in an interesting direction.” Ace nodded once. “That’s better.” Kiro smiled weakly. Mai touched the back of Kiro’s chair, not quite touching Kiro herself. “Kiro, describe what you are seeing.” Panam groaned. “Why would you ask that?” “Because if she is experiencing sensory cross-layering, we need to know whether it is internal, external, technical, or atmospheric.” “That sounded like more experiment.” “It is containment.” “In this house, those are cousins.” Kiro looked at Mai. Then at the router. Then at the refrigerator. Then at the window. Her face lit, terrified and thrilled. “There are lines.” Mai’s eyes sharpened. “What kind?” Panam pointed at Mai now. “No. I know that face.” Mai did not answer. Kiro leaned forward, words beginning to accelerate. “Not visual lines exactly. More like… signal pressure? I can feel the router negotiating with every device in the room. The fridge has this stupid little maintenance ping it keeps sending even though nobody answers it, which is why it’s sad, obviously, and the building wiring is carrying noise from three floors down because somebody’s illegal heater is dirty as hell, and the traffic signal outside is bleeding timing data through the local ad mesh—” Mai went very still. Kiro saw it. “Oh.” Mai said, “Traffic signal?” Panam said, “No.” Kiro’s hand twitched like she wanted a screen. Mai’s hand twitched like she wanted to let her have one. Ace saw both twitches. Reyes saw Ace seeing them. Marco saw everyone. Lena had already written the next label. She placed it on the table between Mai and Kiro. **NO PROJECTS.** Kiro stared at it. Mai stared at it. The label sat there, small and absolute. For three full seconds, it held the line. Then Kiro said, very carefully, “What counts as a project?” Panam threw both hands up. ## Chapter 4 — Kiro Sees the Wi-Fi The first screen appeared because Kiro was not allowed to have a screen. That was the logic, anyway. She did not touch her own deck. She did not jack in. She did not ask for her rig. She did not even stand up, because Marco had positioned himself in the kitchen doorway with the calm mass of a man prepared to enforce soup law if needed. Instead, Kiro looked at the dark reflection in the window and began talking. Mai made the mistake of listening too well. “The outside traffic light is running a forty-second pattern,” Kiro said, words quick but clean. “Except it isn’t forty. It’s thirty-nine point seven-two because the intersection sensor keeps adjusting for foot traffic that no longer exists because the pedestrian scanner is ghosting old data.” Mai’s eyes narrowed. “Old data from when?” “Don’t know. Feels like pre-last-maintenance. Maybe six months. Maybe longer. But the ad mesh is reacting to it.” “The ad mesh should not care about foot traffic ghosts.” “Exactly.” Panam turned to Reyes. “Tell me that sounds insane.” Reyes leaned against the counter and watched Kiro’s face. “It sounds like Night City.” Panam hated that answer. Ace had climbed onto the arm of the couch. Not sat. Climbed. She crouched there barefoot, elbows on knees, tiny and intent, like a gargoyle installed by someone with a sense of humor and poor concern for public safety. Shammy sat below her on the couch, head tilted, eyes half-bright. “Ace,” Shammy said. “What?” “You are perched.” “I’m observing.” “You are observing from furniture.” “It had better sightlines.” Reyes pointed at Ace without looking away from Kiro. “That means she’s affected too.” Ace looked at her. “I always use furniture.” “More when caffeinated.” “I am not caffeinated.” Mai, Kiro, Panam, Marco, Lena, Shammy, and Reyes all looked at her. Ace’s Shadow Aura moved half a beat wrong behind the couch. Ace glanced at it. Then at everyone. “…minimally.” Lena wrote that down. Ace pointed at her. “No.” Lena did not stop writing. Kiro inhaled sharply. Mai’s attention returned immediately. “What?” “The traffic rhythm.” Kiro’s fingers moved in the air, drawing a pattern nobody else could see. “It is not just local. It’s echoing through financial ad placement.” Mai’s expression changed. Very slightly. Reyes did not know the language of that change, not the technical one. But she knew what it meant in a room. Mai had found a real edge. The nonsense had teeth. Panam saw it too. “Oh, hell no.” Kiro turned toward Mai with open delight. “You see it?” “I see a possible correlation.” “That is Mai for ‘holy shit.’” “It is not.” “It absolutely is.” Mai’s mouth pressed into a line. Ace leaned toward Reyes. “It absolutely is.” Reyes nodded. “Readable from here.” Mai ignored them with dignity so controlled it became funny. “Correlation does not mean causation.” “No, but correlation means board.” “No board,” Panam said. Kiro and Mai both looked at her. The expression was different on each of them. Kiro looked wounded. Mai looked reasonable. The reasonable one was worse. Panam pointed at Mai. “You. I expected better.” Mai straightened. “I have not suggested a board.” “You thought it.” “That is not actionable.” “It is in this house.” Marco nodded gravely. “Thought crimes count if they involve office supplies after midnight.” “It is not midnight,” Mai said. Lena looked at the clock. “Yet.” There was a pause. Then Kiro whispered, “There’s still time.” Panam made a noise of pure betrayal. Reyes looked at the remaining sealed packet on the table. It sat under Lena’s labels like a guilty artifact. She picked it up. Everyone froze. Reyes looked at them. “What?” Ace slid off the couch arm and landed soundlessly. “Why are you touching it?” “To move it.” “Where?” “Away from Kiro.” Kiro raised her hand. “I object.” “Noted.” “On what grounds are you dismissing my objection?” “Survival.” Kiro lowered her hand. “Strong legal foundation.” Reyes crossed the room and placed the sealed packet on the highest kitchen shelf. Then paused. It was still too accessible. Ace could reach it by standing on the counter. Kiro could probably construct a retrieval argument from guilt and curiosity. Mai could decide she needed the packet for chemical analysis and be technically correct, which was the worst kind of correct. Reyes took it back down. Panam watched her. “Now what?” Reyes opened a locked storage drawer, put the packet inside, and closed it. Lena appeared beside her with a label. Reyes looked down. The label read: **NO.** Reyes took it and placed it on the drawer. Lena gave her another. This one read: **THIS MEANS YOU TOO.** Reyes looked at it. Then at Lena. Lena’s expression remained calm. Reyes placed it under the first label. “Fair.” Ace crossed the kitchen, stopped beside Reyes, and looked up at her with sharp suspicion. “You accepted that too easily.” Reyes leaned against the counter. “I’m reasonable.” Ace stared. Behind them, Panam actually laughed once. Reyes looked at her. Panam shook her head. “No. Sorry. That was just too much.” Ace did not laugh. She looked at Reyes for one second longer than casual. Reyes held still. That was the problem with Ace. She was small enough that strangers underestimated the physical space she took, but close enough, in a room that trusted her, she could make silence press into bone. Not threatening. Not exactly. Just aware. “You’re doing that thing,” Ace said. “What thing?” “Where the sentence is true because it avoids the important part.” Reyes felt something warm and annoying move through her chest. She did not answer quickly. That was answer enough. Mai’s voice came from the table. “Reyes.” Reyes looked over. Mai’s attention had split: half on Kiro, half on Reyes, because apparently the coffee had not weakened her ability to be personally inconvenient. “How much did you buy?” “Two samples.” Kiro lifted one finger. “Technically one sample remains.” Mai did not look away from Reyes. Reyes said, “Two samples arrived with me.” The room went silent. Ace’s eyes narrowed. Panam’s mouth opened. Lena slowly put her pen down. Marco turned off the stove. Shammy’s hair lifted. Kiro whispered, “Oh no, grammar.” Mai’s voice became very calm. “Reyes.” Reyes looked at her. “That was a location-specific answer.” Ace breathed out once through her nose. It might have been laughter. It might have been murder planning. Reyes said nothing. Panam pointed at her. “No. No, do not stand there with merc-face. What does that mean?” Reyes scratched lightly at the edge of the label still stuck to her sleeve. “Nothing relevant to tonight.” “That is worse.” “It is not here.” Ace closed her eyes. The Shadow Aura at her feet deepened like the floor itself had become entertained. Mai’s voice sharpened. “Define it.” Reyes looked at the group. Kiro was nearly vibrating again, though now from curiosity aimed in a new and deeply dangerous direction. Marco had the look of a man deciding whether food could solve betrayal. Lena was so still she might have been planning a filing system for crimes. Panam looked ready to throw Reyes through a window and then apologize to the window. Shammy looked fascinated in the way weather probably looked at a roof before testing it. Ace opened her eyes. “Reyes.” There it was. Not command. Not accusation. Recognition. Reyes sighed. “I may have looked at a bulk option.” Panam made a strangled sound. Mai said, “Looked at.” “Mm.” Ace stared. Reyes did not move. The silence stretched. Finally Ace said, “You bought it.” Reyes glanced at the coffee drawer. Then back to Ace. “Not for tonight.” Pandemonium did not erupt immediately. It built. Kiro gasped. Marco said, “Oh, come on.” Panam pointed both hands at Reyes now. “You ordered more skull coffee?” Lena picked up the pen again, almost gently. Shammy’s eyes brightened. “How much weather did you buy?” Reyes should not have found that funny. She did anyway. “Not weather.” “Reyes,” Mai said. “Twenty-four bags.” The kitchen became completely silent. Not quiet. Silent. The kind of silence that suggested the room had briefly left its body. Then Ace started laughing. She did not mean to. That was obvious from the way she tried to stop it and failed almost immediately. It hit her in short, sharp bursts, and then she leaned one hand against the counter because the laughter kept coming. Reyes watched her, offended and pleased in equal measure. Panam stared at Ace. “Why are you laughing?” Ace pointed weakly at Reyes. “She bought twenty-four bags.” “That is not funny.” “It’s very funny.” “It is a threat to civilization.” “That’s why.” Marco rubbed his face with both hands. “Twenty-four.” Kiro whispered, reverent, “Bulk.” Mai turned toward her. Kiro immediately looked at the table. “I said nothing.” “You said bulk with feeling.” “Feeling is not illegal.” “It may become restricted.” Lena wrote something. Panam leaned over to read. Lena did not hide it. **REYES: UNSUPERVISED PURCHASING PRIVILEGES SUSPENDED.** Reyes pointed at the notebook. “You don’t have authority.” Lena looked up. “No?” Reyes considered this. Lena waited. Reyes looked away first. “Maybe some.” Shammy smiled. “The room agrees.” Panam jabbed a finger toward Shammy. “Do not give constitutional power to the room.” “The room already has labels.” “That is not government.” “In this house?” Marco said. “Close enough.” Kiro suddenly snapped her fingers. Everyone flinched. “Sorry. Sorry! But wait. If the coffee creates signal-layer sensitivity, and the traffic-ad-finance correlation is real, then the product itself could be—” “No,” said Mai. Kiro stopped. Then smiled slowly. “You said no too fast.” Mai’s eyes narrowed. Kiro leaned forward. “You saw the same branch.” “I saw several branches. Most of them end with Panam strangling us.” Panam nodded. “Correct.” Kiro pointed toward the window. “But the traffic pattern—” “No projects,” Lena said. Kiro turned to her. “But it might predict market shifts.” “No projects.” “Not even one tiny—” Lena held up the label. **NO PROJECTS.** Kiro stared at it. Then at Mai. Mai looked back with visible, painful discipline. Kiro whispered, “But you want to.” Mai’s face betrayed absolutely nothing. Which betrayed everything. Ace had recovered enough to breathe. She looked at Mai. “Mai.” Mai closed her eyes. “I know.” “You’re making the face.” “I am aware.” “The bad math face.” “It is not bad math.” Panam rounded on her. “Mai.” Mai opened her eyes again. Her voice was calm, exact, and doomed. “It may be extremely good math.” Everyone except Kiro groaned. Kiro lit up like someone had opened a holy terminal. “Yes!” “No,” Mai said immediately. “But yes internally.” “No externally.” “But internally yes.” Mai paused. That pause was a mistake. Ace pointed at her. “Caught.” Mai turned the full force of her silver-blue stare on Ace. Ace smiled. Tiny. Wicked. Fully awake. Reyes leaned down. “You are enjoying this too much.” Ace looked up at her. “You bought twenty-four bags of illegal skull coffee.” “For special occasions.” Ace froze. Everyone froze again. The phrase landed wrong. Not wrong like danger. Wrong like prophecy wearing cheap sunglasses. Kiro slowly turned toward Reyes. Mai’s hand moved, fast and precise, and covered Kiro’s mouth before the first syllable escaped. Kiro made a muffled sound of betrayed academic hunger. Panam stared at Reyes. “For what.” Reyes shrugged. The shrug was small. It did not help. “Special occasions.” Marco looked at Lena. Lena looked at Marco. Shammy leaned back against the couch, eyes bright, hair lifting in a delighted static halo. “The future has become louder.” Ace’s laughter returned, quieter this time, lower, almost helpless. Reyes looked at her. Ace wiped one eye with the heel of her hand and said, “You are insane.” “Efficient.” “No. Insane.” “Prepared.” “For what?” Reyes looked around the room. At the labels. At Kiro’s bright eyes. At Mai’s barely contained analysis hunger. At Marco’s food-based crisis infrastructure. At Lena’s notebook authority. At Shammy’s weather-curious delight. At Panam’s righteous horror. At Ace, small and sharp and laughing because the entire thing was terrible. Reyes felt the corner of her mouth lift. “I don’t know yet.” Panam put both hands over her face. “That is the worst possible answer.” Kiro finally peeled Mai’s hand away from her mouth. Her voice came out hushed. “Could one special occasion be data-driven?” “No,” said everyone. Kiro nodded. “Hypothetically?” “Kiro,” Mai said, and the name held warning, affection, and the visible strain of not wanting the answer herself. Kiro sat back. “Fine.” Then the router blinked. Once. Twice. Kiro’s head snapped toward it. Mai’s head followed half a beat later. Panam saw it happen. “Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. We are not doing router astrology.” Kiro pointed at the router, eyes wide. “It blinked off-pattern.” Mai said nothing. Ace slid off the counter area and planted herself between Mai, Kiro, and the nearest available screen. “No.” Kiro looked down at her. “Ace.” Ace pointed at her own face. “Look at me.” Kiro looked. Ace’s Shadow Aura stretched along the floor behind her, not hostile, but unmistakably present. The smallest person in the room suddenly occupied all the decision space. “No screens.” Kiro swallowed. “But—” “No.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai looked at Ace. The room held. For one second, Mai’s silver-blue eyes remained too sharp. Then she exhaled. The clarity softened. “Correct,” Mai said. Kiro’s shoulders dropped. “Unfair.” “Very.” “I hate responsible love.” Ace nodded. “Common.” Reyes watched Mai step back from the branch. That mattered. More than the joke. More than the coffee. More than the twenty-four bags she now understood would become a household court case lasting months. Mai wanted the pattern. Kiro wanted the pattern. Both of them could probably chase it into something real. And Ace, standing barely taller than the table, had cut the line before curiosity became a hook. Not with anger. With presence. Safehouse breathed again. Marco immediately weaponized the moment. “Soup.” Panam dropped her hands from her face. “What?” “Soup,” Marco repeated. “Before anyone discovers the stock market through traffic lights.” Lena nodded. “Approved.” Kiro raised one hand. “Can the soup be considered a project?” “No,” said Lena. “What if we optimize—” “No.” “What if—” “Kiro.” Kiro sank lower in her chair. Shammy smiled at her. “The soup has gentle weather.” Kiro pointed at Shammy. “That is the best argument anyone has made.” Marco looked deeply pleased. Panam muttered, “I cannot believe soup is beating cyberpsychotic coffee.” Reyes leaned beside Ace. Ace did not look at her. “You still bought twenty-four bags.” “Yes.” “For special occasions.” “Yes.” “That phrase is going to haunt us.” “Probably.” Ace finally looked up at her. “You are not allowed to define special.” Reyes nodded toward Kiro. “She can’t either.” “Obviously.” “Mai?” Ace glanced at Mai. Mai was watching Kiro with restrained longing for forbidden data. “No.” “Panam?” Panam snapped, “I heard that.” Reyes smiled. Ace folded her arms. “Lena defines special.” Lena looked up from the notebook. “No.” Marco laughed. The sound rolled through the kitchen, warm and tired and real. Shammy leaned into the couch, the air around her relaxing by degrees. Kiro accepted soup with the tragic dignity of a scientist denied access to a very interesting disaster. Mai sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Ace stayed between them and the router until both were eating. Reyes kept the label on her sleeve. Panam glared at her for most of dinner. And in the locked drawer, the remaining sealed sample bag sat under two labels. **NO.** **THIS MEANS YOU TOO.** For almost twenty minutes, nobody did anything worse than eat. That was also a lie. Because Kiro was still hearing the refrigerator. Ace was still tapping one foot under the table. Mai had gone too quiet around the traffic-light thought. Shammy kept glancing toward the ceiling as if the building had begun whispering through its wires. Lena had started a second page in the notebook. Marco had made enough soup for a medical event. Panam was already planning how to confiscate future coffee shipments. And Reyes, with the calm of a woman who understood logistics, remembered the confirmation message sitting unread on her agent. **Bulk crate delivery scheduled.** She did not check it. That would have been incriminating. Instead, she ate soup. Across the table, Ace looked at her and smiled like she already knew. Reyes held her gaze. No one said anything. For now. --- ## Chapter 5 — Reyes Disassembles the Problem Reyes lasted thirty-seven minutes before she took something apart. That was better than Ace expected. Worse than Panam hoped. Exactly within Lena’s projected range, apparently, because when Reyes unscrewed the lower panel of the coffee machine with a compact multitool she had absolutely not been holding five seconds earlier, Lena looked up from the notebook and wrote one calm checkmark beside something. Ace saw the checkmark. Of course Ace saw the checkmark. She was still perched on the edge of the counter near the locked drawer because she had appointed herself guardian of the remaining Death’s Coffee sample. Her feet did not reach the floor. Her posture still somehow suggested that gravity was being tolerated, not obeyed. “What was the prediction?” Ace asked. Lena did not look up. “Unauthorized mechanical intervention.” Reyes paused with the panel halfway off. Panam turned. “Unauthorized what?” The panel came free in Reyes’s hand. Everyone looked at her. Reyes looked at the coffee machine. Then at the panel. Then at everyone. “It sounded wrong.” Marco stood at the stove, ladle in hand, and closed his eyes like a man asking every saint in Night City for patience and receiving only soup. “It is a coffee machine.” “It was a coffee machine,” Ace said. Reyes pointed the panel at her. “Not helping.” Ace smiled. Very slightly. Horribly. “I am helping document.” Reyes gave her a look. Ace pointed at Lena. “Professional already doing it.” Lena turned the notebook enough for Reyes to read the fresh line. **37 MINUTES: REYES DISASSEMBLES APPLIANCE. CLAIMS AUDIO JUSTIFICATION.