# Chapter 1 — Rogue’s Booth Afterlife was not quiet. Afterlife was never quiet. It had moods, yes. It had currents. It had hours where the bass stayed low enough for murder to sound conversational, and hours where the crowd got loud enough that even bad decisions had to shout. But quiet? No. Quiet was for places that still believed silence meant safety. Afterlife knew better. Afterlife hummed with old violence and fresh ambition. Mercs leaned into booths like secrets had weight. Fixers sat under low light and made choices that would ruin someone else’s week. A man near the bar laughed too loudly at nothing funny. Someone at the far side of the room tried to look dangerous and only succeeded in looking expensive. Ace ignored most of it. Most of it ignored her back. Not completely. Never completely. That was part of the problem now. A few heads turned when she crossed the room. Not many. Not enough to be dramatic. But enough. A glance here. A pause there. A merc at one table stopped mid-sentence, recognized something small and black-haired and sword-adjacent moving through the Afterlife crowd, then suddenly remembered his drink was interesting. Ace felt Mai notice it too. Of course Mai noticed. Mai walked beside her with calm precision, silver hair catching club light in cold fragments. No visible tension. No visible reaction. But Ace knew the tiny changes: the slight widening of attention, the soft recalculation in her eyes, the way she read the room without ever appearing to study it. Shammy followed half a step behind, because “followed” was the closest human word for the way she moved through a space and made the air admit it had been holding its breath. She had dressed down tonight. Which meant she was merely impossible instead of catastrophic. Tall. Silver-white hair. Electric blue eyes. Soft expression. Atmospheric pressure behaving, mostly. People noticed her too. They always did. Kiro had once described Shammy as “bad for stealth in a metaphysical way.” Ace had told her that was not helpful. Kiro had replied that accuracy was not obligated to be helpful. Unfortunately, Kiro had been right. Rogue’s booth waited at the back like a verdict. Rogue was already there. Of course she was. No dramatic entrance. No theatrical delay. No performative gesture from the queen of the Afterlife descending to bless them with employment. Rogue simply looked up as they approached. That was enough. Ace slid into the booth first. Mai took the seat beside her. Shammy folded herself in with the careful grace of someone constantly negotiating with furniture that had not been designed by a loving universe. Rogue looked at Shammy’s knees under the table. Then at Shammy. Then at the booth itself, which had technically survived worse nights. “Comfortable?” Shammy considered this honestly. “No.” Ace sighed. Mai said, “She is being polite.” Rogue’s mouth almost moved. Almost. Then she placed a datashard on the table. Business. Immediately. Ace appreciated that. Rogue tapped one finger against the shard. “Corporate intelligence.” Ace looked down at it. Then back up. “That is usually two lies trying to share one coat.” Rogue did not smile. “Night Corp.” Mai’s attention sharpened. Shammy tilted her head. Ace went still for half a breath. Night Corp was not the loudest name in Night City. That was the trick. Militech roared. Arasaka haunted. Biotechnica spread its roots into places roots had no moral right to enter. Kang Tao sold clean lines and ugly consequences. Petrochem made the air taste like money and slow death. Night Corp moved differently. Less flag. More foundation. Less spectacle. More pattern. People joked about them because joking was easier than asking why so many civic improvements, data systems, political friendships, and quiet acquisitions seemed to bend around the same invisible weight. Ace did not like invisible weights. Her Shadow Aura stirred low under the table, not flaring, just listening. Rogue noticed. Rogue noticed everything worth charging for. “Prototype,” Rogue said. “Weapon-adjacent. Maybe worse.” Ace leaned back. “Good start.” “It’s not a hit.” “Already suspicious.” “It’s not a theft.” “Worse.” “It’s not a sabotage job.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at Rogue. Shammy looked at the datashard as if it might hatch. Rogue continued. “Closed event. Corporate social access. Night Corp is coming in as a new player on a private security platform. Officially, it’s a demonstration package for investors, partners, and procurement people who enjoy pretending cocktail rooms are strategy.” Ace frowned. “Are there cocktails?” Rogue stared at her. Ace raised both hands slightly. “I am asking for operational clarity.” “There may be cocktails.” “Noted.” Mai’s voice was calm. “You said weapon-adjacent.” Rogue nodded once and slid the datashard closer. “Official language says non-lethal urban denial platform. Crowd management. Infrastructure protection. Emergency deployment.” Ace closed her eyes. “Oh, those are all bad words.” “Yes,” Mai said. Shammy leaned closer to the table. “What is urban denial?” Rogue glanced at Mai. Mai answered without looking away from the shard. “A phrase corporations use when they want to say ‘control people in cities’ without saying ‘control people in cities.’” Shammy’s face changed. Not dramatically. Just enough. The air around the booth tightened by a degree. “That is ugly.” Rogue looked at her. “Most sales language is.” Ace reached sideways under the table and touched Shammy’s knee. A small anchor. Shammy’s gaze moved to her. Ace said, “We do not know what it is yet.” Shammy nodded once. “I dislike it early.” “That is allowed.” Rogue waited until the air settled again. Then she said, “I need to know what they’re actually showing, what they’re hiding, who they’re courting, and how far along the prototype is.” Mai touched the datashard with two fingers but did not slot it. “Why us?” Rogue gave her a look. Not annoyed. Approving, maybe. Rogue liked people who asked why before how. “Because the room is social before it’s secure. They’ll screen for chrome, known thieves, obvious netrunners, and people who look like they came to steal the furniture. But it’s a corporate room. People talk. People posture. People correct each other. People explain things they should not explain if the question comes from the right mouth.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. “You mean Amber.” “I mean Amber and Maeve.” Mai did not react visibly. Ace did. A little. Not much. Enough. Rogue saw it. Of course she saw it. Ace hated that the names had power even when the wigs were in storage. Amber O’Sullivan. Maeve O’Sullivan. Temporary stories. Protective lies. Very expensive clothing mistakes waiting in sealed garment bags back at the safehouse. Ace had not worn Amber on a real operation for quite some time. Not fully. She had practiced. She had suffered. She had been blonde under mirror lights while Reyes nearly died laughing on a boutique floor. She had asked whether posture was lying with your bones and then been betrayed by everyone agreeing that it was useful. Mai had worn Maeve like a knife discovering velvet. That had been worse. In some ways. Better in others. Ace was not unpacking that in Rogue’s booth. Not for free. Mai’s expression remained smooth, but Ace felt the shift beside her. The subtle weight of the name Maeve moving somewhere behind Mai’s eyes. Not activation. Not performance. Readiness. Rogue continued. “You two can get in.” Ace blinked. “You already checked?” Rogue’s look said she had checked before calling them and found the question adorable. “The O’Sullivan cover has enough pre-seeded background to pass first-layer social vetting. Low footprint. Useful marriage layer. Private enough to avoid deep attention. Searchable enough not to look fabricated.” Mai’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Kiro will be either flattered or unbearable.” “Both,” Ace muttered. Rogue tapped the table again. “But there’s a problem.” Ace sighed. “There it is.” “Two looks like an operation.” Mai’s gaze stayed on Rogue. Rogue leaned back. “Three looks like family.” Silence. Not long. Long enough. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. There was no need for the whole conversation. The O’Sullivan cover was not built as a full dynasty. It was not meant to sprout cousins every time a fixer found a guest list with an inconvenient number attached. But the moment Rogue said family, the shape appeared. Not Kiro. Too recognizable in the wrong circuits. Not Panam. Panam Cruz already existed as conditional logistics, and also Panam would sooner headbutt a corporate host than pretend to enjoy procurement wine. Not Reyes. Reyes could probably fake anything for ten minutes, but the room would become a crime scene of implications before dessert. Not Shammy. Never Shammy for this. Not because she could not pretend. Shammy could pretend, in the way storms could pretend to be weather reports. The problem was that every room wanted an explanation for her before she even spoke. Ace and Mai shared the same thought at almost the same time. Ace said, “Brenda.” Mai said, “Brenda.” Rogue blinked once. Then her eyes narrowed. “The bomber?” Ace winced. “Technically.” Mai said, “Not for this.” Rogue looked between them. “Brenda Boom.” “Yes,” Ace said. “The Analog Bomber.” “Again, technically.” “The girl whose idea of a public appearance involves a countdown?” Ace grimaced. “She has grown.” Mai paused. Ace felt it. Then Mai said, “Not in the direction you are worried about.” Rogue stared. Shammy leaned in, sincere and catastrophic. “Brenda asks questions people answer before they know why.” Rogue slowly turned toward her. Shammy held her gaze. “She is happy when machines are wrong. Humans like to explain why they are not wrong.” Ace closed her mouth. Mai’s eyes moved toward Shammy with quiet appreciation. Rogue looked back at Ace. “That accurate?” Ace thought about Brenda. The streams. The grin. The terrifying ease with which she made half the city lean toward a screen to watch something explode that absolutely should not have been assembled in a bedroom. She thought about Brenda staring at old hardware with reverent fury. Brenda asking questions in a rush because the shape of a system had offended her. Brenda listening with her whole face when someone technical gave her a real answer. Brenda’s chaos, yes, but also the mind under it, fast and bright and weirdly precise. Ace sighed. “Yes.” Mai added, “She is technically competent, socially underestimated, and naturally curious in a way that does not read as interrogation.” Rogue’s eyes shifted to Mai. Mai continued. “Amber can open social space. Maeve can stabilize authority. Brenda, if framed correctly, can enter technical conversation without appearing to be a professional threat.” Ace looked at her. “Framed correctly?” Mai did not look away from Rogue. “Yes.” Ace’s stomach sank. “Mai.” Mai’s mouth softened by one dangerous millimeter. Rogue noticed that too. “I assume you already have something in mind.” Ace leaned back and looked at the booth ceiling. “Night City, please take me now.” Mai said, calmly, “Amber has a cousin.” Rogue’s eyes flicked. Ace closed hers. There it was. The disaster had found paperwork. Shammy’s face brightened. “A cousin.” Rogue did not smile, but the possibility sharpened in her expression. “What kind?” Mai answered. “Distant. O’Sullivan side. Young. Technical. Visiting. Not part of the primary business layer. Present because Amber wanted to bring her somewhere interesting.” Ace opened one eye. “Amber did?” Mai looked at her. “She would.” Ace hated that immediately. Because she would. Amber absolutely would. Amber, the bright menace, the social question mark, the blonde mask that people mistook for soft because they wanted softness to be exploitable. Amber would be proud of a weird brilliant cousin. Amber would introduce her too brightly. Amber would say things like, “Jessie is the smart one,” and mean it with such unbearable sincerity that nobody in the room would doubt the family connection. Ace looked at Mai. Mai knew. Of course Mai knew. Rogue watched the silent exchange with professional patience. “What’s the name?” Ace opened her mouth. Closed it. Mai said, “Jessie O’Sullivan.” Shammy smiled immediately. “Jessie.” Ace looked at her. “You like it?” “It moves quickly.” Rogue’s eyes moved to Shammy again. Ace did not bother explaining. Shammy’s naming logic obeyed weather, doors, pressure, emotional texture, and occasionally fruit. It was better not to ask unless there was time and tea. Rogue considered the name. “Jessie O’Sullivan,” she repeated. Then, to Ace, “Brenda can wear that?” Ace hesitated. That was the real question. Not could Brenda pretend to be someone else. Could Brenda wear Jessie without fighting it so hard the seams showed? Amber had annoyed Ace. Maeve had fit Mai too well for anyone’s safety. Jessie needed to do something similar for Brenda: stretch, shape, redirect — not erase. Ace pictured Brenda in Night Corp’s polished little corpo hell, trying to stand still in clothes that cost more than her stream rig, eyes catching some hidden panel, mouth already opening because the question had outrun the caution. Then Amber beside her, proud enough to become a security risk. Ace sighed. “Yes.” Mai said, “If we build her properly.” Rogue pushed the datashard closer until it sat between them like a small black problem. “Then build her properly.” Ace picked up the shard but did not slot it yet. “What are the limits?” “No violence unless necessary. No extraction. No visible breach. No hardware theft unless the opportunity is clean and meaningful.” Ace looked at her. “That last one sounds like a trap.” “It’s a guideline.” “That is what traps call themselves when they want to sound professional.” Rogue ignored that. “Primary objective: identify the prototype’s actual function. Secondary: confirm development stage. Third: names. Buyers, sponsors, deployment partners, anyone too interested.” Mai nodded. “Timeline?” “Event is in four nights.” Ace stared. “Four.” Rogue’s face did not change. “Problem?” Ace thought about GLAMR COVE. Mara. Wigs. Clothes. Lenses. Kiro building a cousin out of databases and lies while Panam argued with shoes, Reyes added commentary nobody needed, and Shammy decided whether Jessie’s weather was acceptable. Four nights. Plenty of time for disaster. Not enough time for comfort. “Not a problem,” Mai said. Ace turned. Mai looked serene. Too serene. Ace knew that look. That was the look Mai wore when the structure of a terrible idea had become internally sound. Rogue slid a second shard across the table. “Guest architecture. Public-facing material. Names I expect in the room. Security assumptions. Do not overbuild the identity. Night Corp has enough data people that perfect will smell wrong.” Mai accepted the shard. “Kiro will need that repeated.” “Mai will repeat it,” Ace muttered. “Yes,” Mai said. Shammy looked between them. “Jessie is a temporary story?” Ace softened. “Yes.” “Like Amber and Maeve?” “Yes.” Shammy thought about that. “Does Jessie need eyes?” Ace understood immediately. Rogue did not, but Rogue was smart enough not to interrupt. Mai answered gently. “Eventually. For a full activation. Not without warning.” Shammy nodded. “Good.” Ace looked at Rogue. “That rule applies.” Rogue tilted her head. “What rule?” Mai said, “No sudden eye-color alteration around Shammy.” Rogue looked at Shammy. Shammy looked back. For once, Rogue did not ask a follow-up. “Fine.” Ace said, “Also no calling Brenda ‘the bomber’ in front of Brenda.” Rogue’s eyebrow rose. “She calls herself that.” “Not while we are trying to convince her to wear beige.” A tiny silence followed. Rogue looked at Mai. Mai said, “Jessie will likely wear warm neutrals.” Rogue stared at them for half a second. Then she leaned back. “I don’t want to know.” Ace laughed once. “Oh, you do. You just don’t know it yet.” “That sounds expensive.” “It will be,” Mai said. Rogue gave her a dry look. “Bill me for operational wardrobe, not family therapy.” Ace and Mai exchanged another glance. Shammy smiled faintly. Ace said, “That line may get blurry.” Rogue picked up her glass from the corner of the table. Not offered. Not ceremonial. Just hers, already there, mostly ignored. She took a small drink and set it down. “Make it useful.” Ace looked at the shards. Night Corp. Prototype. Weapon-adjacent. Three looks like family. Jessie O’Sullivan. She could already feel the safehouse reaction forming