** Reyes stared. “That is biased.” “It is observational.” “You wrote ‘claims.’” “You have not provided evidence.” Reyes gestured toward the machine’s exposed interior. “The pump housing is misaligned.” Mai, who had been sitting at the table beside Kiro and pretending she was not still thinking about traffic-light financial resonance, looked over despite herself. “Is it?” Reyes leaned in, flicked a small internal bracket with the tip of her multitool, and the machine made a tiny unhappy metallic click. Mai’s eyes narrowed. Panam threw both hands up. “Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. I know that face too. Nobody is validating the caffeinated appliance autopsy.” Kiro raised one hand. “I would like to validate the term appliance autopsy.” “No.” “It’s vivid.” “Kiro.” Kiro lowered her hand, then whispered to Mai, “It is vivid.” Mai’s mouth twitched. That was dangerous. Ace pointed at her. “Mai.” Mai’s expression smoothed instantly. “I said nothing.” “You almost appreciated vocabulary.” “I am allowed private reactions.” “Not during coffee incidents.” Shammy, still on the couch, tilted her head toward the kitchen. Her hair drifted a little around her face, static-soft, the silver-white strands catching light from a lamp that had begun flickering in sympathy with nobody’s consent. “The machine is embarrassed.” Reyes looked at her. Shammy looked back. Reyes considered whether to ask. Decided not to. Wise. Marco set the ladle down. “Can embarrassed machines still make normal coffee?” “They should not make anything tonight,” Lena said. “Good answer.” Reyes turned back to the machine. “The thermal cutoff is cheap.” Panam stared at her. “Are you repairing it or insulting it?” “Both.” Ace watched Reyes’s hands. That was the part nobody else fully understood, except maybe Mai in her own structural way. Reyes’s mouth stayed dry and clipped, but her hands had started running ahead of her. Not shaking. Not sloppy. Too precise, actually. Caffeine, or whatever Death’s Coffee had decided caffeine was too weak a word for, had taken Reyes’s survival wiring and fed it through a power grid. She needed a thing to solve. The machine had made the mistake of existing nearby. Reyes removed another piece. Lena wrote another checkmark. Ace hopped down from the counter. Reyes did not look up, but her shoulders shifted. She knew exactly where Ace landed. Good. Still human. Still Reyes. Ace crossed the kitchen, stopped beside her, and looked at the coffee machine’s exposed guts. “Is it actually broken?” “No.” “Then why is it open?” “It could be better.” Panam made a strangled noise from the table. Marco pointed a spoon at Reyes. “That sentence is banned.” Kiro leaned forward despite Mai’s hand immediately appearing in front of her like a human guardrail. “Better how?” “No,” said Mai, Panam, Marco, and Lena. Kiro sat back. “You all keep saying no before the interesting part.” “That is because we have survived you,” Lena said. Kiro considered this. “Fair, but emotionally damaging.” Shammy smiled. “The room says you earned it.” “The room is mean.” “The room has evidence.” Reyes adjusted something inside the machine. The pump clicked again. Better this time. She frowned. Ace leaned against the counter beside her. At this distance, Reyes smelled like rain-damp leather, cheap street food spices, metal oil, and Death’s Coffee’s sharp black echo. Her red hair had loosened from its practical tie near one temple. Not much. Just enough to make her look less controlled than usual. Ace liked that. Annoying. “You’re overclocked,” Ace said. Reyes turned one screw a quarter rotation. “I’m fine.” “You took apart a coffee machine because it had bad posture.” “Pump housing.” “Same crime.” Reyes looked down at her. Ace looked up. The height difference always did strange things in domestic spaces. In the street, it meant angles, blind spots, leverage. In the Safehouse kitchen, it meant Reyes could lean one hip against the counter and Ace could stand close enough to steal heat without making it look like she was doing that. Ace did not steal heat. She was simply there. “Your foot is moving,” Reyes said. Ace looked down. Her foot was tapping against the floor. Fast. Too fast. She stopped. Reyes smiled. Ace narrowed her eyes. “Machine criminal.” “Floor drummer.” “Appliance murderer.” “Tiny metronome.” Ace’s Shadow Aura shifted at her feet with something almost like amusement, the kitchen’s corner shadows stretching a centimeter too far before settling back. Shammy’s head turned. “Ace’s shadow is laughing.” Ace froze. Everyone looked at the floor. The Shadow Aura went very still. Ace looked at Shammy. “Traitor.” Shammy’s smile widened. “It was visible.” “It is allowed privacy.” “It is attached to you.” “So are my legs. They get privacy.” Kiro whispered, “Do they?” Mai covered her eyes with one hand. Panam pointed at Kiro. “No.” Marco started laughing so hard he had to turn back toward the stove. Reyes’s smile became less controlled. Ace saw it. Her chest warmed in the irritating way it sometimes did around Reyes, where violence-language and domestic stupidity occupied the same room and somehow did not fight. Then Reyes turned back to the coffee machine. Ace caught her wrist before the multitool touched another screw. Reyes stopped immediately. Not because Ace forced her. Because Ace touching her wrist meant something in this room. “Enough,” Ace said. Reyes looked down at the hand around her wrist. Ace’s fingers were small. Strong. Warm. The Shadow Aura around their feet deepened slightly, not predatory, just attentive. Reyes exhaled. “I was almost done.” “You were almost making it worse.” “You don’t know that.” Ace looked at the open machine. Then at the loose parts lined up with suspicious neatness. Then at the label on Reyes’s sleeve. “I know enough.” For a second, Reyes looked like she might argue. Then her gaze flicked past Ace to the table. Kiro was watching the router again with hunger. Mai was pretending not to. Panam was watching both of them like a nomad guarding explosives from people with advanced degrees. Marco had begun setting out more bowls. Lena was labeling water glasses now. Shammy was listening to something above the ceiling. The whole Safehouse had become a contained disaster pretending to be dinner. Reyes’s shoulders loosened. “Fine.” Ace released her wrist. Reyes closed the coffee machine panel. Then reopened it. Ace stared. Reyes held up one finger. “To put it back.” Ace did not move. Reyes reattached the panel. Properly. The coffee machine looked normal again. Mostly. It sat on the counter under the labels. **DO NOT BREW.** **SERIOUSLY.** Now Lena added a third. **ALSO DO NOT MODIFY.** Reyes looked at it. “Late.” “Documentation can be retroactive.” “That sounds like Mai.” Mai lowered her hand from her face. “It is legally and structurally correct.” Panam groaned. “The coffee made the house more bureaucratic.” Lena placed a glass of water in front of Reyes. Reyes looked at it. Then at Lena. “I already had water.” Lena waited. Reyes picked up the glass and drank. Ace watched that with satisfaction. Panam noticed. “You are all terrifyingly domesticated.” Ace glanced at her. “You sleep with weather.” Panam pointed at Ace. “Five minutes. You were supposed to give me five minutes.” “I gave you thirty-seven.” Shammy’s hair rose with delighted static. “Technically true.” Panam looked at her. “Not you too.” “The room has documentation.” “The room is about to get kicked.” Marco put a bowl in Panam’s hands. “No kicking before soup.” Panam accepted the bowl automatically. Then looked down at it. Then at Marco. “Damn it.” Marco smiled. “Works every time.” Lena wrote another note. Panam leaned over. **PANAM: SOUP-COMPLIANT UNDER PROTEST.** Panam stared at the notebook. “I hate all of you.” Shammy’s expression softened. “No.” Panam looked toward her and immediately regretted it, because Shammy’s eyes had gone warm and blue and too honest. “You hate that you are easy to feed when angry.” Marco’s grin became dangerous. Ace inhaled. Mai said, “Ace.” Ace held up both hands. “I am being good.” “No one believes that,” Reyes said. Ace looked back up at her. “You bought twenty-four bags.” “For special occasions.” The phrase hit again. This time Kiro made a physical movement like a dog hearing a doorbell. Mai caught her shoulder. “No.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You breathed in the direction of the future.” “That is not fair.” “It is accurate.” Lena slid a bowl toward Kiro. “Soup.” Kiro looked at it. Then at Mai. Then at the router. Then at the bowl. “Can I eat while thinking?” “No,” everyone said. Kiro sighed and picked up the spoon. For a few minutes, the room stabilized around soup, which was insulting but effective. Reyes stood beside Ace near the counter, arms crossed, pretending she was not watching the coffee machine out of the corner of her eye. Ace leaned beside her, foot tapping again, slower now. The locked drawer remained locked. The labels remained in place. The rain outside thickened, drumming against the windows with the steady patience of Night City waiting to see what else these idiots would do. Then Marco looked at the pot. Looked at the bowls. Looked at Kiro’s speed. Looked at Ace’s tapping foot. Looked at Shammy’s lifted hair. Looked at Reyes’s hands. His expression changed. Lena noticed. “Marco.” “We need bread.” “No.” “And something heavier.” “No.” “Protein.” “Marco.” “Fruit too.” “We are not provisioning a siege.” Marco looked around the room. Kiro was now eating soup with the focus of someone trying not to decode the spoon. Ace was sitting on the counter again because apparently chairs had personally failed her. Reyes was holding the empty water glass like she had forgotten it was there. Mai was too still. Shammy had begun listening to the ceiling in earnest. Panam looked one insult away from driving into the Badlands and taking Shammy with her by force. Marco nodded once. “Yes, we are.” Lena closed her notebook. “Fine.” Marco brightened. “But no aggressive cooking.” He paused. Defined the phrase internally. Failed. “Moderate aggressive cooking.” Lena considered. “Acceptable.” Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes looked at Ace. They both looked at Marco, who had already opened three cabinets and was muttering about whether anyone in this house understood emergency carbohydrates. Ace whispered, “He’s worse than the coffee.” Reyes nodded. “But safer.” “Mostly.” Marco turned. “I heard that.” Ace said, “Good.” Marco pointed a loaf of bread at her. “You’re getting toast.” Ace stared. “I’m not hungry.” The entire room laughed. Ace’s Shadow Aura tried to look dignified and failed. ## Chapter 6 — Marco Feeds the Disaster Marco had a theory about crisis. Not a formal theory. He did not call it a theory, because people who called basic survival instincts “theories” usually charged money for advice that grandmothers gave for free. But he had rules. People who were fed made fewer catastrophic choices. People who had water within reach forgot to be heroic slightly less often. People who were cold lied more. People who had not eaten began mistaking adrenaline for clarity. And people under the influence of illegal skull-branded synth-coffee were absolutely not allowed to have empty hands, empty stomachs, or access to unmonitored appliances. So Marco fed the disaster. He started with toast. Then eggs. Then sliced fruit. Then a second pot of soup, because the first one had become infrastructure. Then something fried in a pan with enough garlic that even Death’s Coffee’s chemical ghost began to lose territory in the air. “Marco,” Lena said from the table, voice calm in the way that meant she had already given him three chances internally. “Hm?” “You are cooking at the room.” “That’s not a thing.” “It is now.” Marco cracked another egg one-handed. Ace, who had been given toast and had eaten half of it while maintaining a facial expression that claimed innocence from all nutrition, pointed toward him. “She’s right.” “You’re eating.” Ace looked at the toast in her hand as if it had betrayed her operationally. Reyes leaned against the counter and smirked. Ace pointed the toast at her. “Do not.” “I said nothing.” “Your face did.” “Efficient face.” “Annoying face.” “Tiny toast thief.” Ace looked down at the toast. Then at Marco. “This was planted.” Marco turned from the stove. “You picked it up.” “Under pressure.” “Food pressure,” Kiro said, then looked abruptly thrilled by her own words. “Wait. Food pressure. Shammy, is food pressure a thing?” Shammy sat cross-legged on the floor now because the couch had apparently become too electrically interesting. She looked at Marco, then at the pan, then at the room. “Yes.” Marco grinned. Kiro snapped her fingers. “Ha.” Shammy continued, “It is what Marco does when the room becomes too stupid to survive unfed.” Marco’s grin froze. Panam burst out laughing. Ace leaned against the counter and wheezed. Mai covered her mouth. Reyes looked at Marco with solemn respect. “Accurate.” Marco pointed the spatula at Shammy. “I liked the first half.” Shammy smiled. “It was all affectionate.” “That does not make it less violent.” Lena, who had resumed the notebook, wrote something. Marco leaned sideways to read. **MARCO: FOOD PRESSURE CONFIRMED.** He looked at Lena. She looked back. After a beat, he nodded. “Fine.” Kiro pointed her spoon at the room in general. “See? This is why I ask scientific questions.” Panam gave her a flat look. “You asked whether soup could be a project.” “And I stand by the conceptual richness of the question.” Mai took the spoon gently from Kiro’s pointing hand and guided it back toward the bowl. “Eat.” Kiro looked at her. “You keep doing that.” “Yes.” “The thing where you move objects and somehow I comply.” “Yes.” “Is that legal?” “Only domestically.” Kiro blinked. Her cheeks went faintly pink. Ace’s head turned so fast it should have made a sound. Mai’s gaze cut toward Ace. “No.” Ace smiled. “I didn’t—” “Ace.” Ace held up both hands. “Fine.” Reyes leaned down near her ear. “Coward.” Ace elbowed her in the thigh without looking. Reyes took it with a short laugh. Panam pointed at both of them from the window side of the room. “This is what I mean. You’re all worse caffeinated.” Ace looked at her. “You’re still holding soup.” Panam looked down. She was. Marco had somehow refilled her bowl. She stared at it like it had appeared through hostile magic. “Marco.” He kept cooking. “What?” “When did you refill this?” “When you were accusing people of being worse.” “I didn’t ask.” “You were loud enough to need carbs.” Lena nodded. “Valid.” Panam looked betrayed. Shammy, from the floor, reached one long arm toward Panam without getting up. Panam automatically stepped closer, apparently to hand her something or argue, but Shammy caught her wrist gently instead and rested her cheek against the back of Panam’s hand for one brief second. The room saw it. The room absolutely saw it. Ace’s eyes brightened. Mai’s mouth formed the smallest possible warning. Reyes watched Ace like one watched a lit match near fuel. Panam saw all of them seeing it. “No.” Ace opened her mouth. Panam pointed at her. “No.” Ace closed her mouth. Shammy looked up at Panam with serene curiosity. “Your hand tastes like road dust.” Panam stared down at her. “That is not helping.” “It was an observation.” “It sounded intimate.” “It was also that.” The kitchen died. Not literally. The stove kept hissing. The rain kept tapping. The router blinked. But socially, the kitchen died. Panam’s face went red in the way that made Ace physically shake with restraint. Marco turned toward the stove and pretended the pan required all of his attention. His shoulders betrayed him. Lena looked down at the notebook. Her pen hovered. She did not write. That was mercy, or the prelude to something worse. Kiro whispered, “Oh wow.” Mai said, “Kiro.” “What? I am appreciating atmospheric honesty.” Panam covered her face with one hand. Ace made a tiny sound. Panam pointed blindly. “Do not.” Ace pressed her lips together. Reyes murmured, “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Ace nodded once, eyes wet. Shammy’s hair lifted in a static halo of pure pleased innocence. Well. Not innocence. Shammy was rarely as innocent as she looked when she was doing that. Lena finally wrote one line and turned the notebook toward Panam. **PANAM: ROAD DUST. INTIMATE. DO NOT PURSUE UNLESS ARMED.** Panam lowered her hand. Read it. Stared at Lena. “You too?” Lena’s face was calm. “You returned during a coffee incident.” “That is not my fault.” “No. But it is measurable.” Marco put a plate of eggs beside Panam. She looked at it. Then at him. “I swear to—” “Eat before threatening me.” Panam took the plate. “Damn it.” Ace lost the fight and started laughing. Not a full collapse. Not yet. But enough that she had to lean sideways against Reyes’s leg. Reyes looked down at her with dry amusement. “You good?” “No.” “Want help?” “No.” “You’re using me as furniture.” Ace looked up. “You’re tall enough.” Reyes placed one hand lightly on Ace’s head. Ace went still. The kitchen went still again. Reyes realized what she had done at almost the same time everyone else did. Her hand remained there. Ace’s eyes narrowed upward. Reyes looked down with the calm of a woman who had chosen death and found it acceptable. “You were moving.” Ace stared. “I stabilized you.” Panam, still red but recovering fast because someone else was now in the fire, pointed with her fork. “Oh, that was stupid.” Marco turned, delighted. “Very.” Kiro whispered, “Bold.” Mai’s eyes gleamed with controlled cruelty. “Reyes.” Reyes did not move her hand. Ace’s Shadow Aura rose behind her like a slow, predatory curtain. But the room did not become afraid. Not this room. This room knew the difference between danger and affection wearing teeth. Ace’s voice went soft. “Remove the hand.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. “Say please.” Marco sucked in air. Kiro nearly dropped her spoon. Panam forgot she was embarrassed. Mai’s eyebrows rose. Lena stopped writing. Shammy’s eyes brightened so intensely the lamp flickered. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes looked back. The moment stretched. Then Ace smiled. Tiny. Terrible. “Oh.” Reyes’s confidence shifted by one microscopic degree. Ace reached up, took Reyes’s wrist, removed the hand from her head with ceremonial care, and pressed it flat against Reyes’s own chest. “Keep it.” Reyes blinked once. Ace stepped away. The entire room erupted. Marco laughed openly. Kiro made a delighted sound and then hid behind her bowl. Panam pointed at Reyes, triumphant. “You deserved that.” Mai allowed herself one small smile. Lena wrote without looking down. Shammy leaned back on both hands and laughed, full and warm, the air around her fizzing with static. Reyes looked at Ace. Ace had returned to the counter with the calm satisfaction of a small predator who had not killed anything only because the joke was better alive. Reyes touched her own chest where Ace had placed her hand. Then nodded once. “Fair.” Ace picked up the rest of her toast. “Documented.” Lena turned the notebook. **REYES ATTEMPTED HEAD STABILIZATION. ACE RETURNED HAND TO OWNER. ROOM APPROVES.** Reyes stared at it. “You are enjoying this.” Lena’s mouth curved, barely. “Yes.” Marco slid a plate toward Reyes. “Eat.” Reyes looked at the plate. “I already—” “Eat.” She ate. Because there were hierarchies in Safehouse, and apparently tonight Lena had paperwork authority while Marco controlled calories. The next hour became a battle between Death’s Coffee and Marco’s food pressure. Death’s Coffee sharpened everything. Marco made everything heavier. Kiro’s speech kept accelerating in bursts, but every time she tried to stand, someone handed her something warm, solid, or inconveniently delicious. Mai began finishing Kiro’s unfinished sentences, then visibly stopping herself when the endings became too interesting. Ace moved around the room in small, quick relocations, perching on furniture, counters, and once the back of the couch until Panam told her to stop acting like a haunted cat. Reyes reorganized three drawers, fixed the coffee machine’s panel alignment properly, and cleaned the same knife twice before Lena took it away and replaced it with bread. Shammy, meanwhile, sank deeper into the room’s electrical conversation. At first she only watched lights. Then the outlets. Then the ceiling. Then the window. Panam noticed the shift before anyone else because Panam noticed Shammy by instinct now, even when pretending she did not. “Sham?” Shammy did not answer immediately. Her head tilted. The air around her grew still. Not calm. Still. Like pressure had found a shape and did not want to disturb it. Panam put her plate down. “Shammy.” This time Shammy blinked. Slowly. Her eyes focused on Panam. “I can hear the elevator.” Ace stopped moving. Mai turned from Kiro. Reyes straightened. Marco lowered the pan. Lena’s pen paused. Panam glanced toward the hallway. “The elevator?” Shammy nodded. “It is angry.” Kiro whispered, “I knew it.” Mai said, “Kiro, not now.” Shammy’s gaze drifted upward again. “And the third-floor heater is lying.” Reyes looked at Kiro. Kiro pointed at Shammy. “She said it first.” Panam crouched in front of Shammy. “Hey. With me.” Shammy looked at her. The room softened by one degree. Panam held out both hands, palms up. Shammy placed her much larger hands into them. The static eased. Panam’s voice lowered. “Too much?” Shammy considered. “Too many small machines having opinions.” Marco muttered, “That is every building in Night City.” “Yes.” Shammy’s brow furrowed. “But now they are closer.” Panam squeezed her hands. “Can you step back from them?” Shammy inhaled. The window glass trembled once. Ace’s Shadow Aura tightened around the floor under her feet, not flaring, but awake. Mai stood. “Kiro.” “I’m here,” Kiro said quickly, and for once the speed was helpful. “No deck. No signal pull. I’m not touching anything.” “Good.” Reyes crossed to the locked drawer and checked it. Still locked. Labels intact. Lena saw and nodded. Marco turned the stove off completely. The room changed from comedy to containment without anyone needing to call it that. Not panic. Family precision. Shammy closed her eyes. Her hair rose around her face, silver-white strands lifting in a faint corona. The lamp above the table flickered twice, then steadied. The hum of the refrigerator became suddenly very noticeable, then less so, as if someone had lowered its emotional volume. Panam stayed crouched in front of her. “Shammy.” “I am here.” “Not asking if you’re here. Asking if you’re with me.” Shammy opened her eyes. The blue in them softened. “Yes.” Panam nodded. “Good. Stay with me, not the elevator.” Shammy’s mouth curved. “The elevator is less pretty.” Panam stared. Ace made a choking sound. Reyes looked at the ceiling like it might offer help. Mai’s composure fractured for exactly one blink. Marco turned away again, shoulders shaking. Kiro whispered, “That was smooth.” Lena wrote one word. Panam saw. “Lena.” Lena turned the notebook slightly. **SMOOTH.** Panam pointed at her. “I am starting to understand why Night City fears quiet women.” Lena’s smile appeared late. “Good.” Shammy squeezed Panam’s hands. “The room is better now.” Panam looked back at her. “Yeah?” “Yes.” Shammy glanced around. “Marco stopped cooking at everyone.” Marco lifted both hands. “I reduced operations.” “Lena is weaponizing labels responsibly.” “Thank you,” Lena said. “Kiro is pretending not to hear the router.” Kiro froze. Shammy looked at Mai. “Mai is pretending she is not helping Kiro pretend.” Mai folded her arms. “That is unfairly specific.” Shammy looked at Ace. “Ace has too much body.” Ace blinked. “What?” Shammy tilted her head. “You are small, but the motion has nowhere to go.” Reyes looked at Ace’s tapping foot. Ace stopped it again. Reyes smiled. Ace glared. Shammy finally looked at Reyes. “Reyes is trying to solve chemistry with tools.” Reyes said, “I improved the machine.” “The machine feels judged.” “It should.” Shammy smiled. Panam still held her hands. The static around Shammy had lowered. The room felt less tight. Not normal. Not even close. But survivable again. Marco, seeing the opening, placed a plate beside Shammy. “Food.” Shammy looked at it. Then at him. “The food has no corners.” “Best compliment I’ve had tonight.” Shammy released one of Panam’s hands to take the plate. Panam stayed close. Nobody commented. For almost twelve seconds. Then Ace said, “Road dust.” Panam lunged for her. Ace was already gone. Not out of the room. Just somewhere else. Specifically, on top of the couch back. Panam stopped, stared, and pointed. “Too much body.” Ace grinned. Reyes looked at her. Then at the couch. Then at the open space between them. “No.” Ace looked down. “What?” “You’re thinking about jumping.” “I am not.” Shammy smiled around a bite of food. “The room says yes.” Ace looked betrayed. “My own house.” Mai looked at her. “Our house.” Ace’s expression changed. Just a little. Enough. Reyes saw it. So did Mai. So did Shammy. So did everyone, probably, because Safehouse had become offensively good at noticing love in the middle of stupidity. Ace stepped down from the couch instead of jumping. Panam nodded with satisfaction. “Good.” Ace pointed at her. “I chose that.” “Sure.” “I did.” “Of course.” Reyes murmured, “Tiny disciplined disaster.” Ace turned toward her. Reyes smiled. Ace’s eyes narrowed. Then she crossed the room at sudden speed, stopped in front of Reyes, and jabbed one finger into her thigh. “You’re next.” “For what?” “I don’t know yet.” Reyes looked down at her. “That supposed to scare me?” Ace smiled. “Yes.” Reyes considered. “It does a little.” Ace looked satisfied. Lena wrote that down. Reyes looked at her. “Do not.” Lena did not stop. Marco placed another piece of toast in Ace’s hand as she passed. Ace looked at it. Then at him. “You are relentless.” “Yes.” “Respect.” “Eat.” She ate. The rain kept falling. The illegal coffee kept moving through their blood in strange, bright lines. The room kept catching itself before it spun too far. For now, the disaster remained domestic. Warm. Documented. Fed. And somewhere in the middle of it, beneath labels and laughter and soup bowls and Panam’s ongoing threats, the router blinked off-pattern again. Kiro saw it. Mai saw Kiro see it. Ace saw both. Lena silently slid a label across the table without looking. **DON’T.