before they even left the booth. Kiro would glow like a criminal sunrise. Panam would say no to something within five minutes. Reyes would say something unforgivable within three. Shammy would ask whether cousins had special weather. Mai would pretend she was only evaluating structure. And Brenda— Brenda would probably ask if being Irish came with tools. Ace stood. Mai stood with her. Shammy unfolded from the booth, and the booth seemed grateful to still exist. Rogue looked up at them. “One more thing.” Ace paused. “There it is.” “If Brenda cannot hold the cover, you walk away. I don’t need a third body badly enough to drag the wrong person into the wrong room.” Ace’s irritation faded. Rogue’s voice was flat. Practical. But not careless. Mai nodded once. “Understood.” Shammy said softly, “We will not lose Brenda inside Jessie.” Rogue looked at her. Then at Ace. Ace nodded. “No.” Rogue accepted that. “Good.” Ace turned to leave. Rogue’s voice followed her. “And Ace?” Ace stopped without turning. “No fireworks.” Ace looked over her shoulder. “That instruction should go to Brenda.” “It will.” Ace thought about that. Then smiled despite herself. “Good luck.” Rogue’s eyes narrowed. “That was not reassuring.” “No,” Ace said. “It was accurate.” They left the booth and stepped back into Afterlife’s noise. The club swallowed them in bass and shadow and neon, but Ace could feel the shape of the job already moving beside her. Not Night Corp. Not the prototype. Not yet. The first real problem was waiting at the safehouse. Small. Brilliant. Chaotic. Probably wearing something stained with machine oil. Soon to be chestnut-haired, amber-eyed, and related by operational necessity. Ace exhaled. Mai glanced at her. “What?” Ace shook her head. “Amber is going to be unbearable.” Mai’s mouth curved. “Amber?” Ace looked at her. Mai’s expression was calm. Too calm. Then the Irish warmth brushed the edge of her voice, soft enough that only Ace and Shammy heard it. “Love, Amber is not the one I’m worried about.” Shammy’s eyes brightened. Ace stared at Mai. “Oh no.” Mai walked on. Shammy leaned down toward Ace, delighted and solemn all at once. “Jessie moves quickly.” Ace watched Mai’s silver hair disappear through the Afterlife crowd, already carrying the possibility of copper and green and that dangerous little smile. Then she looked at the shards in her hand. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, she does.” --- # Chapter 2 — The Third O’Sullivan Safehouse, Watson. Kiro heard the words “Night Corp” and immediately stopped eating. This was significant. Kiro often forgot food existed while working, but she almost never stopped eating because of information. Usually information made her eat faster, as if calories were required to process impending crimes. Tonight, she had been standing near the counter with a bowl of noodles in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and three open terminal windows arranged in front of her like she had been casually committing minor database trespass between bites. Ace had barely finished the summary. Rogue. Night Corp. Prototype. Corporate social access. Three people. Family. Kiro’s chopsticks stopped halfway to her mouth. Panam noticed first. She was on the couch with one boot propped on the coffee table, scowling at a fuel estimate on her agent like the numbers had insulted her personally. “Oh no,” Panam said. Reyes, who had claimed the armchair with the quiet authority of someone who technically did not live here but had clearly begun emotionally colonizing furniture, looked up. “What?” Panam pointed at Kiro. “She stopped eating.” Reyes’ eyes narrowed. “Oh, that is bad.” Kiro slowly lowered the chopsticks into the bowl. “Night Corp,” she said. Ace sighed. “Yes.” “Prototype.” “Yes.” “Social access.” “Yes.” “And Rogue wants O’Sullivan cover expansion.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked calm. Too calm. Ace hated calm when it was standing directly beside catastrophe. Mai set the datashards on the table. “She wants a third person.” Kiro’s eyes got brighter. Not brighter like happy. Brighter like a server farm catching fire in a way she found educational. Ace pointed at her immediately. “No.” Kiro blinked. “I have not said anything.” “You thought something.” “I think constantly.” “That is the problem.” Shammy entered from the hallway behind them, carrying two folded blankets and wearing an expression of solemn purpose. She had decided earlier that the safehouse couch arrangement was “emotionally inefficient” and had been correcting it with textiles. “Brenda will be Jessie,” she announced. The room stopped. Ace turned slowly. “Shammy.” Shammy paused with the blankets in her arms. “What?” “We had not said that yet.” Shammy looked at the room. Then at the shards. Then at Mai. Then at Ace. Then at Kiro’s increasingly delighted expression. “It was in the air.” Reyes smiled. “Oh, I love when she does that.” Panam muttered, “I fear when she does that.” Kiro abandoned the noodles entirely and almost slid across the floor to her terminals. “Jessie?” Ace closed her eyes. “Yes.” “O’Sullivan?” “Yes.” “Distant cousin?” Mai said, “Likely.” Kiro’s grin widened by dangerous increments. “Technical profile?” Ace opened one eye. “Keep it light.” Kiro did not appear to hear that. “Old hardware repair. Embedded systems. Small forum footprint. A few obscure comments. No visible employment with anything large enough to attract HR records. Maybe educational traces, but incomplete—” “Kiro,” Mai said. Kiro stopped. Mai’s voice was quiet. That made it worse. “Light.” Kiro swallowed. “Yes.” Mai held her gaze. “Rogue specifically said Night Corp has enough data people that a perfect identity will smell wrong.” Kiro slowly lowered both hands from the keyboard. “A deliberately imperfect identity,” she whispered. Ace stared at the ceiling. “No.” Kiro’s eyes shone. “Beautiful.” “No.” “Textured.” “No.” “Humanly flawed.” “Kiro.” Kiro looked at Ace. “I am being responsible.” “You are vibrating.” “I vibrate responsibly.” Reyes leaned back in the armchair, smiling with the kind of satisfaction that made Ace distrust gravity. “Okay, but step back. Are we really making Brenda an O’Sullivan?” Ace looked at her. “Apparently.” Panam sat forward. “Brenda Boom.” “Yes.” “The girl who once called a detonator ‘emotionally supportive.’” Ace hesitated. “That may have been context-dependent.” Panam stared. “You cannot defend that sentence.” Mai sat at the table and picked up one of the datashards. “We are not using Brenda Boom.” Reyes’ smile sharpened. “Oh, no. We are using Jessie O’Sullivan.” Shammy placed the blankets on the couch with care. “Jessie moves quickly.” Kiro pointed at her. “Yes. Exactly. Name has kinetic friendliness.” Ace turned. “Kinetic friendliness?” Kiro held up one finger. “Names have posture.” “I regret teaching any of you words.” “You did not teach me that.” “I regret the universe doing it.” Mai slotted the shard into a secured reader. The wall display remained dark for a moment, then populated with blocks of text, guest categories, event structure, and several corporate phrases so polished they seemed designed to hide teeth. Panam leaned forward. “Non-lethal urban denial platform,” she read aloud. Her face went flat. “That is a war crime trying to wear a vest.” Reyes looked at the display. “‘Infrastructure stability through adaptive deterrence.’” Ace groaned. “Another bad phrase.” Kiro squinted. “‘Community-response modularity.’” Panam pointed at the screen. “That one means drones.” Mai nodded. “Probably.” Reyes read another line. “‘Partner demonstration for civic security stakeholders.’” Ace looked at her. “That means rich cowards.” Mai said, “Procurement-adjacent rich cowards.” “Thank you.” Shammy stood behind Ace and looked at the screen over her head. Her hair lifted slightly, silver-white strands drifting as if the air had become thoughtful. “This language is wearing other language.” The room quieted. Kiro glanced up. Reyes did not joke. Panam’s jaw tightened. Mai’s eyes remained on the display. “Yes,” Mai said softly. “It is.” Ace reached back without looking. Shammy’s hand found hers immediately. This was why Rogue had brought them in. Not because Night Corp had built a thing. Because Night Corp had built a sentence around the thing. And sentences like that were never alone. Ace squeezed Shammy’s fingers once, then let go. “Okay,” she said. “First problem: Brenda.” Reyes sat up. “I thought Night Corp was the first problem.” “Night Corp is the job. Brenda is the immediate problem.” Kiro opened a new file before anyone could stop her. Ace saw the heading appear on one of the side monitors. **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN — DRAFT** Ace pointed. “No headings.” Kiro blinked. “It needs a heading.” “It does not need to exist yet.” “It absolutely needs to exist before Brenda arrives.” Panam frowned. “Brenda isn’t here?” Ace looked at her. “I was hoping to discuss the wisdom of this before summoning chaos.” Reyes slowly smiled. “Oh.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?” Reyes lifted both hands. “Nothing.” Ace looked at Panam. Panam looked away. Ace looked at Mai. Mai was reading the shard. Too calmly. Ace’s stomach dropped. “Mai.” Mai did not look up. “I sent her a message when we left Afterlife.” Ace stared. “You WHAT?” Mai’s eyes moved from the display to Ace. “We have four nights.” “That does not mean we open the containment unit immediately.” Reyes made a tiny sound. Panam pressed her lips together. Kiro whispered, “Containment unit.” Shammy looked curious. “Is Brenda contained?” Ace sighed. “No.” Mai said, “Rarely.” A knock hit the safehouse door. Not a polite knock. Not a secret knock. A fast, bright, uneven little pattern that sounded like someone had tried to invent percussion using impatience. Everyone looked at the door. Ace slowly turned toward Mai. Mai’s expression remained serene. Too serene. “You timed that.” “I estimated.” “You weaponized punctuality.” “It was not difficult.” The knock came again. Then Brenda’s voice through the door: “Hello? I brought tools because the message said urgent but not what kind of urgent, so I brought small tools, medium tools, and one thing Ace told me not to bring indoors!” Ace closed her eyes. Panam looked at the ceiling. Reyes whispered, “This is going to be incredible.” Kiro whispered, “This is already incredible.” Shammy went to the door. Ace immediately opened her eyes. “Wait, do not let her in with the thing I told her not to bring indoors.” Shammy paused. “What is the thing?” Ace looked helplessly at Mai. Mai said, “We will find out faster by opening the door.” “That is not a safety principle.” Mai stood. “It is a Night City principle.” Ace hated that this was difficult to argue. Shammy opened the door. Brenda Boom stood in the hallway wearing a cropped jacket with oil stains on one sleeve, mismatched socks visible above heavy boots, a sling bag that clinked softly when she moved, and an expression so bright it should have come with a voltage warning. Her hair was messy. Her eyes were alive. There was a small smudge on her cheek that might have been grease, carbon residue, or breakfast. Possibly all three. She looked past Shammy into the safehouse. Then at everyone staring at her. Then at the wall display. Then at Kiro’s file heading. Her smile faltered by one degree. “...why does that say Jessie O’Sullivan?” Ace pointed at Mai. “Ask her.” Mai folded her hands. Brenda stepped inside slowly. Very slowly. The bag clinked again. Ace pointed at it. “What is in there?” Brenda looked down. “Tools.” “And?” “Normal tools.” “And?” Brenda shifted the bag behind her. “Define indoors.” Panam got up. “Nope.” Reyes laughed. Kiro was already leaning sideways trying to see into the bag. Shammy closed the door and looked delighted. “There is Brenda.” Ace pointed toward the corner. “Bag on the floor. Slowly.” Brenda obeyed with visible reluctance. The bag landed with a heavy, metallic, entirely untrustworthy sound. Ace stared. Brenda smiled brightly. “It’s not armed.” Mai’s brows rose. Brenda added, “Currently.” Panam walked to the bag, crouched, opened it two centimeters, looked inside, closed it again, and stood. “No.” Brenda frowned. “No what?” “No whatever that is.” “It’s not for the mission.” “You didn’t know the mission.” “That’s why I brought options.” Reyes pressed both hands together like prayer. “I love her.” Ace turned. “You do not get to encourage her.” “I wasn’t encouraging. I was appreciating.” “Same crime.” Brenda looked at Kiro’s screen again. “Seriously, why does that say Jessie O’Sullivan?” Kiro bounced once on her knees. “Because you may be getting a cover identity.” Brenda blinked. Then looked at Ace. Then Mai. Then Shammy. Then Panam. Then Reyes. Then the screen again. “I am?” Mai nodded. “Potentially.” Ace added, “Potentially is doing a lot of work.” Brenda’s eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. “Is this because of the stream?” “No,” Ace said. “Is this because of the warehouse thing?” “No.” “The antenna?” “No.” “The mayoral drone?” Panam’s head snapped around. “The what?” Brenda pointed at Ace. “You said we were not discussing that.” Ace rubbed her forehead. “We are not.” Reyes leaned forward. “I would like to discuss that.” Mai looked at Brenda. “This is about Night Corp.” That worked. Brenda stopped mid-breath. The bright chaos did not vanish. It focused. “Night Corp?” Kiro pointed at the display. “Prototype. Weapon-adjacent. Corpo social access. Rogue wants intelligence. Ace and Mai can get in under an existing cover, but they need a third person for family credibility.” Brenda absorbed that very quickly. Then pointed at herself. “And I’m family?” Shammy smiled. “You are Jessie.” Brenda’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I’m Irish now?” Ace answered before anyone else could. “Temporarily.” Brenda stared at her. Then slowly grinned. “Do I get a family discount?” Mai answered without visible effort. “No.” Reyes made a strangled sound. Panam looked toward the kitchen. “I need coffee.” Kiro whispered, “She fits already.” Ace snapped toward her. “No notes.” Kiro froze with one hand halfway to a keyboard. “I was not—” Mai said, “Kiro.” Kiro lowered the hand. “Fine.” Brenda looked between Ace and Mai, eyes brightening for an entirely different reason now. “Wait. Existing cover?” Ace exhaled through her nose. “Yes.” “You two have fake people?” Mai said, “Temporary operational identities.” Brenda looked impressed. “Fake people with better vocabulary.” Ace pointed at her. “Do not encourage the vocabulary.” Brenda leaned toward the screen. “So Jessie would be connected to your fake people?” Mai nodded. “Distant cousin of Amber O’Sullivan.” Brenda looked at Ace. “You’re Amber?” Ace made a face. “Sometimes.” Brenda looked at Mai. “And you’re...?” “Maeve.” Brenda repeated it softly, testing the shape. “Amber and Maeve.” Shammy smiled. “They are temporary stories.” Brenda looked at Shammy. “Do they explode?” Ace closed her eyes. Kiro made a sound like she had been physically injured by joy. Panam said from the kitchen, “Wrong question.” Brenda frowned. “What?” Mai answered calmly. “No. They do not explode.” Ace opened one eye. “They have caused damage.” Mai glanced at her. “Socially.” “Still damage.” Reyes pointed at Ace. “Amber damaged everyone in Mara’s boutique.” Ace turned sharply. “You are not helping.” Brenda turned immediately toward Reyes. “Who’s Mara?” Ace sighed. Mai said, “Later.” Brenda’s attention snapped back to the screen. “Okay. So Amber and Maeve are already a thing.” “Unfortunately,” Ace said. “Usefully,” Mai corrected. “Expensively,” Panam added from the kitchen. “Beautifully,” Kiro whispered. Ace pointed. “I heard that.” Kiro looked away. Brenda looked back at the heading. “And Jessie would be... what, Amber’s cousin?” Mai nodded. “Distant. Young. Technical. Visiting. Not part of the main business layer. Present because Amber wanted to bring you somewhere interesting.” Brenda stared at Ace. “Amber wanted to?” Ace did not answer immediately. That was a mistake. Reyes’ smile sharpened. Panam returned from the kitchen with coffee and stopped just in time to see Ace hesitate. Kiro froze. Shammy leaned forward with sudden interest. Ace finally said, “She would.” Brenda’s expression softened into confusion. “Why?” Mai answered before Ace could escape. “Because Amber would be proud of Jessie.” The room changed. Not dramatically. Just enough. Brenda looked back at Mai. “Proud?” Ace looked away. Too late. Everyone