** Kiro stared at it for a long moment. Then whispered, “This house is oppressive.” Mai touched her shoulder. “This house is alive because of that label.” Kiro sighed. “Fine.” But she kept staring at the router. And the router, treacherous little bastard that it was, blinked again. --- ## Chapter 7 — Lena Forgets to Blink Lena’s first mistake was assuming she could remain merely administrative. That lasted until the label system became law. It began innocently enough, which was how most authoritarian domestic systems began if nobody watched the stationery drawer closely. The first labels had been warnings. **DO NOT LET KIRO DEFINE DOSAGE.** **NO PROJECTS.** **DO NOT BREW.** **THIS MEANS YOU TOO.** Useful. Clear. Preventive. Then the Death’s Coffee moved deeper into everyone’s nervous systems, and labels became necessary in places that did not traditionally require signage. Kiro’s water glass received one. **DRINK THIS.** Ace’s half-eaten toast received one. **FINISH.** The locked drawer received a second layer. **STILL NO.** The router received three. **IGNORE.** **NOT A PUZZLE.** **KIRO, I MEAN IT.** Kiro stared at the third label with visible pain. “It addressed me personally.” Lena did not look up. “Yes.” “That feels targeted.” “Yes.” “I feel seen in a punitive way.” “Good.” Mai, sitting beside Kiro at the table with a bowl she had technically been eating from for twelve minutes and practically using as camouflage for forbidden thought, tilted her head. “Lena.” “Hm?” “The label on the router may increase fixation.” Kiro pointed at Mai with sudden relief. “Yes. Exactly. Thank you. See? This is cognitive suppression through signage.” Mai continued, “A less direct phrasing might reduce resistance.” Kiro lowered her hand. “Oh, betrayal.” Panam, now sitting on the couch because Shammy had pulled her there by one wrist and nobody had successfully argued with the weather yet, gave Mai a look. “You are workshopping anti-router labels.” Mai took one spoonful of soup. Very calmly. “I am improving containment language.” “That is what the villains say before the lab explodes.” Ace, on the floor near Reyes’s boots, looked up. “Usually after.” Reyes nodded. “During, if they’re honest.” Marco came around the counter carrying a plate of bread, eggs, and something fried that had begun life as leftovers and ended as morale support. He set it in the middle of the table like a peace offering to biology. “No lab explosions. Eat.” Kiro looked at the plate. Then at the router. Lena placed a label directly on the plate. **FOOD BEFORE THE INTERNET.** Kiro’s mouth opened. Then closed. She took bread. “Oppressive but effective.” Marco smiled. “That’s going on the wall.” “No,” Lena said. Marco paused. “Fine.” Lena wrote another label and placed it on Marco’s sleeve. **DO NOT ENCOURAGE WALL SLOGANS.** Marco looked down at it. Then at her. His expression warmed into something amused and dangerously fond. “Yes, ma’am.” Lena’s eyes narrowed by one millimeter. “Careful.” Marco’s smile widened. Reyes leaned down toward Ace. “He likes danger.” Ace did not look away from Marco and Lena. “Different category.” “Still danger.” “Quiet danger.” Shammy, who had been resting with her shoulder against Panam’s thigh while Panam pretended this was annoying and absolutely did not let her fingers drift into Shammy’s hair, said, “Lena’s quiet danger has edges.” Lena looked over. “Thank you.” “It was a compliment.” “I know.” Kiro whispered, “That is such a Lena answer.” Mai’s mouth twitched again. Ace saw it. Reyes saw Ace seeing it. Panam saw both of them and pointed without lifting her head from the back of the couch. “No.” Ace blinked. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to start the chain.” “What chain?” “The one where you say something, Reyes makes it worse, Kiro observes it clinically, Mai pretends not to enjoy that, Marco laughs, Lena documents it, Shammy says something brutally accurate, and then I become the only person suffering.” Shammy lifted her head from Panam’s thigh. “You forgot the part where you blush.” Panam froze. The room went beautifully still. Ace slowly turned her face away, as if giving herself a physical barrier against joy. Reyes looked at the ceiling. Marco set both hands on the counter and bowed his head. Kiro pressed both hands over her mouth. Mai closed her eyes. Lena wrote one word. Panam saw the movement and stood so fast Shammy almost slid sideways. “Do not.” Lena calmly turned the label toward her. **BLUSHING.** Panam pointed at it. “No.” Lena placed it on the notebook page. “Logged.” Panam looked at Shammy. “You are making enemies for me.” Shammy’s eyes brightened. “I am being socially integrated.” “That is not what this is.” “It feels like it.” Ace lost the fight first. She made a small, sharp sound against one hand. Reyes immediately looked down at her. “You’re going to rupture something.” Ace shook her head, eyes watering. Kiro lowered her hands and whispered, “For the record, the chain prediction was accurate.” Mai said, “Kiro.” “What? It was.” Panam turned on Mai. “Do not sound amused.” “I am not sounding amused.” “You are breathing amused.” Ace pointed weakly at Mai. “She is.” Mai looked at Ace. Ace smiled with the reckless courage of someone too caffeinated to value survival. Mai’s expression sharpened into surgical calm. “Ace, your toast is unfinished.” Ace looked down. Her toast had a label now. **ACE. FINISH.** She stared. “When did—” Lena did not look up. “Three minutes ago.” Ace turned the toast over. There was another label on the underside. **YES, THE OTHER SIDE TOO.** Reyes laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter. Ace stared at Lena with honest admiration. “That was excellent.” “Thank you.” “Betrayal, but excellent.” “You respond better to layered containment.” Mai nodded. “Accurate.” Ace pointed at her. “You are not allowed to agree with my handling instructions.” “I helped write several of them.” Ace froze. Reyes looked down slowly. “You have handling instructions?” “No.” Mai took another spoonful of soup. Ace stared at her. Mai did not look guilty. Which meant the answer was absolutely yes. Kiro looked between them with wide eyes. “Can I see them?” “No,” Ace and Mai said together. Kiro leaned toward Reyes. “Do you think Reyes has handling instructions?” Reyes looked at her. Kiro leaned back. “Right. Self-documenting hazard.” Lena wrote something. Reyes pointed at her. “No.” Lena looked up. “Yes.” Reyes stared. Lena stared back. Reyes looked away. Ace watched this exchange with growing fascination. “You lost to Lena.” “Strategic withdrawal.” “You lost.” “Tiny witness.” “Documented.” Lena turned the notebook. **REYES: STRATEGIC WITHDRAWAL AFTER LOSING TO LENA.** Ace wheezed. Reyes stared at the notebook. “I dislike this regime.” Lena’s calm face did not move. “You voted by buying coffee.” Panam made a delighted sound from the couch. “Oh, that was clean.” Marco set a fresh water glass beside Lena. “Careful. You’re getting too powerful.” Lena took the glass. “I am exactly powerful enough.” Shammy’s hair lifted around her shoulders, static-soft and amused. “The room agrees.” Then Lena blinked. Once. Slowly. Too slowly. Mai noticed. Her attention shifted from Kiro to Lena with a precision that cut through the room’s laughter. “Lena.” Lena’s pen hovered over the notebook. “Hm?” “When did you last blink?” The room froze for a different reason. Lena looked at her. Then, very carefully, blinked. “Now.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the most recent data point.” Kiro whispered, “That is a very Mai dodge.” Mai did not look away from Lena. “Lena.” Lena set the pen down. “I forgot.” Marco’s warmth fell out of joking range immediately. He moved closer, not crowding her, just arriving where she would expect him. “Forgot to blink?” Lena looked at the notebook. Then at her water glass. Then at the labels. For the first time that night, something in her calm looked briefly unmoored. “Yes.” Panam’s expression softened despite the fading blush. Ace slid down from her counter perch without a sound. Reyes straightened. Kiro’s speed dropped. Shammy sat up fully, the couch protesting faintly under the shift of her height. The labels remained everywhere, ridiculous and useful and suddenly not enough. Mai’s voice went gentle, which somehow made it more serious. “Any pain?” “No.” “Headache?” “No.” “Visual disturbance?” Lena looked at the labels. “No more than expected.” Marco crouched beside her chair. “Lena.” She turned to him. He did not touch her immediately. That mattered. Marco knew her too well to turn care into a net unless she asked for one. “You need a break.” “I am managing containment.” “We can survive ten minutes without new labels.” From the router side of the room, Kiro made a small uncertain noise. Marco turned his head. “Kiro.” She raised both hands. “I said nothing.” “Good.” Lena’s mouth curved slightly, but the expression tired itself before fully forming. Ace stepped closer and picked up the pen. Lena looked at her. Ace held it out of reach with both hands, which was unnecessary because Lena was taller and sitting down, but the gesture had ceremony. “No more writing.” Lena’s eyes narrowed. Ace stared back. “Temporarily.” Lena considered that. “Define temporarily.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai said, “Fifteen minutes.” Lena looked at Marco. Marco said, “Twenty.” Lena looked at Reyes. Reyes said, “Thirty.” Everyone turned to her. Reyes shrugged. “She’ll negotiate down.” Lena’s eyes narrowed more. “Twenty.” Reyes pointed at her. “See?” Marco laughed softly, relief returning through his shoulders. “Twenty minutes.” Lena held out her hand for the pen. Ace moved it farther away. “No.” “Ace.” “You agreed.” “I agreed to not writing. I did not agree to pen confiscation.” “Same ecosystem.” Kiro whispered to Mai, “She has become the label.” Mai whispered back, “Do not make her notice that.” Too late. Lena looked at Kiro. Kiro smiled weakly. “I admire your work.” Lena blinked again. Better this time. Then she leaned back in the chair and exhaled. The room eased by tiny increments. Marco placed a hand lightly on the back of her chair, not on her, close enough to say there if wanted. Shammy watched Lena for a long second. Then spoke, voice low and precise. “You went quiet in the wrong way.” Lena looked at her. “I know.” “The labels helped the room, but they also let you stay outside your body.” The silence that followed was not awkward. It was full. Lena looked down at her hands. Her fingers were still, too still. Then she nodded once. “Yes.” Marco’s thumb moved once along the chair back. Ace lowered the pen to the table, but kept one finger on it like a guard dog. Mai reached across and turned the notebook closed. Kiro did not object. Panam leaned back beside Shammy, quieter now. Reyes looked at Lena and said, dry and soft at the same time, “Coffee made you become city hall.” Lena looked up. For half a second nobody knew whether that would land. Then Lena smiled. Small. Real. “That is the cruelest thing anyone has said tonight.” Reyes nodded. “Thank you.” Ace looked up at Reyes. “Rude but medically useful.” “Merc training.” “You were a massage therapist.” “Same principle. Find the knot. Apply pressure.” Kiro’s head snapped up. “I forgot that.” Mai’s eyes shifted, interested despite herself. Panam pointed at both of them. “No. Nobody is starting a bodywork subplot during skull coffee.” Reyes looked at Panam. “Bodywork subplot?” Panam threw a piece of bread at her. Reyes caught it. Ate it. Marco looked proud. Lena, still smiling faintly, rested her head back against the chair for exactly three seconds. Then opened her eyes. “Someone needs to check the delivery status of the bulk crate.” Every head turned toward Reyes. Reyes froze with bread halfway to her mouth. Ace’s smile returned slowly. Very slowly. “Oh.” Reyes swallowed. “It is not here.” Panam stood. “Where.” “Storage locker.” Mai’s calm returned, but colder now. “Which storage locker?” Reyes looked at Ace. Ace looked delighted. Betrayed, but delighted. “Kiro,” Ace said. Kiro straightened. “Yes?” “Can you find Reyes’s coffee locker without touching the router?” Kiro’s entire face lit up. Mai immediately said, “No.” Ace looked at her. Mai looked back. “No.” Ace held her gaze. Mai’s eyes narrowed. Ace pointed at Reyes. “She bought twenty-four bags.” “Correct.” “We need intel.” “No hacking under stimulant influence.” “I didn’t say hacking.” “You said Kiro.” Kiro raised one finger. “I could perform a passive query.” “No.” “Administrative lookup.” “No.” “Coffee reconnaissance.” Panam said, “No, but I respect the branding.” Kiro beamed. Mai looked pained. Reyes leaned against the counter and tried not to smile. Lena, still on break, held out one hand toward the closed notebook. Ace picked it up and moved it farther away. “No.” Lena sighed. Shammy, watching all of them, smiled with deep and terrible serenity. “The room wants to become stupid again.” Marco looked around. Then lifted the bread plate. “Food pressure.” Everyone took something. Even Kiro. Especially Kiro. For the next fifteen minutes, the labels held. Mostly. Lena did not write. Mostly. Mai did not help Kiro trace the traffic-finance pattern. Mostly. Ace did not climb back on top of the furniture. Mostly. Reyes did not check the delivery message. Mostly. Panam did not threaten anyone with exile. Mostly. Shammy listened to the building breathing around them, and the room, for one fragile stretch of time, stayed human. Then the elevator groaned somewhere above. Shammy’s head turned. Kiro whispered, “Angry?” Shammy nodded. Panam closed her eyes. “Here we go.” ## Chapter 8 — Shammy Hears the Grid The elevator was angry. Shammy knew this with the same useless certainty with which she knew Panam was pretending not to worry, Ace’s Shadow Aura was pacing under the furniture, and the building’s old wiring had opinions about the third-floor heater that bordered on personal resentment. None of that was normal. But normal had become a negotiation around the second sip of Death’s Coffee. She sat on the couch again because Panam had insisted, and because Panam’s insisting had a practical shape that made the air feel less scattered. Her knees were angled awkwardly. Her shoulders nearly reached the wrong part of the wall. The couch was too small, the room too full, the lights too chatty, and every device in the Safehouse seemed to have remembered it was electrical at the same time. The refrigerator was low-cycle pessimistic. Kiro had been right. The router was smug. The coffee machine felt accused and, underneath that, improved against its will. The locked drawer was not a machine, but it had become socially loud because everyone kept thinking about it. The elevator, somewhere beyond the Safehouse walls, groaned again. Shammy frowned. Panam sat beside her, one knee angled toward her, one boot planted like she might need to stand quickly and fight a building. “Don’t listen to it,” Panam said. Shammy turned her head. “I am trying.” “You are doing the face.” “What face?” “The one where you stop being in the room and start being in the walls.” Across the room, Ace looked up sharply. Mai too. Kiro, sitting with both hands under her thighs because Mai had apparently decided that was safer than letting them near any interface surface, whispered, “That is a very good description.” Reyes stood near the kitchen with her arms crossed. The label on her sleeve had migrated slightly crooked. **WATCH REYES.** She had not removed it. Shammy liked that. Reyes pretended not to be the kind of person who accepted being watched by people she trusted. Her pressure said otherwise. Marco had finally stopped cooking, though the kitchen still looked like a relief operation had passed through. He leaned against the counter with a towel over one shoulder, watching Shammy now with less joking and more care. Lena sat in a chair with no pen in hand. That was new enough to count as weather. Shammy tried to breathe around the building. Inhale. Panam. Exhale. Room. Inhale. Panam. Exhale. Not elevator. The wiring hummed anyway. It came through the walls in thin, bright strands. Not sound exactly. More like the shape sound wore before becoming air. Every line of current carried a little stutter of human use: a heater overworking above them, a cheap charger dying dramatically in the apartment next door, a security camera in the stairwell pretending it saw more than it did, old cables patched too many times by people who had chosen “works for now” as a civic religion. And beyond that— Shammy’s eyes narrowed. Beyond the building, the block. Traffic lights. Ad boards. Door locks. Cheap neon signs. Vehicle chargers. Street cameras. Vending machines. Rainwater sliding over exposed junction boxes with terrible confidence. Night City’s electrical body moved under everything, not alive, not not alive, a corpse-city twitching because money kept running current through its nerves. Shammy whispered, “Oh.” Panam leaned closer. “No. I hate that ‘oh.’” “The block is louder.” Mai stood. “Kiro. Stay here.” Kiro looked offended and terrified. “I am literally sitting on my hands.” “Continue.” Ace slid off the floor and came closer to the couch. Her movement was fast but controlled now, tension redirected into purpose. The Shadow Aura followed her like wrong depth under the lights. Reyes saw it and shifted half a step without thinking, giving Ace more room. Good. Shammy noticed that too. She noticed everything. That was the problem. Panam’s hand found hers. “Hey.” Shammy looked down. Panam’s hand was smaller than hers, warmer, calloused from vehicle work and bad roads and stubborn survival. Not soft. Not careful in the way people were when they thought Shammy might break something by existing. Panam held like she expected Shammy to be strong and still deserved an anchor. “Stay here,” Panam said. Shammy nodded. “The grid is singing.” Kiro made a sound. Mai said, “Kiro.” “I said nothing.” “You made a research noise.” “It was involuntary.” Panam’s thumb pressed into Shammy’s knuckles. “What kind of singing?” Shammy listened carefully. That was dangerous. She tried to listen smaller. The room helped. Ace’s Shadow Aura settled, dark pressure forming a subtle boundary around the couch area, not trapping, not cutting off, more like a predator lying down in the doorway so nothing else came through without permission. Mai’s clarity field sharpened the social noise: voices became layers, breathing became countable, Kiro’s contained excitement stopped spilling into the router, Marco’s worry warmed without smothering, Lena’s quiet held the floor. The Triad was not doing anything dramatic. They were being themselves in the correct direction. Shammy breathed again. “The city sings badly,” she said. Marco nodded. “That tracks.” “It has too many unpaid notes.” Reyes looked toward the window. “Also tracks.” Kiro leaned forward, realized she was leaning, and sat back so violently the chair creaked. “Unpaid notes like electrical debt or metaphor?” Shammy considered. “Yes.” Kiro closed her eyes. “That answer is painful.” Mai said, “Do not ask follow-up questions.” “I am physically restraining myself.” “Good.” Panam looked around the room. “Can we reduce inputs? Lights, devices, whatever?” Lena stood immediately. No notebook. No labels. Just motion. She crossed to the side lamps and dimmed one. Then another. She unplugged a decorative sign Kiro had once insisted “barely counts as active tech” and which now made Kiro wince when the light died. “Hey.” Lena looked at her. Kiro lowered her voice. “Thank you.” Lena nodded. Marco moved next. He turned off the overhead kitchen light and left only the warmer counter strip. The room changed at once. Less glare. Less electrical chatter. More rain against the windows. More bodies, less machine. Mai stepped to the router. Kiro made a pained noise. Mai did not unplug it. She only turned it slightly, checked the shielded casing, and placed one of Lena’s labels over the status lights. **QUIET.