saw it. Mai continued, gentler now. “Jessie would be the smart one in the family.” Brenda blinked. Then blinked again. Her cheeks colored. Not much. Enough. “I’m not—” Ace cut in. “You are.” Brenda stopped. Ace realized too late that she had spoken too quickly. Reyes’ smile became openly delighted. Panam took one sip of coffee and looked like she was storing the moment for later blackmail. Kiro stared at the file like it had become sacred. Shammy’s whole expression softened. Brenda looked down at the floor. “Okay.” Small word. Not Brenda’s usual kind of word. Ace shifted. Mai’s hand touched the edge of the table. The safehouse gave the moment room. Then Brenda looked up again, stubbornly recovering brightness because that was what she did. “So Amber brags about Jessie?” Reyes lost it first. Panam turned toward the counter. Kiro whispered, “Oh no.” Ace stared at Brenda. “No.” Mai said, “Yes.” Ace turned. “Mai.” Mai looked perfectly reasonable. “It strengthens the cover because it is believable.” “That is a terrible reason.” “It is an operationally excellent reason.” Brenda pointed between them. “So Amber is proud and Maeve confirms?” Reyes slid forward in the armchair. “She learns fast.” Ace looked at her. “You are banned from narrating.” Reyes settled back. “Emotionally impossible.” Brenda looked at the file again. “Okay. I think I get it.” Mai watched her carefully. “Not yet. You have the outline. The question is whether you can wear it.” Brenda’s smile faded into attention. “Wear it?” Ace leaned against the table. “Rogue made something very clear. If this does not fit you, we walk away.” Brenda glanced at the display. Then at the word Night Corp. Then at the name Jessie O’Sullivan. “You think I can’t?” Ace answered before anyone could soften the edges. “We do not know yet.” Brenda nodded. No wounded pride. No performance. Just a quick, serious little nod. “Okay.” Mai said, “Jessie cannot be something we place on top of you. If she is only costume, she fails.” Kiro, to her credit, did not type that. Her fingers twitched, though. Mai continued. “Jessie has to be something already close enough that a name, clothing, and history can give it social shape.” Brenda frowned. “So not fake fake.” “Not fake fake,” Reyes said solemnly. Panam nodded. “That is now doctrine.” Kiro whispered, “Not fake fake—” “No,” Ace said. Kiro slumped. Shammy moved closer to Brenda’s chair. “Names are doors. You choose whether to open.” Brenda looked up at her. That landed. Shammy’s sentences often did. Brenda swallowed once, then nodded. “Okay.” Ace said, “So. What part feels wrong?” Brenda looked at the screen. The name. The role. The words. Distant cousin. The smart one. Technical curiosity. Underestimated competence. Then she said, “Not the tech.” Kiro nodded. “Obviously.” “Not the cousin part either, I think.” Brenda glanced at Ace. “Amber being proud is weird, but... not bad weird.” Ace looked away again. Idiot. Reyes saw it. Reyes would pay for that later. Brenda continued. “I don’t know about beige.” Panam nodded. “Valid.” Mai’s mouth twitched. Brenda pointed at the file. “And ‘low-threat’ sounds insulting.” Ace looked at Kiro. Kiro looked at Mai. Mai looked at the file and nodded. “Change it.” Kiro typed. **Social Read: Approachable / technically underestimated / non-hostile** Brenda considered. “Better.” Kiro beamed. “Good.” Brenda leaned over the table, studying her own half-born ghost. “Jessie shouldn’t be polished-polished.” Mara, somewhere across Watson, probably looked up without knowing why. Mai nodded. “No.” “She should look like someone tried to make her presentable and mostly succeeded.” Ace smiled. “That is very good.” Brenda brightened. “Really?” “Yes.” Panam pointed at Brenda. “That. That is the shoe rule too.” Brenda frowned. “Presentable but not knee betrayal.” “Exactly.” Reyes nodded solemnly. “She learns fast.” Kiro added another line. **Presentation: Made presentable by family; still herself underneath.** Shammy smiled. “There is Jessie.” Brenda looked at the line for a long moment. Then, quietly: “Yeah.” The room softened. Only for a moment. Then Brenda looked up. “Can Jessie have tools?” Ace sighed. Panam said, “No illegal ones.” Kiro said, “Define illegal.” Mai said, “No.” Reyes said, “Tiny ones?” Ace said, “Reyes.” Shammy said, “Tools can be lonely.” Everyone turned toward her. Shammy looked back, serene and impossible. Brenda slowly smiled. “I like her.” Ace rubbed both hands over her face. “This family is doomed.” Mai’s voice warmed at the edges. “Operationally challenged.” “Doomed.” “Resourceful.” “Doomed in beige.” Brenda looked offended. “We have not approved beige.” Panam pointed at her coffee. “Good. Fight early.” Kiro leaned toward Brenda. “Could you accept cream?” Brenda considered. “Cream has pockets?” Ace said, “Cream is a color.” Brenda frowned. “That did not answer the pocket question.” Mai smiled. “No. But it was the correct question.” Brenda sat a little straighter. Jessie did not exist yet. Not fully. Not even close. But the room had started to arrange itself around the place she would stand. Amber’s cousin. Maeve’s verified smart one. The O’Sullivan family technical problem. Ace looked at the display. Night Corp’s ugly language waited there, dressed in corporate polish. Prototype. Urban denial. Adaptive deterrence. Infrastructure protection. All the bad words. Then she looked at Brenda, who was now arguing with Kiro about whether “old hardware repair” sounded cool enough or too much like something a retired uncle did in a garage. Kiro said, “Old hardware is extremely cool.” Brenda said, “I know, but does Jessie know?” Reyes whispered, “Oh, she’s already separating layers.” Panam nodded. “Fast.” Shammy smiled. “Jessie moves quickly.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. Ace sighed. “Rogue was right.” Mai’s expression softened. “Yes.” “I hate when that happens.” Mai smiled. “A common tragedy.” Ace pointed at her. “No smugness during family formation.” Brenda turned immediately. “Is that a rule?” Reyes grinned. “It is now.” Kiro typed. Ace lunged. Kiro squeaked and dragged the terminal backward. Panam laughed. Brenda laughed too, bright and a little startled, as if she had not expected the room to include her this fast. Shammy moved behind her and, very gently, placed one folded blanket over the back of Brenda’s chair. Brenda looked up. Shammy smiled. “For cousin weather.” Brenda blinked. Then looked at Ace. Ace shrugged. “You get used to it.” Mai said, “You do not.” Reyes said, “You pretend.” Panam said, “Badly.” Kiro said, “Documentably.” Ace said, “No.” Brenda touched the blanket. Then looked at the file again. **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN** Her smile returned slowly. Not Brenda Boom’s streaming grin. Not yet Jessie. Something between. A door noticing its hinges. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s see if she fits.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai nodded. Kiro opened three new tabs. Panam went to inspect Brenda’s boots with open hostility. Reyes settled deeper into the chair, ready to make everything worse. Shammy leaned over Brenda’s shoulder with quiet wonder. And somewhere in sealed storage, behind garment bags labeled Amber and Maeve, space began making room for one more temporary story. --- # Chapter 3 — Colors of the O’Sullivans The first argument was not about Night Corp. It was not about the prototype. It was not about whether Jessie O’Sullivan could survive corporate social access without accidentally asking a security architect the kind of question that made alarms reconsider their purpose. The first argument was about beige. “I am not saying no,” Brenda said, which meant she was absolutely saying no but wanted it recorded with nuance. “I am saying beige sounds like a color people choose when they have never been happy near machinery.” Panam pointed at her immediately. “Valid.” Ace closed her eyes. “Do not validate her into a color revolt.” Panam leaned back against the counter with her coffee. “I’m not validating the revolt. I’m validating the concern.” Kiro, seated on the floor in front of the coffee table with three terminals now open and the unfinished noodle bowl abandoned beside her, opened a color palette grid. “Technically, beige