** Kiro stared. “That is not technically how routers work.” Mai looked at her. Kiro swallowed. “But emotionally, yes.” Ace moved to the window and pulled the curtain half-closed. The glass reflection showed her wrong for a moment — shadow too large, eyes too bright, something behind her shoulder that was her and not her. The Shadow Aura compressed, then softened when Shammy’s breathing steadied. Reyes watched the reflection. Ace saw her watching. “Later,” Ace said. Reyes nodded. Later meant: yes, I noticed too. Later meant: don’t make me explain now. Later meant trust. Shammy held Panam’s hand and listened as the room became smaller. Not smaller in fear. Smaller in kindness. The city grid remained outside. Still loud. Still ugly. Still humming through wet concrete and bad design and thousands of people forcing another night to function. But the Safehouse became a pocket. A label on a router. A curtain half-drawn. A lamp dimmed. Soup smell. Panam’s hand. Ace’s darkness at the edge of the room. Mai’s structure. Marco’s warmth. Lena’s quiet. Kiro’s contained curiosity. Reyes’s practical suspicion. Her people. “The grid is still there,” Shammy said. Panam squeezed her hand. “Yeah. But you’re here.” Shammy looked at her. Panam’s face was serious now, no defensive irritation for one rare breath. Shammy’s chest loosened. “The elevator is still angry.” Panam’s mouth twitched. “Let it be angry.” “It wants maintenance.” “So does half the city.” “It thinks no one listens.” Reyes muttered, “Relatable.” Ace turned. “You are not bonding with the elevator.” “I said one word.” “You were thinking two.” Reyes looked at her. Ace stared back. Reyes shrugged. “Fine.” Kiro whispered, “I want to know the elevator’s story.” “No,” everyone said. Kiro leaned back. “I hate democracy.” Lena, from near the lamp, said, “This is not democracy.” Kiro pointed toward her. “See? She admits it.” Lena’s eyes narrowed. “You are still alive because of my benevolent dictatorship.” Kiro considered that. Then nodded. “Acceptable governance.” Panam looked at Shammy. “You better now?” Shammy checked. Not the grid. Herself. The room. Her breathing. The pressure in her hands. The way her hair no longer tried to float around her face. The way Panam’s presence had become less anchor-rope and more campfire. “Yes.” “Good.” “I still hear too much.” “Can you ignore it?” “No.” “Can you not follow it?” Shammy smiled. “Yes.” Panam nodded. “That’s enough.” Shammy looked at their hands. Then said, because Death’s Coffee had apparently made honesty pass through fewer filters, “You make the air less careful.” Panam froze. The room reacted like someone had dropped a glass without it breaking. Ace slowly turned her head. Mai looked down, but too late. Reyes’s mouth twitched. Marco closed his eyes and smiled. Lena looked at the absent notebook with visible longing. Kiro pressed both lips together so hard she looked medically endangered. Panam stared at Shammy. “Why would you say that out loud?” Shammy blinked. “Because it is true.” “That is not a reason.” “It is one of the better reasons.” Ace made a sound. Panam pointed at her without looking. “Do not.” Ace whispered, “I am not strong enough.” Reyes leaned against the wall. “Coffee made Shammy honest.” Mai corrected, softly, “Shammy was already honest.” Kiro whispered, “Coffee reduced the atmospheric diplomacy layer.” Ace lost it. She bent forward laughing, one hand braced against the window frame, Shadow Aura rippling along the floor in silent, wicked amusement. Panam glared at everyone while still holding Shammy’s hand. “Every single one of you is terrible.” Marco raised one finger. “I made food.” “You laughed.” “I contained it.” Lena said, “Barely.” Marco pointed at her. “You would have documented.” “I am still on break.” “You are suffering.” “Yes.” Shammy looked between them, then at Panam. “Should I not have said it?” Panam’s anger softened instantly, because Shammy was not teasing now. She was checking. That was different. “No.” Panam sighed, rubbed her forehead with her free hand, then looked at Shammy again. “No, you can say it. Just…” She glanced at Ace, who was still recovering. “At least wait until Ace is farther away.” Ace lifted one hand weakly. “I can hear affection from other rooms.” Reyes looked at her. “That sounds medically unlikely.” “I’m gifted.” “You’re short.” “I can be both.” Panam sat back down beside Shammy, muttering, but she did not let go of her hand. That said more than whatever she was muttering. Shammy leaned against her carefully, long frame folding into the space with awkward grace. The couch accepted this with the resignation of furniture used to emotional weather. For a while, the room stayed dim. Quiet enough that the refrigerator’s pessimism faded into background. Quiet enough that Kiro stopped staring at the router and started blinking normally again. Quiet enough that Mai’s shoulders lowered. Quiet enough that Reyes stopped flexing her hands like she needed a tool. Quiet enough that Ace’s foot still tapped, but slower. Then Marco said, “Nobody drink anything that says ‘Death’ on it again.” Kiro opened her mouth. Lena said, “Do not mention death metal energy drinks.” Kiro closed her mouth. Panam stared. “There are death metal energy drinks?” Kiro looked pained. “I was told not to mention them.” Mai pinched the bridge of her nose. Ace turned to Reyes. “You didn’t buy those too?” Reyes looked offended. “No.” A pause. Everyone stared. Reyes added, “I don’t like energy drinks.” Panam stood halfway. “That was not enough of a denial.” Reyes spread her hands. “I did not buy death metal energy drinks.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “Any other category?” Reyes looked at her. The room waited. Reyes said nothing. Lena reached for the notebook. Ace moved faster and took it first. “No.” Lena stared at her. Ace held the notebook against her chest. “No documentation until your blinking improves.” “My blinking is fine.” “You forgot it.” “One time.” “That we know of.” Kiro whispered, “Ace has become continuity enforcement.” Mai smiled faintly. “She learned from the worst.” Ace looked at her. “You.” “Yes.” Shammy, still leaning against Panam, closed her eyes. “The room is warmer when it argues like this.” Marco looked around. “Like what?” “Like everyone knows where home is.” The teasing stopped. Not painfully. Just enough. Rain tapped against the windows. The city hummed outside, wet and wired and hungry. The Safehouse smelled like soup and toast and illegal stimulant residue and people who had been smart enough to survive worse things but not smart enough to avoid a skull on a coffee packet. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. Reyes watched Ace look. Panam’s thumb moved once over Shammy’s knuckles. Kiro pretended to study her bowl, but her face had softened. Marco leaned into the counter, warmth still there but quieter. Lena, denied her notebook, let her hands rest empty for once. Shammy opened her eyes. “The grid is still ugly,” she said. Ace nodded. “Night City.” “But this room is not.” Reyes looked at the locked drawer. At the labels. At the people. At the coffee machine she had maybe improved. At Ace, who still held Lena’s notebook hostage with the solemnity of a very small warden. For one second, Reyes considered saying something sincere. Then she chose survival. “Give it time.” Ace smiled. “There she is.” Panam groaned. Kiro laughed. Mai’s eyes warmed. Marco started handing out more bread. Lena blinked twice, deliberately, and accepted the notebook back only after Ace inspected her like a suspicious medical professional. The elevator groaned again. Shammy raised one finger. “Still angry.” Panam leaned her head against Shammy’s shoulder. “Let it file a complaint.” Lena opened the notebook. Wrote one careful line. Then turned it for the room. **ELEVATOR: ANGRY. NOT OUR PROBLEM.** The room approved. --- ## Chapter 9 — Ace Has Too Much Body Ace lasted longer than anyone expected. Which, later, became one of the phrases everyone agreed never to put into any official version of the story. She tried. That was the important part. She sat on the floor. Then on the couch arm. Then on the counter. Then back on the floor. Then on the back of the couch, briefly, until Panam pointed at her with the grim authority of a woman who had seen vehicles behave more responsibly. Ace got down. Then she paced. Not much. Just from the window to the kitchen edge. Kitchen edge to table. Table to couch. Couch to window. Window to Reyes. Reyes to Mai. Mai to locked drawer. Locked drawer to window. Reyes watched her for seven full cycles before saying anything. Panam made it three. “Ace.” Ace stopped instantly. Too instantly. “Yes.” Panam stared at her. “You are doing laps.” “No.” “You are absolutely doing laps.” “I am moving through the room.” “That is what laps are when the room is small.” Ace looked around as if the Safehouse had personally betrayed her by having walls. “It’s not my fault the room ends.” Marco, at the counter, lifted one hand. “I am begging someone to write that down.” Lena already had the pen moving. Ace turned on her. “You were supposed to be resting your blink.” “I am blinking.” “To weaponize later.” “Obviously.” Mai looked up from the table, where she had been quietly pretending not to trace traffic rhythms in spilled soup with one finger. “Ace, sit.” Ace sat. On the table. Mai closed her eyes. Kiro whispered, “Technically compliant.” Panam pointed at Kiro. “Do not help.” Kiro lowered her spoon. Ace sat cross-legged on the table between two bowls and one aggressively labeled water glass, looking like a shrine idol installed by vandals. Her black hair was messier than usual, violet eyes too bright, shoulders loose but ready. The Shadow Aura under the table had begun to move with lazy, wrong interest, pooling around chair legs in ways that made furniture look uncertain about its own future. Mai opened her eyes. “Ace.” “What?” “Not on the table.” “You said sit.” “I assumed furniture category.” “This is furniture.” “For objects.” Ace looked down at herself. “Rude.” Reyes, leaning near the kitchen, said, “You are objecting from a food surface.” Ace pointed at her. “You took apart the coffee machine.” “Not with my ass.” Kiro made a sound like someone choking on laughter. Marco put one hand on the counter and looked down. Panam said, “I hate that I laughed internally.” Shammy, still on the couch with Panam beside her, tilted her head. “The table is offended.” Ace looked at the table. Then at Shammy. “Tell it I’m light.” “The table says you are intense.” Reyes nodded. “That’s fair.” Ace slid off the table without warning and landed on the floor. “Fine.” Mai sighed softly. “Thank you.” Ace lasted four seconds. Then she rolled her shoulders once. Then twice. Then shook out her hands. Reyes’s gaze sharpened. Ace felt it. Of course she felt it. Reyes watched bodies the way Mai watched systems. Different language, same problem. Nothing got to be just a twitch around her. A shift of weight became a report. A breath became evidence. A hand flex became a footnote in a fight that had not happened yet. “What?” Ace asked. Reyes did not answer immediately. She pushed off the counter. “You need to move.” Panam said, “No.” Reyes looked at her. “I didn’t say spar.” “You thought spar.” “I thought movement.” “You think with elbows.” Ace smiled. Tiny. Interested. Panam pointed at her. “No. You, absolutely no. Do not look like that.” Ace looked innocent. It was so badly done that Marco laughed. Mai stood. “No sparring indoors.” Ace’s mouth opened. “No sparring outdoors either,” Mai added. Ace closed her mouth. Kiro raised one hand very slowly. “What about non-contact movement analysis?” Everyone turned toward her. She lowered the hand. “Right. Coffee talking. Sorry.” Lena wrote on a fresh label and placed it on Kiro’s sleeve. **COFFEE TALKING.** Kiro looked down. Then nodded. “Useful.” Reyes crossed the room and stopped in front of Ace. Not too close. Close enough. Ace had to look up, which always annoyed her in public and felt different in private. Reyes’s red hair had loosened further. Her dark eyes were alert, dry, steady. Too caffeinated, yes. But still Reyes. Still human. Still dangerous in the way a person became dangerous by having survived too many small rooms with no clean exits. “You have too much body,” Reyes said. Ace stared at her. Panam groaned from the couch. “Do not start using Shammy diagnostics.” Shammy smiled. “It is accurate.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. “I have the correct amount of body.” “For you?” Reyes asked. “Yes.” “Right now?” Ace paused. That was a mistake. Mai saw the pause. Reyes saw it. Shammy saw it without needing eyes. Lena wrote something. Ace jabbed one finger toward Lena without looking. “No.” Lena kept writing. Reyes crouched, putting her face closer to Ace’s level. Not condescending. Never that. She lowered herself the way she would lower into a fighting stance: practical, balanced, ready to move. Ace went very still. The Shadow Aura went still with her. Reyes said, quieter, “Your muscles are firing before you choose what to do with them.” Ace hated that. Mostly because it was true. “So?” “So if you don’t give it a path, it’s going to choose one.” Ace glanced at the locked drawer. Reyes followed the glance. “No.” “I didn’t—” “No.” Ace looked back at her. Reyes’s mouth twitched. “Don’t make me say ‘controlled experiment.’” Ace’s smile sharpened. “That phrase is banned.” “Then move.” Mai stepped closer. “Define move.” Reyes looked up at her. “Drills. No contact. No weapons. No furniture. No coffee machine.” Ace looked wounded. “I was not going to use the coffee machine.” “Good,” said Lena, Panam, Marco, and Mai. Kiro whispered, “I kind of want to know how someone uses a coffee machine in movement drills.” Reyes looked at her. Kiro leaned back. “I kind of don’t.” Marco pointed toward the cleared stretch between couch and kitchen. “There. Floor’s clear enough.” Lena immediately got up and moved two chairs. Panam stood reluctantly, pulling Shammy with her by the hand because Shammy had become too interested in the emotional weather of the proposal. “No breaking anything.” Ace rolled her shoulders again. “I don’t break things accidentally.” The coffee machine made a faint click from the counter. Everyone looked at it. Reyes said, “I improved that.” Lena wrote a label without sitting down. **QUESTIONABLE.** She stuck it to the machine. Reyes accepted this with visible restraint. Ace stepped into the cleared space. For one moment, she looked almost ordinary. Small woman. Bare feet. Oversized dark shirt. Black hair falling into her eyes. Safehouse light warm across her shoulders. Then she moved. Not fast enough to be combat. Not slow enough to be normal. Just a line of motion cut into the room. Low step. Pivot. Drop. Rise. Turn. One hand up, one hand low, angle change through a space too narrow for anyone else to make beautiful. Her body found violence patterns and stripped the violence out, leaving only geometry and pressure. The Shadow Aura followed half a beat behind, not as a weapon, not as a trick, but as a dark echo of intent. The floor seemed deeper around her feet. Reflections in the window lagged one impossible fraction behind. Kiro stopped breathing for a second. Mai noticed. “Kiro.” Kiro inhaled. “Right. Air. Sorry.” Reyes watched Ace like she was reading a language written in scars and speed. Marco stopped pretending to clean. Lena stood with one chair in her hands and forgot to put it down. Panam’s annoyance softened despite herself. Shammy’s eyes brightened, not from electricity this time, but recognition. Ace moved again. Faster. A step that would have been a cut if she held a blade. A turn that became a shoulder check against nothing. A knee that rose, stopped short, turned into a pivot. Krav Maga lived under the motion now, ugly practicality disguised by discipline. It did not have the elegance of her katana work. It had the brutal honesty of being inside someone’s reach and ending the conversation before they understood the grammar. Reyes’s eyes narrowed appreciatively. “Good.” Ace’s head turned mid-motion. That was her mistake. The compliment hit. Her foot landed half an inch wrong. Not enough to fall. Enough for the coffee in her bloodstream to decide the floor was negotiable. Her Shadow Aura snapped sideways. The room compressed. Light bent. The window reflection showed a darker Ace already moving before Ace had moved. Panam said, “Ace.” Mai’s voice cut sharper. “Ace, stop.” Ace stopped. Instantly. Too instantly again. The Shadow Aura did not. It slid another foot across the floor, pooling toward Reyes’s boots like something predatory that had expected a fight and resented being told no. Reyes did not step back. Ace saw that. So did everyone. The dark pressure reached the toe of Reyes’s boot and held there. Not touching. Not attacking. Asking a question with teeth. Reyes looked down. Then at Ace. “Your shadow wants to spar.” Ace’s face went flat. “No, it doesn’t.” Shammy tilted her head. “It does.” Ace looked at her. “Stop siding with evidence.” “The evidence is moving.” Kiro whispered, “That is a horrible sentence.” Mai stepped into the edge of the cleared space. Not between Ace and Reyes. Beside the line. Important difference. “Ace,” she said. Ace looked at her. The Shadow Aura stilled. Mai’s eyes were soft but precise. “You are not in danger.” Ace swallowed. “I know.” “Your body does not.” Ace’s jaw tightened. For a second, the comedy thinned. Not vanished. Just moved aside. Death’s Coffee had taken everyone’s normal systems and turned the volume up. Kiro’s curiosity. Mai’s pattern hunger. Reyes’s tactical hands. Marco’s care. Lena’s control. Shammy’s pressure hearing. Panam’s protective irritation. And Ace— Ace’s body knew too many ways to become a weapon before her mind had finished deciding whether the room deserved one. The Safehouse was full of people who loved her. The Safehouse was still a room. Rooms had exits. Walls. Angles. Objects. Bodies. Her body remembered danger faster than safety. Reyes crouched again, slowly this time. “Ace.” Ace looked at her. Reyes held out one hand. Palm up. No challenge. No command. “Walk it down.” Ace stared at the hand. Mai did not move. Shammy’s atmosphere softened until the room felt less like a held breath and more like an open palm. Panam stood near the couch, quiet now. Marco set the plate down. Lena finally put the chair down, carefully, without sound. Kiro kept both hands under her thighs and did not say anything. Ace took Reyes’s hand. The Shadow Aura recoiled slightly, not in fear. In recognition. Reyes’s fingers closed around Ace’s. Warm. Calloused. Human. Ace exhaled. “Stupid coffee.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. “Very.” “You bought twenty-four bags.” “Not for tonight.” Ace looked up. “That makes it worse.” “I know.” “Do you?” “Starting to.” Ace held her stare. Then nodded once. Reyes squeezed her hand lightly and stood. Ace did not let go immediately. Nobody commented. That was kindness. Or fear. Probably both. Then Ace pulled her hand back, shook out her shoulders, and said, “Again.” Panam exploded. “No.” Ace turned. “Controlled.” “No. Absolutely not. Your shadow almost challenged Reyes to a knife fight without a knife.” Ace considered. “That was not a knife fight.” Panam stared. “That is your defense?” Reyes said, “She’s technically correct.” Panam pointed at her. “You are on thin ice, bulk coffee.” Reyes nodded. “Fair.” Mai stepped closer to Ace. “One more set. Slower. I count rhythm.” Kiro’s head lifted. Mai pointed at her. “No analytics.” Kiro lowered her head. “Fine.” Shammy raised one hand. “I can help with pressure.” Mai looked at her. “Soft boundary only.” Shammy nodded. “Soft.” Panam narrowed her eyes. “If the room starts humming, I’m pulling the plug on everything.” “The room is not plugged into one thing,” Kiro murmured. Panam looked at her. Kiro looked at the floor. “Coffee talking.” Ace reset her stance. This time Mai counted. Soft. Precise. Slow enough to give the body a road. “One.” Ace stepped. “Two.” Pivot. “Three.” Lower. “Four.” Rise. Shammy’s atmosphere settled around the cleared space, a gentle pressure gradient that made movement feel less like escape and more like water. The Shadow Aura moved with Ace now instead of after her, still dark, still predatory, but no longer looking for a door to break. Reyes watched. Not smiling now. Attentive. Proud, maybe, in the way Reyes did pride: without softening it enough to embarrass anyone. Ace completed the sequence. Stopped. Breathed. The room breathed with her. Marco nodded. “Good.” Lena wrote nothing. Kiro whispered, “That was beautiful.” Ace looked at her sharply. Kiro held up both hands. “Non-project observation.” Mai’s mouth curved. Ace looked at the floor, then away. “Acceptable.” Panam dropped back onto the couch beside Shammy. “Great. Everyone survived interpretive combat.” Reyes leaned against the table. “That was not combat.” Panam pointed at her. “You do not get to define categories tonight.” Lena finally picked up the pen. She wrote one label and placed it on Reyes’s sleeve under **WATCH REYES.** **NO CATEGORY DEFINITIONS.** Reyes looked down. Then at Lena. “You were waiting for that.” “Yes.” Ace smiled. “Quiet danger.” Lena blinked deliberately. “Exactly.” Kiro leaned toward Mai. “Can I have a label?” Mai looked at her. Kiro clarified, “A nice one.” Lena, without missing a beat, wrote and handed one over. Kiro looked at it. **SUPERVISED SIGNAL GOBLIN.** The room froze. Kiro stared at the label. Then slowly looked up. “I have concerns.” Ace, from the cleared space, said, “Accurate.” Kiro pointed at her. “You do not get a vote. You were just doing haunted parkour.” Marco laughed so suddenly he nearly dropped the bread plate. Panam leaned her head back. “Haunted parkour.” Reyes looked at Ace. Ace’s face had gone blank in the precise way that meant the insult had landed and been stored. Mai’s eyes warmed. Shammy said, “The phrase has good weather.” Ace turned toward all of them. “No.” Lena wrote. Ace moved. Too late. The label landed on the wall beside the cleared space. **HAUNTED PARKOUR ZONE.** The Safehouse lost containment. For a full minute, nobody behaved with dignity. Even Mai laughed, quiet but real, one hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking once before she caught herself and failed to catch herself again. Ace stood in the middle of the cleared space, arms folded, face flat, while the Shadow Aura behind her rippled in what everyone now recognized, against all reason, as offended amusement. Reyes leaned close to her. “Want me to take it down?” Ace looked up. “Do you value that hand?” Reyes smiled. “Not enough.” Ace’s mouth twitched despite herself. Panam groaned. “They’re flirting again.” Shammy leaned against Panam. “The room is less stupid now.” Panam stared at her. “Shammy, the wall says haunted parkour.” “Yes.” Shammy smiled. “But Ace is breathing better.” Panam looked. Ace was. Damn it. Panam sighed and sank deeper into the couch. “Fine.” Marco came by and handed her more bread. She accepted it without protest this time. Progress. ## Chapter 10 — The Remaining Bag The remaining bag became louder after midnight. Not physically. Physically, it remained sealed inside the locked drawer under labels, behind Reyes’s relocked mechanism, surrounded by the kind of collective suspicion usually reserved for cursed artifacts, corpo contracts, and anything Badger called “educational.” But socially, it got loud. Everyone knew it was there. Nobody was supposed to think about it. So naturally everyone thought about it constantly. Ace sat on the floor under the new **HAUNTED PARKOUR ZONE** label with her back against the couch, legs stretched out, one foot still twitching occasionally. She had finished the toast. Then the second toast. Then half of something fried she would later claim had been placed in her hand during a crisis. Reyes sat nearby, not touching her, but close enough that their shoulders almost lined up if Ace leaned wrong. Or right. Panam had described this as “caffeinated orbit nonsense” and refused to elaborate. Mai sat at the table with Kiro beside her. Both of them had been given pens but no screens. This had been a compromise. It was not a good compromise. It had produced three napkin diagrams, two arguments over whether “passive market resonance” counted as a project, and one moment where Mai and Kiro looked at the same accidental line of spilled soup and both said, “Wait,” at exactly the same time. Lena had removed the napkins. Marco had replaced them with bread. Bread was safer than napkins. Mostly. Shammy had settled on the couch with Panam’s legs stretched across her lap. Panam pretended this had happened against her will. Nobody believed her. Shammy’s long fingers rested loosely over Panam’s ankle, and every time the lights flickered from building noise, Panam’s expression dared the electricity itself to start something. The clock hit 00:17. Kiro whispered, “How long has it been?” Mai answered too quickly. “Approximately three hours since ingestion.” Panam lifted her head. “You knew that instantly.” Mai looked at her. “I can read clocks.” “That was not clock-reading. That was obsession with a timestamp.” Kiro nodded. “It was hot.” “Kiro.” “What? It was.” Mai took the pen from Kiro. Kiro looked betrayed. “You gave me that.” “I made an error.” Lena wrote a label and slid it to Mai. Mai read it. **DO NOT FLIRT WITH TIMESTAMPS.