is a category. We can work with cream, oat, warm ivory, pale sand, light taupe—” Brenda stared. “Those are all beige wearing fake names.” Reyes made a soft delighted sound from the armchair. “She’s right.” Kiro looked offended. “They have distinct chromatic profiles.” “They have witness protection,” Brenda said. Panam choked on coffee. Ace pointed at Brenda. “No.” Brenda blinked. “What?” “That was good. Do not get rewarded for it.” Reyes raised one hand. “I reward her.” “You are not a legal authority.” “Emotionally, I am.” Mai stood near the wall display, arms loosely folded, eyes on the O’Sullivan identity draft. She had not interrupted the beige crisis yet, which meant she was either amused or letting the chaos reveal useful information. With Mai, those were often the same thing. Shammy sat on the couch behind Brenda, long legs folded with impossible ease, one hand still resting on the blanket she had assigned to “cousin weather.” She watched the color grid with deep, solemn curiosity. “Beige does not move quickly,” Shammy said. Everyone paused. Kiro slowly turned toward her. “That is actually an interesting point.” Ace groaned. “No, it is not. Do not give beige kinetic analysis.” Shammy tilted her head. “Jessie moves quickly.” “Yes,” Mai said. Ace turned to her. “Do not join the kinetic beige council.” Mai’s mouth twitched. “I am not. But Shammy is identifying a mismatch.” Brenda pointed at Mai. “Yes. Thank you. Beige sounds slow.” Kiro dragged two colors aside on the grid. “What about cream?” Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Suspicious.” “Warm cream?” “Warmer suspicion.” “Pale gold?” Brenda paused. Ace noticed. Kiro noticed. Everyone noticed. Brenda tried to pretend no one had noticed. Kiro leaned forward. “Pale gold?” Brenda looked away. “I did not hate it.” Reyes smiled. “Progress.” Panam nodded. “Less beige. More ‘someone made me presentable and I survived.’” Brenda pointed at Panam. “That is the target.” Mai finally stepped closer. “Jessie’s palette should not be inert. It should be warm, approachable, and practical. Light enough to contrast with the technical profile. Soft enough that people underestimate her before they realize the questions have teeth.” Brenda looked concerned. “Questions have teeth?” Ace said, “Yours do.” Brenda considered this. Then smiled. “Okay.” Kiro added notes to the file. **Palette: warm neutrals / pale gold / cream / soft brown / functional contrast. Avoid dead beige.** Ace squinted. “Dead beige?” Kiro looked up. “Her words implied it.” Brenda nodded. “My words stand.” Reyes lifted her coffee. “To dead beige.” Panam raised hers. “May it betray no knees.” Shammy looked thoughtful. “Can beige betray?” Ace stared at the ceiling. “The cheese has ruined everything.” Mai’s smile escaped before she could stop it. That alone made everyone in the room happier. Except Ace, who noticed and became suspicious. Kiro moved to the next grid. “Hair.” Brenda immediately sat up straighter. “Hair.” Ace pointed at her. “You agreed to see if Jessie fits.” “I did not agree to be ambushed by hair.” Kiro blinked. “This is not an ambush. This is a scheduled identity-color planning session.” “Those are worse words.” Mai touched the screen and shifted several options away. “Not blonde.” Brenda looked toward Ace. “Because Amber?” “Yes.” “Not red,” Mai added. Brenda looked toward Mai. “Because Maeve?” “Yes.” Panam leaned closer. “Not black.” Ace nodded. “Too severe.” Reyes smiled. “Too spy.” Kiro deleted the option with visible pain. “It was elegant.” “Exactly,” Mai said. Brenda frowned. “So what am I allowed to be?” There it was again. Not irritation. Not only. A small question under the joke. Ace leaned against the table and crossed her arms. “You.” Brenda looked at her. Ace continued, because apparently the night was determined to force emotional honesty out of her with a crowbar. “Just tuned differently.” Mai’s eyes warmed. Shammy smiled. Kiro stopped typing for half a second, which was rare enough to be considered a tribute. Brenda looked down at her hands. “Okay.” Panam pushed off the counter and came around to look at the hair options. “Chestnut.” Kiro’s fingers moved at once, pulling a set of warm brown references forward. “Chestnut brown,” she said. “Medium depth. Warm undertone. Enough contrast from Amber. Enough distance from Maeve. Natural enough for O’Sullivan family continuity.” Brenda squinted at the samples. “It looks... normal.” Ace smiled. “That is not a bad thing.” “For infiltration, maybe.” “For not getting recognized as the girl who ends streams with explosions, definitely.” Brenda opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded. “Fair.” Reyes leaned over the arm of the chair. “Chestnut makes Jessie look like she owns at least one organized drawer.” Brenda looked offended. “I own organized drawers.” Ace stared. Brenda shifted. “One.” Panam pointed. “That’s more than Reyes.” Reyes lifted both hands. “My organizational system is emotional.” Mai said, “That is not a system.” “It is if you commit.” Kiro added another note. **Hair: chestnut brown. Natural. Warm. Presentable, not polished.** Brenda leaned forward and read it. “Presentable, not polished. I like that.” Mai nodded. “You said it first.” Brenda looked pleased. Then suspicious. “Do I get credit in the file?” Kiro’s face lit up. “No,” Ace said immediately. Kiro deflated. “But authorial trace—” “No.” Brenda looked at Ace. “I want credit.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at the file. Then at Ace. “Operationally, recording that the presentation preference originated with Jessie may help Kiro preserve behavioral consistency.” Ace stared at her. “You turned credit into paperwork.” Mai’s expression remained serene. “Yes.” Reyes whispered, “Beautiful.” Panam nodded. “Terrifying, but beautiful.” Kiro typed triumphantly: **Self-definition: Presentable, not polished.** Brenda read it. This time, she smiled fully. “Okay. That one stays.” Shammy leaned closer behind her. “Jessie opens the door more.” Brenda glanced back. “Is that good?” Shammy nodded. “Yes. Door is less sticky.” Reyes turned to Panam. “Do we ask?” Panam shook her head. “Absolutely not.” Kiro clicked to the next section. “Eyes.” The room changed at once. Not dramatically. No one gasped. No one froze completely. But the laughter found a quieter chair. Brenda noticed. She looked from Kiro to Ace to Mai, then to Shammy. “Eyes are serious?” “Yes,” Ace said. Mai sat beside Shammy on the couch. Shammy did not look distressed. Not yet. But her attention sharpened in the way it had when Amber and Maeve first became more than names. The safehouse lights hummed softly. The air did not tighten, but it listened. Kiro spoke more carefully now. “Amber uses blue lenses under full cover. Maeve uses green.” Brenda nodded slowly. “Because Ace and Mai’s real eyes are too recognizable?” “Partly,” Mai said. “Partly?” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy answered before either of them had to. “Eyes are how I find my girls when stories become visible.” Brenda’s face softened immediately. “Oh.” Shammy’s gaze stayed steady. “I can learn new colors. But not suddenly.” Brenda nodded at once. “No sudden.” Ace felt something in her chest ease. Mai’s hand rested near Shammy’s knee, not quite touching until Shammy shifted closer into it. Kiro moved the color grid slowly, deliberately. “For Jessie, the best choice is honey-brown or amber-brown. Warm. Distinct from Amber’s blue and Maeve’s green. Close to the name Amber but not copying Amber.” Brenda looked at the samples. Honey. Amber. Warm brown. Gold caught in dark glass. She was quiet for longer this time. Ace let her be. Panam did too. Even Reyes did not press. Finally Brenda said, “I’ve never seen myself with brown eyes.” Mai nodded. “Then not tonight.” Brenda looked at her. “We can test hair and clothing first. Lenses only when everyone is ready.” Shammy said, “Good.” Brenda looked back at the samples. “Amber-brown sounds weird since Amber is already a person.” Ace muttered, “Tell me about it.” Kiro said, “Honey-brown, then?” Brenda thought. “Jessie can have honey-brown eyes.” Kiro typed it. **Eyes: honey-brown lenses / full activation only / Shammy-awareness required.** Ace leaned over to read. “Less corporate.” Kiro sighed and rewrote. **Eyes: honey-brown. No surprises. Shammy sees first.** Shammy smiled. “Good.” Brenda looked at the line and nodded. “Good.” The room breathed again. Kiro clicked to a blank wardrobe profile. Panam set her coffee down. “Now shoes.” Brenda groaned. “No.” “Yes.” “Why are shoes always the government of clothing?” Panam pointed at her. “Because shoes decide whether you can leave.” Mai nodded. “Correct.” Brenda looked betrayed. “Not you too.” “Especially me.” Panam came around the table with the confidence of someone entering her natural battlefield. “Jessie is going into a Night Corp event. She needs shoes that pass social read but do not punish her if we have to move.” Brenda looked down at her boots. “My boots move.” “Your boots announce intent.” “They announce durability.” “They announce illegal tools.” Brenda glanced toward her confiscated bag. Panam pointed again. “Exactly.” Ace sat on the arm of the couch. “This is the part where you should listen to Panam.” Brenda frowned. “Because she knows shoes?” Panam looked insulted. “Because I know exits.” That landed better. Brenda nodded. “Okay.” Panam softened by half a degree. “Low boot. Good sole. Not too shiny. Warm brown maybe. No heels that make you think about them.” Kiro added notes. Brenda leaned over to read. “Can they have hidden storage?” “No,” Panam said. Kiro said, “Maybe.” Mai said, “No.” Reyes said, “Tiny hidden storage?” Ace said, “Why are all of you like this?” Shammy said, “Tools can be lonely.” Brenda pointed at Shammy. “She understands.” Panam crossed her arms. “Tools can be lonely at home.” Brenda sighed. “Fine.” Kiro added, under protest: **Shoes: practical low boots / warm brown / no visible tech / no hidden storage unless approved.** Mai looked at her. Kiro deleted the last three words. Then typed: **No hidden storage.** Brenda placed a hand over her heart. “Oppression.” Ace smiled. “Welcome to fashion.” “Fashion is cruel.” “Mara will agree.” Brenda looked up. “Who is Mara again?” Reyes sat forward, delighted. “Oh, Mara is going to love you.” Panam shook her head. “No. Mara is going to judge her into a new tax bracket.” Brenda looked alarmed. “Tax keeps coming up. I don’t like that.” Mai said, “Mara built Amber and Maeve’s wardrobes.” Brenda’s eyes widened. “Built?” Ace made a pained sound. “Unfortunately accurate.” Kiro turned one terminal toward Brenda and brought up the old tags. **AMBER O’SULLIVAN — BLUE LENSES / DYE-FIRST OPERATIONAL VERSION** **MAEVE O’SULLIVAN — GREEN LENSES / DYE-FIRST OPERATIONAL VERSION** **SERA — PUBLIC ARTIST / CONDITIONAL** **PANAM CRUZ — LOGISTICS / NOT ASSISTANT** Brenda stared. Then slowly turned toward Panam. “Panam Cruz?” Panam pointed at Kiro. “Not my fault.” Kiro lifted both hands. “Historically complicated.” Brenda read the tag again. “Logistics slash not assistant.” Panam nodded. “Correct.” Brenda considered. “That is a good title.” Panam’s suspicion faded despite her best efforts. “It is.” Ace groaned. “No bonding over conditional aliases.” Shammy smiled. “Sera is conditional.” Brenda turned to her. “You have one too?” Shammy nodded. “Sera is a small name for large weather.” Brenda stared at her. Then whispered, “That is awesome.” Shammy glowed. Ace pointed at Brenda. “Do not encourage the hat.” Brenda blinked. “What hat?” Everyone went quiet. Shammy’s eyes moved slowly toward the storage room. Ace closed her eyes. “No.” Reyes whispered, “The hat lives.” Panam said, “Do not summon it.” Kiro whispered, “It is already in the file.” Ace opened her eyes and looked at Kiro. Kiro sank behind a terminal. Brenda’s eyes got bigger. “There’s a hat?” Mai said, “Not relevant.” Ace looked at her. “Thank you.” Maeve did not appear. But Mai’s mouth curved just enough to be dangerous. “Yet.” Ace stared. “No.” Brenda looked delighted. “I want to know about the hat.” “You do not.” “I really do.” Panam nodded. “She does.” Reyes smiled. “Family history.” Ace stood. “We are not doing hat lore tonight.” Shammy raised one hand. “Could Sera tell Jessie later?” Ace pointed at the ceiling. “No.” Shammy lowered her hand, but her expression said the matter had merely entered conditional review. Kiro, sensing danger and joy in equal measure, returned to the wardrobe profile. “Jessie’s core clothing architecture.” Brenda sat up. “Architecture sounds better than beige.” Mai nodded. “Jessie should look like family tried to prepare her for a room she would not have chosen herself.” Brenda pointed. “Yes.” “Not incompetent,” Mai continued. “Not overdressed. Not rebellious in a way that draws security attention. Presentable. Warm. Practical. Slightly out of place if watched too closely, but not enough to trigger concern.” Panam added, “Good pockets where pockets make sense.” Brenda looked grateful. Kiro typed. **Wardrobe: warm cream / pale gold / soft brown / practical tailoring / good pockets where credible.** Ace leaned in. “Where credible?” Kiro shrugged. “Mara will decide.” Ace sighed. “She will.” Brenda looked increasingly intrigued. “This Mara person sounds scary.” “She is,” Ace said. Mai said, “Competent.” Panam said, “Rude.” Reyes said, “Magnificent.” Kiro said, “Professionally hostile.” Shammy said, “She understood tall emergencies.” Brenda turned slowly. “Tall emergencies?” Ace pointed at everyone. “No Mara stories.” Brenda looked at the group. Then at the file. Then at the storage room. Then back at the file. “This family has lore.” Reyes beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” Ace said, “Do not call her sweetheart while recruiting her into paperwork crime.” Reyes shrugged. “Too late.” Brenda leaned back in her chair, blanket over the back, boots under Panam’s judgment, future hair and future eyes glowing on Kiro’s screen. Chestnut. Honey-brown. Warm cream. Pale gold. Presentable, not polished. Made presentable by family; still herself underneath. She looked at the profile for a long moment. Then said, “Jessie is less flashy than I thought.” Ace nodded. “Good.” Brenda frowned. “Is that good?” “Yes.” Mai answered more gently. “Brenda Boom is public chaos. Jessie O’Sullivan is private curiosity in a public room.” Brenda considered that. “Private curiosity.” Kiro typed it immediately. Ace did not stop her. Because it was good. Brenda saw it appear and smiled. “She sounds quieter.” Reyes tilted her head. “Can you do quieter?” Brenda thought about it seriously. Then said, “For like... minutes.” Panam nodded. “We can work with minutes.” Ace muttered, “Can we?” Mai said, “Yes.” Kiro said, “We can schedule the minutes.” Ace turned. “No.” Kiro looked injured. “Temporal behavior mapping is valid.” “Not for Brenda.” Brenda raised a finger. “I might need a schedule.” Ace looked at her. Brenda smiled. “For being Irish.” Panam lost it first. Reyes followed. Kiro bent forward over her keyboard. Shammy laughed softly, delighted and warm. Mai’s smile broke. Ace stared at Brenda. Then, despite herself, laughed once. “There she is.” Brenda grinned. “Jessie?” Ace shook her head. “No.” Brenda tilted her head. “Brenda?” Ace looked at the file. Then at Brenda. Then at the colors waiting on the screen. “Both, apparently.” The answer settled. Not heavily. Not like a burden. Like a tool finding the right drawer. Brenda looked at the file again and said, more quietly, “Okay.” Then, because she was still Brenda and the universe had not broken completely, she added: “But I still want pockets.” Panam lifted her coffee. “To pockets.” Reyes lifted hers. “To presentable crime.” Kiro lifted her noodle bowl. “To private curiosity.” Shammy lifted one hand. “To cousin weather.” Mai looked at Ace. Ace sighed. Then lifted two fingers in surrender. “To not exploding.” Brenda beamed. “Low bar.” Ace pointed at her. “Important bar.” The room laughed around her. On the screen, Jessie O’Sullivan remained incomplete. But her colors were there now. Chestnut. Honey. Cream. Gold. Warm enough to belong beside Amber’s blue brightness and Maeve’s green-edged danger. Different enough to stand alone. And in the safehouse light, surrounded by people already arguing like family around a person who had only just been invited to become one, the third O’Sullivan began to look less like a plan. More like a possibility with pockets. --- # Chapter 4 — Back to GLAMR COVE