** Mai looked at Lena. Lena’s expression remained calm. Mai placed the label face-down. Ace lifted one hand. “I want to see it.” “No,” Mai said. Ace smiled. Reyes leaned back slightly, arms folded. “The house has laws now.” Ace looked at her labels. **WATCH REYES.** **NO CATEGORY DEFINITIONS.** Both still on her sleeve. “You have criminal sleeves.” “Temporary.” “You have a storage locker full of future crimes.” “Also temporary.” Panam sat up. “It had better be temporary.” Reyes did not answer. That was unwise. Everyone turned toward her. Reyes looked around. “What?” Marco set down his cup. “Reyes.” “It’s coffee.” “It is skull coffee,” Panam said. “There is a distinction.” “It is stored.” “Where.” “Locker.” “Which locker?” “Secure one.” Ace turned her head slowly. “That is not an answer.” “It is accurate.” Mai folded her hands on the table. “Reyes.” Her tone did not rise. It did not need to. Reyes looked at her. Mai continued, “If something happens to you, the crate remains undiscovered.” Kiro’s eyes widened. Panam pointed at Mai. “Do not make a practical argument for locating the cursed coffee.” “I am not arguing for accessing it,” Mai said. “I am arguing for inventory awareness.” “That sounds like the same road with prettier signs.” Lena nodded once. “It is.” Mai glanced at her. Lena looked back. Mai accepted the correction. “Fine. It is adjacent.” Kiro lifted one finger. “Inventory awareness could be non-invasive.” “No,” Panam said. “I have not defined the method.” “That is why I said no early.” Kiro slumped. Ace looked at Reyes. “Tell Lena.” Reyes’s eyebrows rose. “What?” “Locker location.” Panam pointed at Ace. “Wait. Why Lena?” “Because Lena will not turn it into a project, drink it, sell it, analyze it, use it for movement drills, cook near it, or listen to its weather.” Everyone paused. That was horribly fair. Shammy raised her hand slightly. “I might listen from a distance.” Panam put her hand down gently. “No.” Shammy accepted this. Mai nodded slowly. “Lena is the correct custodian.” Lena looked at Reyes. Reyes looked at Lena. There were situations in Night City where refusing a demand made you safer. This was not one. “Fine,” Reyes said. Panam looked relieved. Kiro looked heartbroken. Mai looked controlled in the way that meant she hated how much she wanted the data and hated that she knew she should not have it. Ace looked pleased with herself. Reyes opened her agent. Then hesitated. The confirmation message glowed in the corner. She had not opened it yet. That was also unwise, because unread messages had a way of becoming more suspicious than read ones. Ace leaned closer. “Open it.” Reyes looked at her. Ace looked back. “Controlled experiment,” Ace said. Reyes’s mouth twitched. “That phrase is banned.” “Exactly.” Reyes opened the message. **DEATH’S COFFEE BULK SPECIAL — DELIVERY CONFIRMED.** Below that: **24 BAGS. PREMIUM BLACK-ROAST SYNTH-STIM BLEND.** Below that: **STORAGE LOCKER DROP: WATSON INDUSTRIAL SELF-SECURE, UNIT 13-B.** Below that, in a cheerful red font: **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.** Reyes stared. Ace leaned in. Saw it. Started laughing again. Panam stood. “Give me the address.” Reyes held up the agent toward Lena. Lena read it once. Nodded. Then wrote the address in her notebook, tore the page out, folded it, and placed it in a drawer that was not the coffee drawer. Then she labeled that drawer. **LENA ONLY. COFFEE CRATE LOCATION.** Kiro looked like someone had just watched a library burn. “Can I at least know the district?” “No,” said Lena. “It is Watson,” Mai said. Lena looked at her. Mai paused. “Sorry.” Kiro whispered, “Watson industrial, probably.” Reyes looked at her. Kiro sank lower. “Pattern inference. Not hacking.” Panam pointed at her. “You are exactly why no one tells you anything.” Kiro nodded sadly. “I understand and resent it.” Marco came over and placed more water in front of Reyes. Reyes looked at him. “I’m fine.” Marco smiled pleasantly. “The phrase of the damned.” Reyes drank. Ace watched her. Then glanced at the locked drawer. The remaining bag sat inside. Silent. Probably smug. “What about the sample?” Ace asked. Everyone followed her gaze. Panam immediately said, “Trash.” Kiro made a wounded sound. Mai said, “Disposal requires care. Unknown stimulant compounds should not simply be discarded.” Panam stared. “Please tell me that is not the opening of a preservation argument.” “It is not.” Kiro raised one finger. “It could be stored for later chemical analysis.” “No,” said Panam. Mai opened her mouth. Panam pointed at her. “No.” Mai closed it. Ace smiled slowly. “You wanted to agree.” Mai’s eyes moved toward her. “Do you want to discuss your haunted parkour zone?” Ace stopped smiling. Reyes murmured, “Clean hit.” Ace glared up at her. Lena put a hand on the locked drawer. “Remaining sample stays sealed. No one touches it tonight. Tomorrow, Victor can advise disposal or containment.” Marco nodded. “Good.” Panam looked at Reyes. “And the crate?” Reyes said nothing. Panam’s eyes narrowed. “Reyes.” “What?” “You are not going to secretly move it.” “I wasn’t planning to.” Ace looked at her. Reyes looked back. Ace said, “Not currently planning.” Reyes sighed. “You people are exhausting.” Kiro leaned toward Mai. “She says, after bulk-ordering the exhaustion powder.” Mai’s smile escaped this time. Ace pointed immediately. “Saw it.” Mai sighed. “Yes.” Kiro looked victorious. Panam sat back down heavily beside Shammy. “I cannot believe I am in a room where the safest person to hold the coffee location is Lena because everyone else is insane in specialized ways.” Shammy’s eyes warmed. “Specialized insanity is family structure.” Marco nodded. “I’m putting that on the wall.” Lena looked at him. Marco paused. “Not tonight.” “Good.” Kiro looked at the locked drawer. Just looked. Mai saw. “Kiro.” “I know.” “Kiro.” “I know.” A beat. Then Kiro whispered, “It is just sitting there.” Ace looked at the drawer too. It was, in fact, just sitting there. That was the problem. The remaining bag represented everything they were not allowed to do. Taste again. Test dose. Analyze compound. Verify signal effects. Confirm traffic-stock correlation. See whether Shammy could hear the grid more cleanly at a lower dose. See whether Ace could redirect the kinetic pressure with better drills. See whether Reyes’s hands became more precise or just more disobedient. See whether Marco’s food-pressure theory had measurable counter-effect. See whether Lena’s label governance scaled. Terrible ideas. All of them. Interesting terrible ideas. Mai’s fingers curled once against the table. Kiro noticed. The room noticed Kiro noticing. Ace saw the line forming. She stood. Everyone turned. She crossed to the locked drawer, pulled the label **STILL NO** off it, and replaced it with a fresh one from Lena’s stack. In blocky, uneven letters, Ace wrote: **TOMORROW’S PROBLEM.** She stuck it on the drawer. Then, after a moment, added another underneath: **MAYBE NEVER.** Reyes looked at the labels. “Maybe.” Ace turned. “You don’t get to like that word.” “I like accurate words.” “You like loopholes.” “Same ecosystem.” Mai stood from the table. Her eyes were still a little too bright, but her voice had settled. “Ace is right.” Kiro stared at her. Mai looked at Kiro directly. “No more tonight.” Kiro swallowed. The playfulness faded from her face for a second, leaving something more vulnerable underneath. The thing that chased patterns because ignoring them felt like letting something call unanswered in the dark. “Even if it matters?” Mai’s expression softened. “Especially if it matters.” Kiro looked down. Then nodded. “Okay.” Shammy watched them. The room felt gentler around that okay. Panam’s hand moved over Shammy’s wrist. Marco stopped moving dishes for a moment. Lena closed the notebook again. Reyes looked at Ace. Ace did not look away from Kiro and Mai. Her Shadow Aura had quieted, pooling low and protective. Reyes understood then, with a clarity the coffee had no right to give her, why Ace had replaced the label. Not because she was the most disciplined person in the room. She absolutely was not. Because she knew what wanting the bad idea felt like. And she knew someone had to put a body between wanting and doing. Even if the body was 120 centimeters tall and still vibrating slightly. Panam exhaled. “Good. Now nobody touches the drawer.” The coffee machine clicked. Everyone turned toward it. Reyes raised both hands. “I didn’t.” Ace stared at the machine. The label **QUESTIONABLE** still sat on its front. Shammy tilted her head. “The machine is cooling.” Marco said, “That better be all.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai looked at Kiro. Panam saw. “Do not make a theory about the machine.” Kiro whispered, “It might have thermal opinions.” Lena wrote a label without opening the notebook fully, tore it off, and handed it to Panam. Panam read it. Smiled for the first time with actual malice. She crossed to Kiro and stuck it gently to Kiro’s sleeve beneath **COFFEE TALKING.** Kiro looked down. **THERMAL OPINIONS ARE NOT SCIENCE.** Kiro stared at it. Then looked up, wounded beyond measure. “Mai.” Mai looked at the label. Then at Kiro. Then, with visible moral failure, said, “It is not entirely wrong.” Kiro gasped. Ace leaned into Reyes’s side, shaking with quiet laughter. Reyes looked down at her. “You good?” “No.” “Want water?” “Don’t Marco me.” Reyes reached for a glass and handed it to her. Ace took it. Drank. Then glared. Reyes smiled. “Too late.” The sealed bag remained locked. The crate remained somewhere in Watson, now known only to Lena and Reyes, which was still one person too many according to Panam and seventeen people too few according to Kiro. The night stretched ahead. Death’s Coffee had not finished with them. Not even close. But the second mistake had been prevented. For now. And that, in Safehouse terms, counted as a victory large enough for toast. Marco made more. No one had the strength to object. --- ## Chapter 11 — Victor Is Called Victor answered on the fourth ring. Not because he was asleep. Victor slept like a man who had made peace with interruption decades ago. Too lightly, too practically, and with the quiet awareness that Night City liked to test whether people still had friends at inconvenient hours. The holo came alive above Mai’s agent with a flicker of blue-white distortion. Victor’s face appeared in the projection. Tired. Unimpressed. Already suspicious. He looked at Mai first, because Mai had called and Mai did not waste late-night calls on nonsense unless the nonsense had begun developing teeth. Then he looked past her. His eyes moved across the Safehouse. Kiro at the table with two labels on her sleeve and the expression of a netrunner forcibly denied religion. Ace standing near a locked drawer labeled **TOMORROW’S PROBLEM** and **MAYBE NEVER**, barefoot, too bright-eyed, and vibrating with the moral discipline of a loaded spring. Reyes leaning against the counter with **WATCH REYES** and **NO CATEGORY DEFINITIONS** stuck to her sleeve. Panam on the couch beside Shammy, looking like she had spent the evening wrestling a family of caffeinated raccoons and lost on legal technicalities. Shammy with her hair slightly lifted, one hand resting on Panam’s ankle, eyes still electric enough that the holo projection glitched at the edge when she looked toward it. Marco in the kitchen, surrounded by enough food to feed a small road crew. Lena sitting with a notebook closed in front of her and the terrifying calm of a woman who had briefly become municipal authority and survived. Victor stared. Nobody spoke. Then Victor said, “No.” Mai folded her hands. “Victor.” “No.” “You do not know what happened.” Victor looked at the labels. Then at Reyes. Then at Kiro. Then at the coffee machine, which still wore **DO NOT BREW**, **SERIOUSLY**, **ALSO DO NOT MODIFY**, and **QUESTIONABLE**. “I know enough.” Kiro leaned forward. “Medically, you don’t.” Victor’s gaze moved to her. Kiro leaned back. “Emotionally, maybe.” Victor rubbed his forehead. “Who gave Kiro stimulants?” Everyone pointed at Reyes. Reyes pointed at the coffee machine. Ace pointed at Reyes with both hands. Panam pointed at Reyes and said, “Bulk coffee.” Victor stopped rubbing his forehead. “Bulk what?” Reyes looked at Panam. Panam looked back with zero remorse. Mai said, “We will return to that.” Victor looked at Reyes. “Reyes.” Reyes held up one hand. “Two samples were present.” Victor stared. “Were.” Ace smiled. “Oh, he heard it too.” Lena opened the notebook. Reyes closed her eyes. Victor’s eyes narrowed further. “How much?” “Not relevant to acute symptoms,” Mai said. Victor turned back toward Mai. “That means a lot.” “It means not currently consumed.” “How much?” Nobody answered. Victor looked at Ace. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes sighed. “Twenty-four bags.” Victor’s face went very still. Then he looked at the ceiling like he might find patience there. “Of what.” Mai lifted the empty Death’s Coffee packet with two fingers, holding it toward the holo. Victor leaned closer. Read the front. Read the back. His expression did not improve. “Death’s Coffee.” Kiro raised one hand. “It may induce cross-layer signal perception.” Victor stared at her. Mai said, “Possibly.” Panam made a furious sound. “Do not possibly that.” Victor pointed at the packet. “Who drank it?” Mai answered before anyone could embellish. “All of us. Very small dose, diluted heavily. One ingestion event. No repeat dosing. Remaining sample locked. Bulk crate not here.” Victor looked at Reyes. Reyes said nothing. Victor looked at Mai again. “Symptoms.” Mai began listing them with professional precision. “Heightened sensory processing. Motor restlessness. Accelerated speech. Pattern fixation. Increased environmental sensitivity. Mild tremor in some cases. Sleep inhibition likely. No chest pain reported. No loss of consciousness. No vomiting. No visible seizure activity. No acute psychosis.” Kiro raised one finger. “I saw the Wi-Fi.” Mai paused. “No acute psychosis that cannot be explained by sensory cross-association.” Victor looked at Kiro. Kiro smiled weakly. “The refrigerator is pessimistic.” Victor closed his eyes. Marco said, “She ate.” Victor opened his eyes again. “Good.” Marco looked deeply vindicated. “I said food first.” Victor pointed at him. “Keep doing that.” Marco nodded with the solemnity of a man receiving medical sanction for his life’s work. Panam leaned forward from the couch. “She heard the grid.” She tilted her head toward Shammy. “Shammy. Not Kiro. Well, maybe Kiro too, but Shammy got the whole building or block or whatever.” Victor looked at Shammy. His expression changed slightly. Not fear. Caution. He had learned enough around the Triad not to categorize Shammy’s symptoms like an ordinary patient, but he was too good a doctor to treat strangeness as decoration. “Shammy.” Shammy looked at him through the holo. “The city is loud.” Victor nodded slowly. “Louder than usual?” “Yes.” “Pain?” “No.” “Dizziness?” “No.” “Do you feel pulled into it?” Shammy considered with visible care. Panam’s fingers tightened around hers. “Earlier, almost. Not now.” Victor glanced at Panam’s hand. Then at the dimmed room. Then at Mai. “Good containment.” Mai inclined her head once. Panam looked slightly less ready to murder everyone. Slightly. Victor turned to Ace. “And you?” Ace stood by the drawer, arms folded. “Fine.” Victor stared. Ace stared back. The entire room reacted silently to the word **fine** with the collective skepticism of people who had survived each other too often. Victor did not need the help. “Ace.” She sighed. “Restless. Body too fast. Shadow Aura got annoyed. No injuries.” Victor looked at Mai. Mai nodded. “Accurate enough.” Victor looked at Reyes. Reyes said, “She did drills. No contact.” Panam cut in, “After almost letting the shadow challenge Reyes to a fight.” Victor did not blink. “Ace.” “It didn’t challenge her.” Shammy said, “It asked with teeth.” Victor looked at Shammy. Shammy looked peaceful. Victor looked back at Ace. Ace muttered, “Softly.” Victor rubbed his forehead again. Reyes said, “No chest pain. No fainting. No actual fight.” Victor looked at her sleeve. “Why does your arm say no category definitions?” Reyes glanced down. “Governance issue.” Lena said, “Repeated semantic evasion.” Victor looked at Lena. “You all made a government?” Lena answered calmly. “Briefly.” Marco said, “It worked.” Kiro added, “I hate that it worked.” Victor took a breath. “All right.” That got everyone’s attention. He shifted slightly on the holo, reaching for something off-screen. A second later, a faint rustle of paper and plastic came through the connection. Even in hologram form, Victor looked like the kind of man who knew where every practical thing was because other people’s bad decisions had forced him to become organized. “You do not need a counter-stimulant.” Kiro’s face fell. Victor pointed at her. “You especially do not need a counter-stimulant.” “I didn’t ask.” “You thought it.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai did not defend her. Betrayal everywhere. Victor continued, “Do not mix unknown synth-stimulants with sedatives unless someone starts crashing dangerously, seizing, developing severe cardiac symptoms, or losing contact with reality beyond…” He looked at the room again. “Whatever this is.” Ace lifted one hand. “Domestic stupidity.” Victor nodded once. “Close enough.” Panam looked vindicated by the phrase. Victor held up one finger. “Hydration. Food. Low light. Reduced signal exposure. No alcohol. No more caffeine, stim patches, energy drinks, combat boosters, focus shards, black-market wake tabs, experimental teas, or anything anyone in this room calls a microdose.” Kiro slowly lowered her eyes. Victor noticed. “Kiro.” “It was a theoretical microdose.” “No.” “Understood.” Mai’s gaze slid toward her. Kiro added, “Fully understood.” Victor looked at Reyes. “And no more Death’s Coffee.” Reyes said nothing. Panam stood halfway. “Reyes.” Reyes spread her hands. “I am not drinking more tonight.” Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Tonight.” Ace pointed at Reyes. “See?” Lena wrote something in the notebook. Reyes looked pained. Victor leaned closer to the holo. “Listen carefully. Peak effect likely lasts six to eight hours depending on metabolism and whatever illegal chemistry they used. Degraded overclock, twelve to eighteen. Functional recovery in twenty-four if nobody does anything stupid. Full reset, maybe thirty-six to forty-eight.” The room became very quiet. Kiro whispered, “Six to eight peak?” Panam whispered, “No.” Mai closed her eyes. Marco looked at the stove like he was calculating food reserves. Ace looked personally offended. Reyes looked like she had accepted a tactical weather report. Shammy looked at the ceiling. Lena wrote down the timing. Victor pointed. “Lena can document. Nobody else starts experiments.” Kiro made a strangled sound. Victor ignored it. “If heart rate spikes badly, if anyone gets chest pain, numbness, severe confusion, loss of motor control, or starts seeing things that are not normal for them—” He paused. “And I know that phrase is doing a lot of work around you people.” Ace murmured, “Reasonable.” “—you call me immediately or bring them in. Otherwise, ride it out.” Panam stared. “Ride it out.” Victor nodded. “Safely. Boringly. No projects.” Lena’s pen moved. Kiro sagged. Victor looked at the locked drawer. “Remaining sample?” “Locked,” Lena said. “Tomorrow, seal it in a separate container. Bring it to me or dispose through a proper hazardous route. Do not let Kiro analyze it.” Kiro looked wounded. Victor added, “Do not let Mai help Kiro analyze it.” Mai looked away. Victor was not finished. “Do not let Reyes transport the bulk crate alone.” Reyes straightened. “That seems excessive.” The room erupted. “No,” said Panam. “Accurate,” said Ace. “Medically sound,” said Mai. “Logistically necessary,” said Lena. “Food-related somehow,” Marco said, then shrugged when everyone looked at him. Shammy smiled. “The crate has future weather.” Victor stared at Shammy. Then at Reyes. “No solo transport.” Reyes crossed her arms. “Fine.” Ace looked at her. Reyes glanced down. “Fine with witnesses.” “Better,” Ace said. Victor sighed. “Good. Now all of you drink water, eat what Marco gives you, dim the lights, and try not to turn this into a story.” The entire room went silent for half a second. Then Kiro snorted. Ace looked away. Marco coughed. Panam closed her eyes. Mai’s mouth twitched. Victor stared. “Oh, hell.” Lena wrote one last line, turned the notebook toward the holo, and showed him. **TOO LATE.** Victor’s face went flat. Then he cut the call. ## Chapter 12 — Nobody Sleeps By 02:11, the Safehouse had become a badly organized recovery ward run by criminals, lovers, weather, and bread. No one slept. Not one person. They tried, or at least they performed the social gestures associated with trying. Panam turned off another light and announced that everyone was going to calm down. Ace said she was calm while standing on the arm of a chair. Mai suggested controlled breathing and then spent seven minutes watching Kiro’s breathing instead of doing her own. Kiro lay on the floor under a blanket because Marco had declared the floor “less fall-prone than chairs,” then whispered that the ceiling had a refresh rate. Reyes cleaned the same knife for the third time until Lena quietly took it and handed her a peeled orange. Reyes stared at the orange. Lena stared back. Reyes ate the orange. Marco considered this a victory for civilization. Shammy sat near the window with Panam beside her, the curtains mostly drawn, listening to the city grid at lower volume. Panam had one hand on Shammy’s wrist and the other wrapped around a mug of warm water because Marco had decided tea was too suspiciously adjacent to beverage-based escalation. The router wore four labels now. **QUIET.** **IGNORE.** **NOT A PUZZLE.** **KIRO, STILL NO.** At 02:26, Kiro turned her head toward it. Mai said, “No.” Kiro turned her head back. “I did not even finish looking.” “You began.” “That is dystopian.” Mai’s hand rested on the blanket near Kiro’s shoulder. “Yes.” Kiro looked up at her. “You agree too easily when you’re tired.” “I am not tired.” Everyone looked at Mai. Mai ignored the vote. Ace hopped down from the chair arm and landed too neatly. “Lie.” Mai looked at her. Ace pointed at her eyes. “You have the too-sharp thing.” Mai’s expression softened by one degree, which was a lot for 02:26 under stimulant siege. “I am tracking variables.” “You are avoiding tired by organizing it.” Kiro whispered from the floor, “That is hot but unhealthy.” Mai looked down. Kiro pulled the blanket over half her face. “Coffee talking.” Panam said, “I swear to every dead engine in the Badlands, if I hear that excuse one more time—” Shammy’s fingers tightened gently around Panam’s wrist. Panam stopped. Looked at her. Shammy smiled. “Your anger is tired.” Panam’s mouth opened. Closed. She sank back into the couch. “Yeah. Fine. It is.” Ace leaned against Reyes’s leg. Reyes looked down. “You doing furniture again?” Ace’s eyes remained on Mai. “You’re standing.” “Sharp observation.” “You should sit.” “That medical advice?” “No. Tactical. If you fall, you’re tall enough to damage property.” Reyes’s smile came and went. She sat on the floor beside Ace. Ace immediately shifted so their shoulders touched, then acted like that had happened because of spatial efficiency. Reyes let her have the lie. For now. Across the room, Marco yawned so widely his jaw clicked. Lena looked at him. “Sit.” “I am sitting.” “You are leaning.” “Leaning is adjacent.” “Marco.” He sat. Properly. On a chair near the kitchen, towel still over one shoulder. He looked at the counters, the dishes, the leftovers, the bowls, the labels, the empty water glasses waiting to be refilled, and visibly suffered from the knowledge that he was not currently fixing all of it. Lena saw. “Leave it.” Marco looked at her. “The kitchen—” “Will remain a kitchen until morning.” “It is making a face at me.” “That is caffeine.” Shammy, from the couch, said, “The kitchen feels full but not angry.” Marco turned toward her. “Helpful?” “Yes.” He exhaled. “Fine.” Lena leaned back. Then blinked. Deliberately. Ace pointed. “Good blink.” Lena looked at her. “I do not require blink supervision.” “You did earlier.” “One mistake.” “Documented.” “I am the documenter.” “Conflict of interest.” Reyes murmured, “No category definitions.” Lena turned her gaze toward Reyes’s sleeve. Reyes looked away. Ace smiled. The night moved in pieces. Nobody could stay still for long. Even the quiet ones were too awake in some wrong underlying way. The Death’s Coffee had become less sharp than the first peak, but it had not faded. It had sunk into the middle layers of them, turning fatigue into a closed door with light under it. They wanted sleep. Their bodies refused to unlock it. At 02:43, Kiro sat up suddenly. Everyone reacted. Mai’s hand was on her shoulder before Kiro finished inhaling. “What?” Kiro looked around. Then frowned. “I forgot.” Panam’s voice went flat. “You sat up like a haunted puppet because you forgot?” Kiro looked offended. “I remembered something was important. Then I lost the pointer.” Mai’s grip softened. “That is fatigue.” “No, it had a shape.” Ace looked toward the router. Kiro pointed at her. “Do not profile me.” “You are router-shaped.” “That is not a real category.” Lena lifted her pen. Kiro pointed at her too. “No.” Lena lowered the pen with visible regret. Marco stood again. Lena said, “Marco.” “I’m getting blankets.” “That is allowed.” He brought blankets. Too many. One for Kiro. One for Mai because Mai said she did not need one. One for Ace, who immediately rejected it and then stole half of Reyes’s instead. One for Reyes, who pretended not to notice Ace stealing it. One for Panam and Shammy, which became complicated because Shammy was too tall and Panam refused to admit she had moved closer to solve the coverage issue. One for Lena, who accepted hers after Marco simply placed it over her shoulders and walked away before she could negotiate. At 03:02, Kiro whispered, “If I close my eyes, I can still see the traffic pattern.” Mai answered softly, “Do not chase it.” “I am not chasing.” “Let it pass.” “It is rude.” “I know.” “It might matter.” “Yes.” Kiro turned her head. Mai looked down at her from the chair beside the floor nest. The room was dim enough that Mai’s silver hair caught only soft light now. Her eyes were still too clear, but tiredness had begun to pull warmth through the precision. Kiro’s voice lowered. “How do you do that?” “What?” “Let something matter and not follow it.” Mai did not answer right away. Ace looked over. Reyes felt her attention shift. Shammy’s eyes opened. Lena stilled. Marco, returning from the kitchen with more water, stopped before making sound. Mai’s hand remained on Kiro’s shoulder. “Badly,” she said. Kiro’s mouth tightened. “That was too honest.” “Yes.” A small laugh moved through the room. Not loud. Not joke-laughter. Recognition. Mai continued, quieter, “I let it go badly. With help.” Kiro swallowed. Then nodded once. “Okay.” Ace leaned her head back against the couch. “Also labels.” Mai’s mouth curved. “Yes. Also labels.” Lena lifted her chin. “Civilization.” Panam muttered, “Coffee fascism.” Lena replied, “Effective coffee fascism.” Reyes looked at her sleeve. “I hate that I can’t argue.” At 03:21, Shammy lifted her head. Panam tensed. “What?” Shammy listened. Everyone waited. Then Shammy said, “The elevator is asleep.” Marco whispered, “Thank God.” Kiro whispered, “Elevators sleep?” Panam pointed at her without looking away from Shammy. “No follow-up.” Shammy smiled faintly. “The building is quieter.” Panam’s shoulders lowered. “You?” “I am still awake.” “Yeah. Me too.” Shammy looked at Panam’s face, the tiredness around her mouth, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way road-weather clung to her even in dim Safehouse light. “You came back to chaos.” Panam snorted softly. “I usually do.” “This was more chaos.” “Yeah.” “I am glad you came back.” Panam stopped. Ace’s head turned immediately. Mai looked down. Kiro pulled the blanket up again but did not hide fast enough. Marco became intensely interested in pouring water. Lena did not reach for the notebook. Reyes looked at Ace, because Ace was the danger. Ace’s eyes were bright. Panam saw all of it. “Do not,” she said. Ace pressed her lips together. Shammy, unfairly serene, continued, “The room changed before you opened the door.” Panam’s face went red again. “Shammy.” “It did.” “We talked about waiting until Ace is farther away.” Ace whispered, “I am always near in spirit.” Panam threw a blanket at her. Ace caught it. Somehow. While seated. Reyes looked impressed. Ace wrapped the blanket around herself like stolen victory. “Mine now.” Marco pointed. “Good. Keep it.” Ace stared. “Damn it.” Kiro laughed under her blanket. For a while after that, everyone settled into strange positions. Not sleep. But something adjacent. The body’s compromise when the mind refused to power down. Mai sat beside Kiro’s floor nest, one hand resting where Kiro could reach if she needed to. Kiro’s eyes stayed open, but less painfully. Ace and Reyes sat shoulder to shoulder near the couch, Ace wrapped in the blanket Panam had thrown, Reyes with one knee up and her hands finally still. Shammy and Panam leaned together under insufficient blanket geometry. Marco sat in the kitchen chair, head tipped back, eyes closed but not asleep. Lena watched him for too long, then looked away before anyone teased her. At 03:48, Ace said, “Reyes.” “Hm.” “Why twenty-four?” Reyes opened one eye. Everyone else opened both. Reyes sighed. “You waited almost an hour to ask that.” “I was maturing.” Panam muttered, “First time.” Ace ignored her. Reyes considered lying. Not seriously. Just as a nostalgic gesture. “Bulk discount.” Ace turned her head. “That’s it?” “And free storage delivery.” Panam sat up. “You risked citywide caffeinated disaster for a discount?” Reyes looked at her. “Three crates for the price of two.” The silence was immediate. Mai said, very softly, “Three.” Reyes blinked. Ace slowly turned. Lena opened the notebook with the calm of an executioner unfolding a warrant. Reyes frowned. “No.” Panam stood. “What do you mean no?” “I did not buy three crates.” The room remained silent. Reyes looked around. “I bought one crate. The offer was three for two. I did not take it.” No one moved. Then Marco started clapping. Slowly. One clap. Two. Three. “Growth.” Kiro sat up under her blanket. “You resisted a discount?” Reyes pointed at her. “Do not make it sound heroic.” Mai looked at Reyes with genuine, horrified respect. “In context, it may be.” Panam sat down again. “I hate this context.” Ace looked at Reyes for a long moment. Then said, “Proud of you.” Reyes stared. Ace’s face remained completely serious. The room lost containment again. Reyes closed her eyes. “You’re all worse than the coffee.” Lena wrote: **REYES DECLINED TWO ADDITIONAL CRATES. PARTIAL REDEMPTION.** Reyes opened one eye. “Partial?” Lena did not look up. “You still bought one.” “Fair.” At 04:12, the first real crash signs began. Not the full crash. Just hairline cracks. Kiro tried to explain the emotional state of the ceiling and lost the sentence halfway through. Mai reached for a cup, missed it by two centimeters, looked at her hand like it had resigned. Ace stood up quickly, forgot why, and sat back down with deep suspicion of herself. Reyes walked to the kitchen, opened a drawer, stared into it, and said, “No idea.” Marco, from the chair, said, “Cup drawer.” Reyes looked down. It was. She closed it. “Didn’t need a cup.” Lena looked at her. Reyes added, “Apparently.” Panam laughed softly, then yawned so hard she looked personally offended by oxygen. Shammy closed her eyes and said, “The room is beginning to melt.” Marco sat up. “Bad melt or tired melt?” “Tired.” “Good.” Ace mumbled, “I am not tired.” Everyone looked at her. She was wrapped in a blanket, leaning sideways against Reyes, eyes half-lidded, Shadow Aura pooled around her like a dark cat that had finally stopped pretending not to nap. Reyes looked down. “You sure?” Ace nodded. Then blinked too slowly. “Mostly.” Mai’s voice came from the table, softer than before. “Victor said degraded overclock. This is the slope.” Kiro, from the floor, whispered, “I hate slopes.” Mai’s hand found hers under the blanket. “I know.” No one commented. That was kindness again. At 04:30, Marco stood with visible effort. “More water.” Lena looked at him. “Sit.” “Water.” “I will get it.” “You’re on blink probation.” “You are swaying.” Marco paused. Looked down at himself. “I am?” “Yes.” Reyes started to stand. Ace caught her sleeve. Reyes looked down. Ace’s eyes were closed now. “Don’t.” “I was going to help.” “You reorganize drawers when caffeinated.” Reyes sat back down. “Rude.” “Correct.” Panam stood instead, muttering, “Fine, I’ll get water because apparently I am the only responsible adult left.” Shammy, eyes still closed, said, “You threatened three people with exile.” “Responsible adults can do that.” Lena said, “Historically true.” Panam pointed toward her without turning. “I like you again.” “You never stopped.” “Don’t analyze me.” “That was observation.” Kiro whispered, “Observation is analysis with better shoes.” Mai made a tiny sound. Panam returned with water and handed cups around with the rough care of someone who complained because saying _I love you all, but you are exhausting_ would take too long and create evidence. At 04:57, Kiro finally stopped talking. Mai noticed within one second. “Kiro?” Kiro blinked. Slowly. Then whispered, “I lost the Wi-Fi.” Panam whispered, “Thank God.” Kiro looked sad. Mai’s face softened. “Good.” “It was pretty.” “It was dangerous.” “Both.” “Yes.” Kiro’s eyes filled unexpectedly. Not crying exactly. Just overload cracking into fatigue. Mai slid from the chair to the floor beside her. No drama. No announcement. She gathered Kiro carefully, giving her enough space to resist and enough certainty not to need to. Kiro leaned into her after half a second too long. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “Wanting to chase it.” Mai looked down. “I wanted to chase it too.” Kiro let out a broken little laugh. “That makes it worse.” “Yes.” Mai rested her cheek lightly against Kiro’s hair. “That is why we stopped.” Ace watched them from across the room. Reyes watched Ace. Panam watched Shammy pretending not to watch everyone. Marco watched Lena watching the room and not writing. Safehouse held. Not elegantly. Not cleanly. With crumbs, labels, blankets, water glasses, a modified coffee machine, a locked drawer, a hidden bulk crate, and eight people too awake to sleep but too tired to keep pretending the night was only funny. At 05:16, the rain slowed. The city outside changed pitch. Morning was still far away, but the deepest part of night had begun loosening its grip. Victor had been right. They were not out. But they were moving down the slope. Ace’s head settled against Reyes’s side. Reyes looked down. Ace’s eyes were closed. “Still not tired?” Reyes murmured. Ace’s voice came out small and dry. “Shut up.” Reyes smiled. Did not move. Across the room, Shammy opened one eye and looked at Panam. “The elevator is dreaming.” Panam, too tired to resist, said, “Good for it.” Kiro whispered from under Mai’s arm, “Ask what about.” Everyone said, “No.” The Safehouse, dim and labeled and warm, survived the hour. --- ## Chapter 13 — The Crash Begins Wrong The crash did not arrive like sleep. That would have been merciful. It arrived like a system update written by someone who hated bodies. At 05:41, Ace tried to stand, got halfway up, changed her mind, forgot why she had changed her mind, and sat back down with the wary expression of someone who suspected the floor had become political. Reyes looked down at her. “Problem?” Ace stared at the floor. “No.” “You sure?” “The floor moved wrong.” Panam, from the couch, lifted her head enough to glare. “The floor did not move.” Ace pointed at her without looking. “You were not involved.” “I was in the room.” “Different category.” Reyes’s sleeve still said **NO CATEGORY DEFINITIONS**, so she said nothing. Lena noticed and, despite everything, looked faintly pleased. Mai sat on the floor beside Kiro, one arm still around her. Kiro had become quiet in the way that made everyone check whether she was asleep, except she was not asleep, because every time someone thought she might be, she opened one eye and said something like, “The ceiling is less informative now,” or, “I miss the Wi-Fi but morally.” Mai had stopped correcting those statements. That was how everyone knew Mai was very tired. Marco had given up on pretending he was not crashing and now sat at the kitchen table with both hands around a glass of water, staring at nothing with the grave intensity of a man who had cooked through war and begun negotiating with dawn. Lena sat across from him, notebook closed, one finger resting on the cover as if guarding herself from the urge to document his posture. Shammy leaned against Panam on the couch, too tall for the blanket, too awake to sleep, too softened by fatigue to keep pretending the room did not matter. Panam had one arm awkwardly around her shoulders and wore an expression that said anyone who commented would be buried under nomad law. Ace wanted to comment. Ace also wanted to continue existing. These desires fought briefly. Existence won. For now. Reyes noticed the struggle and gave her a small look. Ace muttered, “Cowardice is tactical.” Reyes nodded. “Growth.” Ace glared. The Shadow Aura around her had grown lazy. That was the only word for it. It no longer prowled under the furniture with interested teeth. It pooled low around Ace’s feet and the edge of Reyes’s boot, occasionally deepening when Ace’s body remembered it was supposed to be moving, then softening again when the room remained safe. Shammy opened one eye. “Ace’s shadow is tired.” Ace turned her head slowly. “Do not diagnose my shadow.” “It is lying down emotionally.” Kiro whispered, “That is beautiful.” Ace pointed toward the floor. “It is not lying down. It is waiting.” Reyes looked at the dark pool near her boot. “For what?” Ace frowned. The Shadow Aura shifted half an inch. Everyone looked at it. Ace said, “Not helpful.” Mai’s voice came soft from beside Kiro. “Ace.” “What?” “Let it rest.” Ace’s jaw moved once. She looked at Mai. Something passed between them that did not need explanation. Old, foundational, weight-bearing. The kind of exchange that had existed before Shammy, before Night City, before labels and skull coffee and storage lockers full of future trouble. Ace exhaled. The Shadow Aura settled. Shammy smiled faintly. “The room liked that.” Panam’s eyes stayed closed. “The room is not getting another vote.” “The room is currently wiser than us.” “That’s because the room didn’t drink the coffee.” Kiro lifted one finger weakly from under the blanket. “Technically the room inhaled aromatic compounds.” “No,” said Panam. Kiro lowered the finger. “Worth a try.” At 05:53, Reyes got up. Everyone noticed. That, more than the motion, irritated her. She stood still beside Ace, looked around the room, and said, “Bathroom.” Panam pointed at her. “No detours.” Reyes looked at the hallway. Then at Panam. “What detour am I taking to the bathroom?” “You tell me. You’re the one with a storage locker full of bad decisions.” “It’s not in the bathroom.” Ace looked up sharply. Reyes looked down. The pause lasted one heartbeat too long. Ace’s smile began. “No.” Reyes closed her eyes. “I meant the crate.” Panam sat up. “What else is not in the bathroom?” “Nothing.” Mai lifted her head. “Reyes.” Reyes looked at her. Mai looked too tired to be dangerous. Which meant she was very dangerous. “Do you have any remaining Death’s Coffee outside the locked drawer and the storage crate?” “No.” Ace narrowed her eyes. Reyes added, “In my possession.” The room made a collective sound. Panam stood so fast Shammy had to catch the blanket. “In your possession?!” Reyes spread both hands. “I am answering accurately.” “That is exactly the problem,” Lena said. Reyes looked at her. Lena had opened the notebook. Nobody had seen it happen. Ace’s eyes lit with vicious delight. “Lena’s back.” Lena wrote without looking up. Marco leaned over to read and immediately started laughing in silent, exhausted bursts. “What?” Panam demanded. Lena turned the notebook. **REYES: ACCURATE ANSWERS REMAIN HAZARDOUS.** Reyes stared at it. “That is unfairly broad.” “Intentionally.” Mai closed her eyes again. “Reyes. Complete inventory.” Reyes sighed. “One sealed sample in the locked drawer. One bulk crate in storage. No other Death’s Coffee.” Ace raised one hand. “Define Death’s Coffee.” Reyes looked at her. Ace smiled. “You taught me this.” Reyes’s mouth twitched despite herself. “No other products from the Death’s Coffee vendor.” Panam’s expression sharpened. “That was too specific.” Reyes looked at the hallway. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the room. “There is a promotional mug.” Silence. Kiro sat up. Mai’s hand tightened around her shoulder. Kiro slowly sat back down. Panam stared. “A mug.” “It came with the order.” “You said nothing about a mug.” “It is a mug.” Ace’s smile widened. “What does it say?” Reyes did not answer. Ace started laughing before hearing it. Panam pointed at Reyes. “What. Does. It. Say.” Reyes looked at Lena. Lena waited with pen ready. Reyes said, “‘For Special Occasions.’” The room broke. Not loudly at first. It cracked. Marco folded over the table, one hand covering his face. Kiro made a sound from inside the blanket like a dying modem trying to giggle. Mai pressed her fingers against her eyes. Ace leaned back against the couch and laughed openly, Shadow Aura rippling around her in soft, absurd pulses. Panam stared at Reyes with the helpless rage of someone betrayed by merchandising. Shammy smiled. “The mug has destiny.” “No,” Panam said. “It does.” “It has landfill.” Reyes said, “It’s ceramic.” Panam turned on her. “That does not help.” Lena wrote: **PROMOTIONAL MUG: CONFISCATE.** Reyes opened her mouth. Lena looked up. Reyes closed it. “Fine.” Ace gasped between laughter. “You were going to fight for the mug.” “No.” “You were.” “It’s a good mug.” Panam threw another blanket at Reyes this time. Reyes caught it. Ace pointed at her. “Now you have to keep it.” Reyes looked at the blanket in her hands. Then at Panam. Panam was too tired to realize what she had done until too late. Ace looked triumphant. “Domestic evidence.” Panam groaned and sank back down beside Shammy. “I hate morning.” “It is not morning,” Mai said. “That makes it worse.” At 06:07, Kiro tried to explain why the promotional mug might itself count as an artifact. Mai placed one hand gently over Kiro’s mouth. Kiro did not resist. That was how everyone knew the crash was deepening. At 06:14, Marco stood up to refill water and walked to the wrong cabinet. He opened it. Stared. Closed it. Opened it again. Lena watched. “Marco.” “Hm?” “That is the spice cabinet.” He looked at it. “So it is.” “You wanted water.” “Yes.” “Wrong cabinet.” He nodded. “Wanted spicy water.” Ace laughed so hard she made no sound. Reyes leaned against the wall with both eyes closed. Panam whispered, “We are dying.” Victor had specifically said they were not dying. But by 06:20, the distinction felt bureaucratic. The crash did not make them sleepy enough. It made them stupidly awake. Brains skipping. Bodies heavy. Thoughts too bright and too slippery. Every minor task became a small negotiation with a nervous system that had been promised violence and given soup. Mai reached for her cup and missed again. This time Kiro gently moved the cup into her hand. Mai looked down at it. Then at Kiro. “Thank you.” Kiro smiled, faint and tired. “I am useful without Wi-Fi.” Mai’s face softened completely for one unguarded second. “Yes.” Ace saw. Ace was too tired to tease. That was historic. Lena probably would have documented it if she had not been staring at Marco trying to pour water into a bowl instead of a glass. “Marco.” He stopped. Looked down. “Bowl.” “Yes.” “Still holds water.” “Glass.” He sighed. “Fine.” Reyes finally went to the bathroom under the supervision of three separate glares and one label that Lena slapped onto the hallway wall as she passed: **BATHROOM ONLY.** Reyes stopped. Looked at it. Then at Lena. “I know where the bathroom is.” Lena blinked. “Good.” Reyes continued down the hall. Ace called after her, “No mug rescue missions.” Reyes’s voice came back dry and immediate. “That is later.” Panam shouted, “REYES.” From the bathroom: “Joke.” Ace leaned into the couch, eyes bright. “Was it?” Reyes did not answer. Lena added a second label to the hallway wall. **MUG RESCUE MISSIONS PROHIBITED.** Shammy watched the label go up. “The hallway feels safer.” Panam muttered, “The hallway is complicit.” At 06:31, the rain stopped. Everyone noticed. Not because rain stopping was dramatic. Because the Safehouse had become tuned to every sound in the world like a badly overclocked instrument, and the sudden absence landed hard. The windows went quiet. The city did not. But the rain’s rhythm vanished, and with it, some of the room’s cover. Kiro opened her eyes. “I miss the rain.” Shammy nodded. “The rain gave the city a blanket.” Marco, finally holding the correct glass, looked toward the window. “That’s nice.” Panam frowned. “That is nice.” Ace pointed weakly toward Shammy. “Coffee made her poetic.” Mai shook her head. “No. Coffee made us too tired to pretend we don’t like it.” Ace considered that. Then nodded. “Worse.” Reyes returned and sat beside Ace again, now carrying no mug, no suspicious object, and a facial expression that claimed compliance while preserving several appellate options. Ace looked her over. “No mug.” “No mug.” “Hands.” Reyes held them out. Ace inspected them. Panam stared. “Are we doing prison intake now?” Ace did not look away from Reyes’s hands. “She has priors.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. Lena wrote: **REYES: PRIORS.** Reyes lowered her hands. “You people are building a case.” Mai’s voice was soft with fatigue. “You brought evidence.” “Samples.” “Evidence.” “Fine.” Ace leaned sideways until her shoulder pressed against Reyes’s arm. “Coffee criminal.” Reyes let her. “Haunted parkour.” Ace smiled without opening her eyes. “Thermal opinions.” Kiro, almost asleep now, lifted one hand weakly. “Not science.” “Supervised signal goblin.” Kiro lowered her hand. “Hurtful.” Marco sat back down. “Food pressure.” Shammy smiled. “Road dust.” Panam pointed at her with the slow weakness of the nearly defeated. “No.” Lena, quietly, “Blushing.” Panam dropped her hand. “I regret returning.” Shammy leaned into her. “No.” Panam looked at the ceiling. “…No.” Nobody teased the correction. They had enough sense left for that. The crash kept pulling them down in uneven little steps. Ace’s head dipped once against Reyes’s side, jerked up, then dipped again. Reyes shifted just enough to support her without making it obvious. Ace allowed the lie because she was too tired to punish it. Mai’s eyes closed while sitting up, but opened whenever Kiro moved. Kiro finally stopped fighting the blanket and curled toward Mai like the floor had become acceptable through proximity. Shammy’s head rested on Panam’s shoulder, which required geometry the couch had not been designed for. Panam adjusted anyway, grumbling under her breath about tall atmospheric disasters and their lack of respect for furniture. Marco leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Lena watched him for a moment, then stood, crossed the kitchen, and took the towel off his shoulder. She folded it once, placed it on the counter, and returned to her seat. Marco opened one eye. “Thank you.” “Sleep.” “Can’t.” “Try quietly.” He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” Lena did not warn him this time. At 06:52, the first person fell asleep. Not Kiro. Not Ace. Not Marco. Shammy. It happened mid-breath. One moment her eyes were half-open, following some distant vibration only she could hear. The next, her breathing deepened, and the air around the couch softened as if the room had finally been given permission to stop performing alertness. Panam looked down at her. Nobody spoke. Panam’s expression changed in tiny layers. Relief. Exhaustion. Affection. A flash of possessive protectiveness she would have denied under oath. Then something quieter. Ace, eyes half-closed, whispered, “Weather offline.” Panam looked at her. Ace’s face was too tired to be wicked. Mostly. Panam whispered back, “Say one more word and I’ll throw you out the window.” Ace smiled. “Window tired too.” Reyes put one hand over Ace’s mouth. Ace did not fight it. Another historic event. Lena saw. She did not write it down. That made it sacred. At 07:03, Kiro finally slept. At least, the room thought she did. Her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. Her fingers stopped twitching. Mai watched for another minute, then another, until Ace opened one eye and said, “She’s asleep.” Mai did not look away. “I know.” “Then stop guarding.” Mai’s voice was barely above breath. “I am not guarding.” Ace made a small sound. Mai looked at her. Ace’s eyes were soft with exhaustion. “You’re allowed.” Mai’s expression shifted. Just once. Then she let her head rest back against the chair and kept one hand near Kiro’s shoulder. “Then I am guarding.” Ace closed her eye again. “Good.” Reyes looked down at Ace. Ace had fallen asleep between one breath and the next. Mouth slightly open. Hair in her face. Blanket crooked. Shadow Aura pooled around her feet like exhausted night. Reyes did not move. Panam, still awake with Shammy asleep against her, looked over. Their eyes met. For once, neither of them made a joke. The Safehouse was quiet. Not clean. Not sane. Not free of future trouble sitting in a storage locker under a phrase that had already become household threat language. But quiet. At 07:17, Lena stood and placed one final label on the locked drawer. Not big. Not dramatic. Just enough. **WE SURVIVED THIS ONCE. DO NOT MAKE IT TWICE.** Then she looked at Reyes. Reyes, unable to move without waking Ace, lifted one hand in surrender. Lena nodded. The crash continued. Wrong, slow, uneven, ridiculous. But it was finally winning. ## Chapter 14 — Fourteen Hours Later Ace woke up under the table. This was not the strangest thing that had happened. It was not even the strangest sleeping location in the room. That honor belonged to Kiro, who had somehow migrated halfway under a blanket, halfway beside Mai’s chair, one hand still gripping a bread crust like it contained passwords. Ace opened one eye. The underside of the table stared back at her with cheap practical wood grain and one small label stuck to the crossbeam. She squinted. **ACE WAS HERE.** Ace stared at it. Then closed her eye. “No.” Her voice came out like gravel had been taught sarcasm. Somewhere nearby, Reyes said, “Morning.” Ace opened her eye again. Reyes sat on the floor beside the couch, back against the wall, one knee up, hair loose now and a little disastrous. She looked like she had slept badly, briefly, and with one hand ready to reach for a weapon if the furniture blinked wrong. Ace turned her head. “Why am I under the table?” Reyes looked at the table. Then at Ace. “You said the floor had better moral clarity.” Ace processed that. “Did I?” “Yes.” “Was I right?” “Hard to say. You crawled under the table and fell asleep before defending the position.” Ace considered this. Then noticed Reyes’s sleeve. The labels were still there. **WATCH REYES.** **NO CATEGORY DEFINITIONS.** Under them, a new one had been added. **MUG CONFISCATION PENDING.** Ace stared. A slow smile began. Reyes looked down at the sleeve. Then closed her eyes. “Lena.” From the kitchen table, Lena’s voice came calm and rough with sleep. “Yes.” Ace began laughing under the table. It hurt. Everything hurt a little. Not injury hurt. Bad sleep, stimulant crash, too much movement, too much laughing, too much body, too much awake. Her muscles felt like someone had run a wire through them and then unplugged the wrong end. She crawled out from under the table with no dignity and decided dignity had been overrated anyway. Mai was asleep sitting upright in a chair, one hand resting near Kiro’s shoulder. Her silver hair had come loose in several places. A label sat on the table in front of her. **DO NOT WAKE UNLESS ACTUALLY ON FIRE.** Kiro’s blanket had three labels. **SLEEPING.** **NO ROUTER.** **YES, STILL NO ROUTER.** Marco was asleep in the kitchen chair with his head tipped back and a folded towel under his neck. Someone — Lena, obviously — had placed a blanket over him. His mouth was slightly open. One hand still rested near an empty water pitcher, as if he had fallen asleep guarding hydration. His label read: **FOOD PRESSURE OFFLINE.** Ace made a sound. Reyes looked at her. “Don’t wake them.” “I’m dying.” “No.” “Quietly.” “Still no.” Panam was half-awake on the couch, trapped under Shammy. Not fully under. That would have been a medical event, considering Shammy’s height. But Shammy had folded herself across the couch in a way that made no furniture sense whatsoever, one long arm draped over Panam’s waist, head near Panam’s shoulder, hair spilled silver-white across the blanket and Panam’s shirt. Panam looked pinned by affection and resigned to death by tall weather. A label on the couch arm said: **DO NOT DISTURB WEATHER SYSTEM.** Panam opened one eye. Saw Ace staring. “Say nothing.” Ace held both hands up. “I respect weather safety.” Panam’s eye narrowed. “You are still under observation.” Ace crawled closer to Reyes instead of answering and leaned against her side. Reyes looked down. “Furniture?” “Structural recovery.” “Category definition.” Ace pointed weakly at her sleeve. “You’re banned.” Reyes sighed. “Right.” The Safehouse after the incident looked like a disaster had lost momentum halfway through filing a report. Labels everywhere. Bowls stacked badly but not dangerously. Water glasses on nearly every surface. A coffee machine with accusation paperwork still attached. Curtains half-drawn. Blankets in impossible migration patterns. One plate of toast on the counter with a label: **NOT FOR ACE.** Ace stared at it. Reyes followed her gaze. “No.” “I didn’t—” “No.” Ace looked offended. Reyes added, “It’s probably old.” Ace relaxed. “Then I don’t want it.” “Good.” “Unless Marco wakes up and says it’s fine.” “No.” From the kitchen table, Lena opened one eye. “It is not fine.” Ace startled slightly. “Were you awake?” “Yes.” “How long?” “Yes.” Reyes murmured, “Terrifying.” Lena sat up slowly, looking too composed for someone who had slept folded over a table for possibly three hours. Her hair had loosened slightly. One cheek had a faint crease from her sleeve. Ace saw it. Lena saw Ace see it. Ace chose mercy. Mostly because Lena controlled documentation. Lena looked around the room. Her gaze moved from person to person, labels to labels, mess to mess. Not judgmental. Inventory. Continuity returning to consciousness. Then she looked at Reyes. “Mug.” Reyes closed her eyes. Panam made a victorious sound from under Shammy’s arm. Ace lifted her head. “Yes. Mug.” Reyes did not move. Ace poked her leg. “Mug.” “Later.” Lena’s gaze sharpened. “Now.” Reyes looked at the room. “People are sleeping.” “Send location.” “It is in the storage locker.” Panam’s eye opened fully. “You left the mug with the crate?” “It came with the crate.” “So the mug is guarding the coffee.” Reyes looked at Panam. “That is not how mugs work.” Kiro, apparently awake now, whispered from the floor, “Symbolically, maybe.” Mai’s hand immediately touched her shoulder. Kiro sighed. “Good morning to oppression.” Mai opened her eyes. Looked around. Looked at Kiro. Looked at the router. Looked at the labels. Then closed her eyes again. “No.” Kiro smiled faintly. “I didn’t ask.” “You woke up in an asking posture.” Ace sat up straighter. “That’s a thing?” Mai, eyes still closed, said, “With Kiro, yes.” Kiro looked deeply wronged. Marco woke with a snort. “Food?” Everyone turned to him. He blinked. Looked around. “Why does my neck say offline?” Lena looked at the label. “Because you were.” Marco touched it. “Fair.” Then he looked at the counter, the dishes, the old toast, the scattered bowls, the depleted water supply, and made the mistake of trying to stand too fast. He sat back down immediately. Lena pointed at him. “No.” Marco nodded. “No.” Ace looked at Reyes. “Food pressure weak.” Reyes nodded. “System reboot.” Marco rubbed his face. “I hate that I understand.” Shammy stirred. The room quieted automatically. Her hair shifted over Panam’s shoulder in a faint static whisper. Panam looked down at her with the expression of someone deeply inconvenienced by tenderness and unwilling to trade it for anything. Shammy opened her eyes. Blue. Soft. Confused for half a second. Then aware. “The elevator?” Panam sighed. “Still not our problem.” Shammy smiled. “Good.” Then she noticed she was sprawled over Panam. Paused. Looked at Panam. Panam stared back. “Don’t.” “I am large.” “Yes.” “I may have trapped you.” “Yes.” “Are you angry?” Panam looked around the room. Ace was awake enough to weaponize this. Kiro was awake enough to narrate it. Mai was awake enough to pretend she would not enjoy that. Marco and Lena were both conscious. Reyes was already smiling. Panam exhaled through her nose. “No.” Shammy’s smile warmed. Panam pointed at everyone else. “Anyone says anything, I’m leaving them with the coffee crate.” Ace lifted both hands. “Nuclear option.” Kiro whispered, “Harsh but effective.” Lena wrote, without looking at the page: **COFFEE CRATE AS PUNISHMENT: REJECTED. TOO DANGEROUS.** Panam stared. “You’re writing again.” Lena looked down at the notebook. Then at her own hand. “Yes.” Marco smiled. “Good blink?” Lena blinked at him slowly. “Do not manage me.” He held up both hands. “Yes, ma’am.” She pointed the pen at him. “Careful.” He smiled wider. Ace leaned toward Reyes. “They’re flirting through occupational safety.” Reyes nodded. “Efficient.” Lena looked at both of them. Ace and Reyes both looked away. Mai finally sat up fully. She looked awful in a beautiful, precise way: too pale, eyes tired, hair loose, posture trying to reassemble dignity from bad materials. Kiro looked at her and immediately forgot to be funny. “You okay?” Kiro asked. Mai looked down. “Yes.” Kiro stared. Mai exhaled. “No. But sufficiently.” Kiro smiled. “That sounds real.” “It is.” Ace watched them, then looked away before the softness got too visible. Reyes noticed. Ace saw that too and elbowed her lightly. “Don’t.” “I didn’t.” “You were thinking.” “Still legal.” “Barely.” Marco stood again, slower this time. Lena allowed it. He surveyed the kitchen like a battlefield medic returning to a field hospital after a storm. “We need breakfast.” Panam laughed. It startled everyone. Even Panam. She rubbed her face. “Sorry. It’s just… of course. Of course we need breakfast. We nearly turned coffee into a household governance crisis, nobody slept, Shammy diagnosed an elevator, Reyes bought a cursed mug, and Marco wakes up like the answer is eggs.” Marco looked at her. “The answer is often eggs.” Lena nodded. “Not always. Often.” Kiro raised one hand weakly. “Can coffee be involved?” Everyone turned. Kiro lowered the hand. “Normal coffee?” Panam’s face went blank with horror. Mai looked at the coffee machine. The coffee machine, still labeled and morally compromised, sat on the counter. Reyes said, “I fixed it.” Everyone looked at her. Reyes added, “No Death’s Coffee. Normal coffee.” Ace stared at the machine. Then at Reyes. Then at Mai. Mai considered. Panam said, “Are we seriously considering more coffee?” Marco looked spiritually torn. Lena leaned back. “No one touches coffee until Victor checks in.” As if summoned by professional irritation, Mai’s agent pinged. Victor. Mai answered. Victor’s holo appeared above the table. He looked less tired than them, which was offensive. He looked at the room. Labels. Blankets. Bodies. Shame. Breakfast indecision. His expression settled into something between relief and judgment. “All alive.” Panam pointed at the holo. “Barely.” Victor looked at Kiro. Kiro waved weakly. “I lost the Wi-Fi.” “Good.” “I miss it.” “Expected.” Mai said, “Symptoms decreasing. No acute cardiac concerns. Significant fatigue. Cognitive drift. Motor heaviness. Sleep fragmentation.” Victor nodded. “Normal for stimulant crash. No more caffeine today.” The entire room reacted. Marco froze. Ace closed her eyes. Reyes looked away. Kiro whispered, “Not even normal coffee?” Victor looked at her. Kiro pulled the blanket up. “Understood.” Panam pointed at the holo. “Thank you.” Victor continued, “Food. Water. Rest. Quiet. No driving unless necessary. No jobs today. No analysis sessions. No sparring. No experimenting with the remaining sample.” Mai said, “Sample remains locked.” “Good. Bring it to me later. Not now. Later when someone not actively stupid can transport it.” Everyone looked at Reyes. Reyes spread both hands. “Why me?” Victor looked at the labels on her sleeve. Reyes lowered her hands. “Fine.” Victor looked at Lena. “You have crate location?” “Yes.” “Good. Do not retrieve it alone.” Lena nodded. Victor looked at Panam. “You may be the only one I trust to drive right now.” Panam looked around the room. Then at Victor. “That is bleak.” “Yes.” Shammy leaned against Panam. “She threatened the coffee crate as punishment.” Victor paused. “Don’t do that.” Panam sighed. “Fine.” Victor’s gaze moved to Ace. “You.” Ace pointed at herself. “Me?” “Rest.” “I am resting.” “You are upright.” “Recently.” “Horizontal is better.” Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes raised one eyebrow. Ace looked back at Victor. “Negotiable.” Victor did not blink. “Ace.” Ace sighed. “Yes.” Victor looked at Mai. “You too.” Mai inclined her head. Victor looked at Kiro. “No systems.” Kiro made a dying sound. Victor ignored it. Then he looked at the room as a whole. “And for the love of whatever any of you still pretend to respect, do not make this a tradition.” Silence. Reyes looked at the floor. Ace’s head turned slowly toward her. Panam saw. Mai saw. Lena saw. Kiro saw and sat up. Marco looked confused for half a second, then horrified. Victor’s eyes narrowed. “What.” Ace smiled. “Reyes?” Reyes closed her eyes. “Not now.” Victor leaned toward the holo. “What does ‘not now’ mean?” Panam pointed at Reyes. “She bought the bulk crate for special occasions.” Victor stared. The room waited. Victor’s face changed very slowly. Not shock. Not anger. Something worse. Medical disappointment reaching spiritual depth. “Reyes.” Reyes looked at the holo. “Yes?” “Give the crate to Lena.” Reyes opened her mouth. Victor lifted one finger. “Do not define categories.” Reyes closed her mouth. Ace laughed so hard she had to lie back down on the floor. Victor looked at her. “Good. Stay there.” Ace gave him a weak thumbs-up. Kiro whispered, “Victor has entered the governance system.” Lena wrote: **VICTOR: TEMPORARY EXTERNAL AUTHORITY.** Victor read it. For the first time since answering the call, he smiled. Small. Tired. Real. “Good. Use it.” Then he cut the call. The room sat in the aftermath. No coffee. No jobs. No analysis. No sparring. No crate retrieval alone. No tradition. The list was oppressive. Also lifesaving. Marco took a deep breath. “All right.” Panam looked at him. “If you say eggs—” “Toast.” Panam stared. Marco smiled faintly. “Light breakfast.” Lena nodded approval. Kiro lay back down. Mai slid from her chair to the floor beside her because dignity had officially ended several hours ago. Shammy slowly untangled herself from Panam enough to let Panam’s legs regain circulation, then immediately leaned into her side again because circulation was apparently less important than comfort. Ace lay flat on the floor, arms spread, looking up at the table. Reyes looked down at her. “Horizontal.” Ace did not move. “I am obeying medical advice.” “You’re under the table again.” “Floor has moral clarity.” Reyes sat beside her. Panam, from the couch, muttered, “I am never drinking anything with a skull on it again.” Kiro whispered, “What if the skull is tasteful?” “No.” “Minimalist?” “No.” “Medicinal?” Mai, eyes closed, said, “Kiro.” “Fine.” Lena looked at Reyes. “Mug.” Reyes sighed. “Later.” Lena’s pen hovered. Reyes added, “With witnesses.” The pen lowered. Ace smiled up at the underside of the table. There was another label there now. She had not seen it before. **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS: ABSOLUTELY NOT.** Ace stared at it. Then laughed. Not hard. Not wild. Just enough. The room heard. And slowly, painfully, stupidly, everyone else began laughing too. Not because it was over. It was not. The crash would last all day. The crate still existed. The mug still existed. The remaining sample still waited for Victor. The Safehouse still looked like a cautionary tale written by household objects. But everyone was alive. Everyone was home. And for the moment, no one was drinking coffee. That counted. --- ## Chapter 15 — Never Again By noon, the Safehouse had achieved the atmosphere of a battlefield after the fighting stopped and everyone realized the cleanup crew was also concussed. No one moved quickly. No one spoke loudly. No one said the word coffee without first checking Panam’s face. The windows were open just enough to let in air and not enough to let Night City pretend it had been invited. Pale daylight sat across the floor in strips. It made the labels look even more ridiculous. There were so many labels now. Some useful. Some historical. Some clearly written during neurological decline. On the coffee machine: **DO NOT BREW.** **SERIOUSLY.** **ALSO DO NOT MODIFY.** **QUESTIONABLE.** On the router: **QUIET.** **IGNORE.** **NOT A PUZZLE.** **KIRO, STILL NO.** On the wall: **HAUNTED PARKOUR ZONE.** On the locked drawer: **TOMORROW’S PROBLEM.** **MAYBE NEVER.** **WE SURVIVED THIS ONCE. DO NOT MAKE IT TWICE.** And under the table, where Ace had woken up: **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS: ABSOLUTELY NOT.** Ace sat at the table now, wrapped in Panam’s thrown blanket like a captured criminal queen. She had both elbows on the surface and her chin in her hands. Her eyes were open. Mostly. Her hair had lost every argument it had ever had with sleep, motion, static, and furniture. Mai sat beside her with a cup of water. Not tea. Not coffee. Water. She held it with both hands as if daring reality to make it more interesting. Kiro had her head on the table, cheek pressed to one arm, staring at the router with the expression of someone watching a forbidden lover through prison glass. Mai reached out without looking and turned Kiro’s face gently away from it. Kiro sighed. “Oppression.” “Hydration,” Mai corrected. “They can coexist.” “Unfortunately.” Marco was making breakfast. Light breakfast. He had said that three times, possibly to reassure Panam, possibly to reassure himself. It had still become eggs, toast, fruit, broth, and something in a pan that smelled too good for anyone to object with moral force. Lena sat near him, notebook open again, but the pen moved slowly now. No longer emergency governance. More archival damage assessment. Panam leaned against the counter with both arms crossed, hair messy, eyes tired, boots still on. She had the look of someone prepared to ban entire categories of beverages by force. Shammy stood near the open window, too tall for the room in the gentle familiar way, hair loose down her back, eyes softer than the morning deserved. One hand rested against the window frame. The air around her had settled. No static halo. No electrical lift. Just quiet pressure, like weather after a storm has decided not to apologize but has at least stopped throwing branches. Reyes stood by the far counter. Not because she had been exiled. Because everyone kept looking at her like she might produce another packet from behind her back. She had emptied her pockets twice. Ace had searched her jacket. Lena had supervised. Panam had called it “insufficient but emotionally satisfying.” Reyes accepted this with the dignity of a woman who had purchased twenty-four bags of illegal skull coffee and therefore had no remaining legal defense. Marco set plates down. “Eat.” Nobody argued. That was how bad it had gotten. For several minutes, the only sounds were utensils, water glasses, Marco moving through the kitchen, and Kiro occasionally making a small sad noise when her gaze drifted router-ward and Mai corrected it with one finger under her chin. Ace watched this happen three times. On the fourth, she said, “Leash.” Kiro lifted her head. “I am not leashed.” Mai turned Kiro’s face back toward the plate. Kiro paused. “…Emotionally guided.” Ace smiled. Mai’s mouth twitched. Panam pointed at both of them. “No flirting with containment.” Kiro whispered, “That is a sentence.” Lena wrote it down. Panam groaned. “Of course it is.” Shammy turned from the window. “The room is less sharp now.” Marco nodded. “Good.” “It is still ashamed.” Ace looked around. “The room should be.” Reyes lifted one eyebrow. Ace pointed at her. “You most of all.” Reyes accepted the hit. “Fair.” Panam pushed off the counter. “All right. We are making rules.” Everyone looked at her. Kiro whispered, “Government change.” Lena’s pen paused. Panam pointed at Lena. “You can document.” Lena nodded. Panam lifted one finger. “Rule one. No Death’s Coffee in Safehouse.” Lena wrote. “Rule two. No Death’s Coffee around netrunners.” Kiro raised a weak hand. “Discriminatory.” Mai gently lowered it. “Accurate.” “Emotionally discriminatory.” “Still accurate.” Panam lifted a third finger. “Rule three. No Death’s Coffee around Shammy unless we want the city grid to become a conversation partner.” Shammy considered. “The grid was not a good conversationalist.” “Exactly.” Lena wrote. Panam turned toward Ace. “Rule four. No Death’s Coffee before movement drills, sparring, blades, haunted parkour, or anything Ace describes as ‘just moving.’” Ace frowned. “That is broad.” “Yes.” “Oppressive.” “Correct.” Mai said, “Add furniture.” Panam nodded. “And furniture.” Ace stared at Mai. Mai sipped water. Reyes’s mouth twitched. Ace turned on her. “You are not safe.” “I never claimed to be.” Panam pointed at Reyes. “Rule five. Reyes does not buy stimulant products unsupervised.” Reyes crossed her arms. “That seems personal.” “It has your name in it.” “Yes.” “Good.” Lena wrote carefully. Reyes looked at Ace. Ace looked smug. Panam added, “Rule six. Any future storage locker containing beverage-based crimes belongs to Lena’s authority.” Lena looked up. “I do not want beverage authority.” “You have it.” “I reject the office.” “Denied.” Marco smiled. “Congratulations.” Lena looked at him. He immediately became busy with the pan. Kiro raised her head. “Can we define beverage-based crimes?” Everyone looked at Reyes. Reyes said, “No category definitions.” Kiro lowered her head again. “House law is brutal.” Panam lifted another finger. “Rule seven. The phrase ‘for special occasions’ is banned.” Reyes looked up. “No.” The room went silent. Panam turned very slowly. Reyes held her ground. Ace’s eyes brightened. Mai sat straighter. Kiro lifted her head again. Lena’s pen stopped. Marco whispered, “Oh no.” Shammy smiled. Panam said, “Excuse me?” Reyes looked tired. Still Reyes. Still dry. Still somehow willing to stand in front of the train because the wording mattered. “You can ban the coffee. You cannot ban the phrase.” Panam stared. “You are defending the phrase.” “Yes.” “The phrase attached to the crate.” “Yes.” Ace leaned forward. “Why?” Reyes looked at her. For once, the answer did not come immediately. That made everyone more careful. Reyes glanced at the labels. The locked drawer. The people half-collapsed around the table. Shammy at the window. Marco feeding them. Lena writing them back into order. Mai and Kiro not chasing the beautiful dangerous thing. Panam furious because fury was easier than saying she had been scared. Ace wrapped in a blanket, tiny and lethal and alive. Then Reyes shrugged. Small. Not dismissive. Defensive. “Because not every special occasion has to involve the coffee.” Silence held. A different silence this time. Ace’s smile softened first. Mai’s expression changed next, almost invisible. Shammy’s hair shifted in an air current that did not come from outside. Panam’s face stayed hard for two seconds too long. Then she looked away. “Damn it.” Kiro whispered, “That was inconveniently sweet.” Reyes pointed at her. “No.” Kiro put both hands up. “Observation only.” Lena resumed writing. Panam looked back at Reyes. “Fine. The phrase is not banned.” Reyes nodded once. “But,” Panam continued, sharper, “the phrase cannot be used as a defense.” Lena wrote. Reyes considered. “Fair.” Ace pointed at her. “And no Death’s Coffee special occasions without full room vote.” Panam snapped her fingers. “Yes.” Mai added, “Unanimous vote.” Kiro’s head lifted with hope. Mai looked at her. “Excluding the requester.” Kiro dropped her forehead back to the table. Marco added, “And Victor gets veto power.” Reyes grimaced. Lena nodded. “External authority retained.” Panam said, “Good.” Shammy raised one hand slightly. “The room may also vote.” Panam closed her eyes. “No.” Shammy smiled. “Worth asking.” Ace looked at Reyes. “You still have to surrender the mug.” Reyes looked toward the hallway as if the mug might somehow appear and rescue itself. “It’s a good mug.” Panam slammed one hand on the counter. “It says For Special Occasions.” “That is why it’s good.” Ace’s grin returned. “You are going to die on the mug hill?” “No. I am standing near it.” Mai said, “That is a category definition.” Reyes looked at her. Mai’s tired eyes were merciless. Reyes looked at Lena. Lena’s pen hovered. Reyes sighed. “Fine. Mug goes to Lena.” Lena looked genuinely alarmed. “I do not want the mug either.” Marco pointed the spatula. “Victor.” Everyone turned. Marco shrugged. “He already hates this. Give him the mug.” Ace began laughing again, quieter this time because her ribs had filed a complaint hours ago. Kiro lifted her face from the table. “Victor with a ‘For Special Occasions’ mug.” Mai covered her mouth. Panam stared into middle distance. “Oh, that is horrible.” Reyes considered it. Then her mouth twitched. “That might be worth surrendering it.” Lena wrote: **MUG DESTINATION: VICTOR. PUNISHMENT / MEDICAL EVIDENCE.** Shammy looked delighted. “The mug will have a doctor.” Panam rubbed her face. “This family is impossible.” Ace said, “Orbit.” Panam looked at her. Ace did not elaborate. She did not need to. The word sat there between them: not a formal title, not a system anyone had voted into existence, not a thing Night City would understand if it saw it on a contract. Orbit. The people around the Triad who pulled, stabilized, irritated, fed, teased, loved, returned, left, came back, and made sure the house remembered it was not only a weapon storage site with rent. Panam’s expression softened despite her best efforts. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Orbit.” Marco placed the last plate down. “Then Orbit eats.” Kiro whispered, “Oppressive but effective.” Lena said, “You used that already.” “I am crash-looping.” “Allowed.” Mai touched Kiro’s hair lightly. Kiro went still. Ace saw. This time she did not tease. Not because she lacked material. Because she understood the recovery moment when it appeared. The room had been wrung out, laughed stupid, frightened lightly, fed repeatedly, labeled into survival, and now tenderness had begun leaking through the cracks. It was not a solemn tenderness. Thank God. Solemn would have killed them. It was sticky, exhausted, sarcastic tenderness with crumbs in it. The correct kind. Breakfast became quiet. Not silent. Quiet. Panam ate. Shammy leaned against the window frame and occasionally looked at Panam like the road had brought something back worth naming. Marco sat down at last, and Lena slid his plate closer before he could pretend he was not hungry. Reyes drank water with the serious expression of someone accepting sentence. Kiro ate half her breakfast and only looked at the router twice. Mai caught both, but gently. Ace stole one piece of fruit from Reyes’s plate. Reyes looked down. Ace stared back. “Evidence?” “Tax.” “For what?” “Coffee crime.” Reyes pushed the plate closer. Ace took another piece. Panam saw it. “Do I need to label you too?” Ace looked at her. “I am self-regulating.” Lena, without looking up, wrote a label and slid it across the table. Ace read it. **SELF-REGULATING, ALLEGEDLY.** Ace placed it on her blanket. “Accepted.” Reyes looked at it and smiled. The room, somehow, survived that too. After breakfast, the remaining sample went into a sealed container. Not a dramatic container. Not a sci-fi containment tube. A practical, layered, leak-proof medical transport case from Mai’s supplies, wrapped twice, labeled three times, and placed in a carry bag that Panam declared “boring enough to live.” The labels read: **DEATH’S COFFEE SAMPLE. DO NOT OPEN.** **VICTOR ONLY.** **KIRO, THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE.** Kiro looked at the last one. “I have been maligned by history.” Mai said, “You helped write history.” “I was overcaffeinated.” “That is also in the history.” Reyes stood with the transport bag. Everyone looked at her. She looked back. “What?” Panam said, “No.” “I’m holding it.” “That’s the problem.” Victor had said later. Later had arrived when the room collectively decided they wanted the sample out of Safehouse before anyone’s curiosity recovered motor function. Panam would drive. Lena would sit in front with the address and the authority. Reyes would sit in the back holding the sample because she had insisted on “owning the mistake,” which had sounded noble until Ace pointed out she was still the one most likely to appreciate the packaging. Ace wanted to go. Mai said no. Ace objected. Mai pointed at the blanket label. **SELF-REGULATING, ALLEGEDLY.** Ace stayed. Kiro wanted to go. Everyone said no so fast the word became architecture. Marco wanted to go. Lena told him to sit down before his knees sued him. Shammy offered to come because she could hear if the sample got “louder.” Panam took one look at her and said, “You are staying away from the evil coffee box.” Shammy accepted this. Mostly because Panam said it while touching her hand. That was unfair and effective. So Panam, Lena, and Reyes left for Victor’s clinic with the sample and, later, the storage locker paperwork. The Safehouse felt strange without them. Less road. Less quiet authority. Less coffee crime. Ace lay on the couch with one arm over her eyes. Mai sat nearby, finally horizontal enough to satisfy Victor in spirit. Kiro had been placed in a chair facing away from the router, which she described as “psychological warfare.” Marco, despite instructions, cleaned exactly two dishes before Shammy picked him up. Not metaphorically. She stood, bent, and lifted him just enough that his feet left the floor by a centimeter. Marco froze. “Shammy.” “Lena said sit.” “She is not here.” “I remember her weather.” Ace lifted her arm enough to look. Marco, broad-shouldered and deeply betrayed by physics, dangled with as much dignity as he could retain. Kiro whispered, “Oh my God.” Mai turned her face into the pillow. Marco said, “I am sitting.” “You are not.” “I was about to.” Shammy carried him three steps and placed him gently in a chair. Then patted his shoulder. Marco stared up at her. “You are very tall.” “Yes.” “That was unfair.” “Yes.” Ace’s laughter returned. Small. Painful. Perfect. Marco stayed seated. When Panam, Lena, and Reyes returned two hours later, the sample was gone, Victor had accepted the mug with the expression of a man who had found a new reason to hate typography, and the bulk crate had been transferred from Reyes’s storage locker to a sealed neutral location under Lena’s access, Panam’s driving record, and Victor’s explicit veto. Reyes entered Safehouse last. Without labels on her sleeve. Ace noticed immediately. “Where are your crimes?” “Removed.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “By whom?” “Victor.” Lena entered behind her and placed two fresh labels on the table. Reyes saw them. Closed her eyes. Ace picked them up. First: **WATCH REYES — RENEWABLE.** Second: **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS — REQUIRES UNANIMOUS VOTE, VICTOR VETO, LENA ACCESS, PANAM TRANSPORT, AND NO KIRO INPUT.** Kiro gasped. “No Kiro input?” Panam, dropping into a chair, said, “Especially no Kiro input.” Kiro turned to Mai. Mai looked tired, fond, and absolutely unmoved. “No Kiro input.” Kiro placed one hand on her chest. “This is oppression with witnesses.” Ace stuck **WATCH REYES — RENEWABLE** back on Reyes’s sleeve. Reyes looked down. Then at Ace. Ace smiled. “Home.” Reyes stared at her. The word had come out too easy. Too honest. Ace realized it half a second too late and looked away. Reyes did not tease. She touched the edge of the label instead. “Yeah.” Panam looked at Shammy. Shammy looked back. Marco pretended not to smile. Lena smiled openly enough that it counted as a structural event. Mai closed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Kiro whispered, “That was soft.” Everyone looked at her. She lowered her head. “Worth it.” Ace pointed at her without looking. “Router.” Kiro gasped again. “Cruel.” The afternoon lowered itself over Safehouse slowly. No one had the energy for more rules. No one had the courage to make coffee. Eventually, people slept. Not all at once. Never cleanly. Marco went first despite denying it mid-sentence. Lena followed after placing one final glass of water near his hand. Kiro fell asleep against Mai, who stayed awake long enough to make sure Kiro was fully down before surrendering. Shammy and Panam took the couch again, under better blanket geometry this time, and Ace did not say a word because she had matured across the day and because Panam had one boot within throwing distance. Reyes sat on the floor near Ace. Ace looked at her. “You still want the mug.” Reyes looked back. “Victor has it.” “That was not the question.” Reyes considered. “Yes.” Ace smiled. “You are terrible.” “Prepared.” “Terrible.” “For special occasions.” Ace stared at her. Then, very slowly, she smiled. Not approval. Never that. Recognition. “Not with coffee.” “No.” The answer came immediately. That mattered. Ace’s smile softened. “Good.” Reyes leaned back against the couch. Ace shifted until her shoulder touched Reyes’s arm. Neither commented. The locked drawer was empty now. The labels remained. The crate existed elsewhere, under enough oversight to make even Kiro call it “bureaucratically erotic” before Mai told her to sleep. Death’s Coffee had left the house. Mostly. The story had not. That was the problem with surviving something stupid together. It became language. A label. A threat. A joke. A rule. A future callback waiting in the walls. Ace closed her eyes. The Shadow Aura settled around her like tired night. Reyes looked at the label on her sleeve. **WATCH REYES — RENEWABLE.** Then at the room. At home. She did not remove it. ## Epilogue — For Special Occasions Victor put the mug on the highest shelf in his clinic. Not because he wanted to display it. Because if he put it anywhere lower, someone would use it. The mug was black. The skull logo wrapped around one side. The phrase curled underneath in cheerful red lettering: **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.** Victor stood in front of it for a long moment with both hands on his hips. Then he turned the mug so the text faced the wall. Better. Not solved. Better. Behind him, Panam leaned against the clinic doorway with both arms crossed, looking like she had personally delivered evidence to a court that did not deserve her. Lena stood beside her, calm, organized, holding the updated locker access information in a sealed envelope. Reyes waited near the exam chair, hands in jacket pockets, posture loose enough to lie about tension and not loose enough to fool anyone in the room. Victor looked at all three of them. “No one uses the mug.” Panam nodded. “Obviously.” Victor looked at Reyes. Reyes said, “Obviously.” Victor kept looking. Reyes sighed. “I will not use the mug.” Victor nodded once. “No one retrieves the crate without Lena and Panam.” Reyes nodded. “No one opens the crate without me.” Lena nodded. “No one brings any of it near Kiro.” Panam nodded so hard it became personal. “No one brings any of it near Ace when she has space to move.” Victor added, “Or Shammy when the power grid exists.” Panam looked at him. “The power grid always exists.” “Exactly.” Reyes looked at the mug. The text faced the wall now, but she knew it was there. For Special Occasions. It was a stupid phrase. A manipulative phrase. A marketing phrase written by someone who understood that humans were very good at making exceptions for tomorrow. She hated that it worked. She also liked the mug. That was inconvenient. Victor saw her looking. “Reyes.” She looked back. “No.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You did with your posture.” Panam smiled. Lena wrote nothing. That was almost worse. Victor took the envelope from Lena, locked it in a drawer, then placed a fresh medical label on the drawer front. **DEATH’S COFFEE INCIDENT — DO NOT REPEAT.** Panam nodded approvingly. Reyes looked at the label. “Incident.” Victor turned. “What would you call it?” Reyes thought about Ace laughing under a table. Kiro mourning Wi-Fi. Mai refusing the pattern. Shammy listening to an angry elevator. Marco feeding the entire collapse. Lena becoming government. Panam threatening exile by crate. The coffee machine, accused. The labels. The toast. The phrase. Home. She shrugged. “First offense.” Panam straightened. Victor closed his eyes. Lena finally opened her notebook. Reyes smiled. Small. Dry. Unrepentant enough to be herself. “Kidding.” “No,” Panam said. “You are not.” Victor pointed toward the clinic door. “Go home.” Reyes went. Outside, Night City had resumed pretending it was normal. Traffic hissed over wet streets. Vendors shouted. Drones buzzed. Somewhere high above, a corp billboard sold freedom in monthly installments. The city did not care that eight people had nearly turned coffee into a governance structure and lived to regret the typography. Reyes walked beside Panam and Lena toward the vehicle. Panam did not look at her. “You know they’re going to tell this story forever.” “Yes.” “You know Ace is never letting you forget the crate.” “Yes.” “You know Kiro will try to argue for research access at least once a month.” “Yes.” “You know Mai will secretly want the data.” “Yes.” “You know Shammy is going to mention the elevator at the worst possible time.” “Probably.” “You know Marco is going to make special occasion breakfast now.” Reyes paused. “That one is good.” Panam glared. Lena said, “It is.” Panam looked betrayed. “Not you too.” Lena’s mouth curved. “Food pressure remains valid.” Panam muttered something in Aldecaldo-shaped irritation and got into the driver’s seat. Reyes took the back. Lena sat up front. As Panam started the engine, Reyes’s agent buzzed. Ace. A message. **ACE:** Mug surrendered? Reyes looked at the clinic doors. Then typed back. **REYES:** Temporarily. The reply came fast. **ACE:** Reyes. Reyes smiled. **REYES:** Medically supervised. **ACE:** That is not better. **REYES:** It is a category. A pause. Then: **ACE:** You are banned from categories. Reyes looked at the label still folded in her pocket. **WATCH REYES — RENEWABLE.** She typed: **REYES:** For special occasions. This time the pause lasted longer. Then Ace sent only one thing. A photo. The underside of the Safehouse table. The label there, slightly crooked in Ace’s uneven handwriting: **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS: ABSOLUTELY NOT.** Reyes laughed. Panam looked in the rearview mirror. “What.” “Nothing.” “Reyes.” “Home.” Panam stared at her through the mirror for half a second. Then looked away. “Yeah,” she said, quieter. “Exactly.” The vehicle pulled into Watson traffic. Behind them, Victor’s clinic kept the mug facing the wall. Ahead of them, Safehouse waited with labels still stuck to furniture, people still sleeping in bad positions, and a story already turning into family law. Somewhere in a sealed storage location, twenty-four bags of Death’s Coffee sat in the dark under more oversight than most corporate war crimes. The crate did not move. It did not glow. It did not whisper. It was only coffee. Probably. On top of it, in Lena’s clean handwriting, one final label waited. **FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.** Under that, in Panam’s sharper scrawl: **NO.** And under that, because Reyes had been left alone for twelve seconds longer than anyone should have allowed, one smaller note in black marker: **Define “special.”** The next morning, Lena found it. She did not tell Panam immediately. She took a photo first. For documentation. Then she added one more label. **REYES.**