Shopping, Ace decided, was proof that civilization had taken a wrong turn somewhere around fire. Fire had been useful. Fire cooked food. Fire kept people warm. Fire discouraged predators, purified metal, and occasionally solved problems Night City refused to solve through proper paperwork. Shopping did none of these things. Shopping took money, dignity, time, and willingness, mixed them together under fluorescent lighting, and called the result preparation. Ace hated preparation when it involved mirrors. Unfortunately, preparation was exactly where they were going. Again. Watson looked much the same as it had the last time the O’Sullivan disaster had required physical infrastructure. Layered commercial rot. Independent shops wedged between noodle stalls, cosmetic clinics, secondhand luxury stores, repair counters, fake-leather vendors, and enough half-legal beauty services to make identity feel like something sold by the hour. Night City loved masks. This part of Watson simply admitted it with worse signage. Panam parked two blocks away because she respected exits more than convenience. Reyes checked the street because Reyes checked everything first. Kiro had three devices open before her boots had fully touched the sidewalk. Shammy looked delighted by the morning air, which meant two plastic advertisement streamers near a shuttered storefront lifted and fluttered without wind. Brenda walked in the middle of the group with the careful alertness of someone who had brought no illegal tools and considered this a personal sacrifice. Ace had searched the bag before they left. Twice. Panam had searched it once more. Mai had asked one question about a small cylindrical object, and Brenda had answered, “It’s not technically a detonator if nothing is attached.” The object had remained at the safehouse. Brenda had mourned quietly for three minutes. Now she wore her own clothes, her own hair, her own eyes, and the expression of someone trying to look casual while also memorizing every electronics stall they passed. “No side errands,” Ace said. Brenda froze with one foot already angled toward a repair kiosk. “I wasn’t—” “You were.” “It had old circuit boards.” “No.” “I could see them from here.” “That does not make it an emergency.” Brenda looked at Mai. Mai did not even glance toward the stall. “No.” Brenda looked at Panam. Panam shook her head. “Absolutely not. We are on a schedule.” Reyes smiled. “You can stare longingly while walking.” Brenda sighed and did exactly that. Shammy drifted closer to her, sympathetic. “Old boards can be lonely.” Brenda pointed at Shammy. “Thank you.” Ace turned. “No emotional support for side quests.” Shammy blinked. “But side quests are often where humans find fruit.” Ace stopped. Panam looked away. Reyes put one hand over her mouth. Kiro whispered, “That is structurally true.” Ace stared at all of them. “No fruit. No circuit boards. No lonely tools. We are buying Jessie hair.” Brenda made a face. “When you say it like that, it sounds weird.” “It is weird.” Mai walked beside Ace, calm and composed, her silver hair tied back, her eyes already doing the work of mapping exits, cameras, faces, reflection angles, and costs. “It is also necessary.” Brenda looked at Mai. “Do I have to get used to everyone saying things are necessary right before they become embarrassing?” Ace and Panam answered at the same time. “Yes.” Reyes added, “It’s a family tradition.” Brenda looked around the group. “I have been family for less than a day.” Kiro, without looking up, said, “Operationally.” “Does operational family count?” Shammy smiled. “Yes.” Ace did not correct her. That was probably how these things became dangerous. They reached the sign. It flickered between **GLAMR COVE** and **LAM C VE**, still having apparently lost an ongoing war against electricity and typography. Brenda stared up at it. “This is where Amber and Maeve happened?” Ace grimaced. “Parts of them.” Brenda looked at the sign again. “It looks like the sign is lying.” Reyes nodded. “Good start.” Panam opened the door. A bell chimed. Somewhere deeper in the shop, a voice called, “If you’re bleeding on the wigs, you’re paying double.” Ace paused. Brenda’s eyes lit up. “I like this place.” “No,” Ace said. The shop attendant emerged from behind a curtain carrying a foam wig head under one arm and a brush between his teeth. Thin. Glitter on his cheekbones. Exhausted eyes. The expression of a man who had seen every possible bad decision in synthetic hair form and had learned to invoice without flinching. He saw Ace. Stopped. Saw Mai. Stopped more. Saw Shammy. Looked briefly resigned. Then saw Brenda. His eyes moved back to Ace. “Again?” Ace crossed her arms. “Unfortunately.” The attendant looked at the group. “Cover work?” Mai said, “Yes.” Ace said, “Prototype only.” Kiro said, “Developmental identity stage.” Panam said, “No permanent changes today.” Reyes said, “Family emergency.” The attendant slowly removed the brush from his mouth. “Family emergency,” he repeated. Brenda raised one hand. “Hi.” The attendant looked at her. Then at Ace. Then Mai. Then Shammy. Then the group’s collective expression of contained disaster. “Actual family or paperwork family?” Ace opened her mouth. Mai answered first. “Operational family.” The attendant nodded as if this explained everything important. “Expensive kind.” Brenda turned to Ace. “Everything keeps being expensive.” Ace sighed. “Yes.” “Does being O’Sullivan come with a budget?” Mai said, “It comes with invoices.” Brenda frowned. “I am learning things about family.” Reyes leaned toward her. “Wait until taxes.” Brenda looked wounded. “Why does everyone keep threatening me with taxes?” The attendant pointed toward the back room. “Because taxes are scarier than wigs. Come on.” --- The back room of GLAMR COVE had not improved. This was good. Ace had not wanted it to improve. Improvement would have implied that time had passed normally here and not in a pocket dimension dedicated to temporary stories and hair-related betrayal. The same cracked leather chairs waited under the mirror lights. The same counter carried brushes, caps, adhesives, color charts, storage stands, lace samples, maintenance sprays, and locked cases labeled with warnings that sounded like legal advice given by criminals. Brenda walked in and immediately stopped at a case marked **REAL HAIR — DO NOT TOUCH UNLESS YOU HAVE MONEY OR BLACKMAIL**. “That is a very specific sign.” The attendant set the foam head on the counter. “Specific signs reduce stupid questions by twelve percent.” Brenda tilted her head. “Only twelve?” Everyone turned. Brenda blinked. “What?” Ace stared at her. Kiro slowly smiled. Reyes made a delighted noise. Panam looked at Mai. Mai’s expression was calm, but Ace saw the little shift. The recognition of structure. The attendant pointed at Brenda. “There. That one.” Brenda looked around. “What one?” Ace sighed. “That was an O’Sullivan question.” Brenda straightened slightly. “Oh.” Kiro whispered, “She does have the family engine.” Ace pointed without looking. “No notes.” Kiro lowered her agent. Slowly. The attendant circled Brenda once, professionally ruthless. Brenda held very still for three seconds. Then shifted. Then stopped herself. Then shifted again. Panam watched with open amusement. “Minutes,” she said. Brenda looked at her. “What?” “You said you could do quieter for minutes.” “I am doing minutes.” “It has been eight seconds.” Brenda frowned. “Long seconds.” The attendant looked at Mai. “First cover?” “For her,” Mai said. He nodded. “Always messy.” Ace crossed her arms. “She needs chestnut brown. Natural. Warm. Presentable, not polished.” Brenda lifted one finger. “I said presentable, not polished.” The attendant looked at her. Brenda lowered the finger slightly. “That part is important.” He studied her for another moment, then nodded. “Good. People who know one true thing about the cover are less annoying than people who know zero.” Brenda brightened. “I know one thing.” Ace muttered, “Currently.” Mai said, “We are testing the visual frame today. No lenses.” The attendant’s eyes flicked toward Shammy. He remembered. Of course he remembered. Professional discretion, apparently, included emotional indexing. “No eye changes,” he said. “Hair only. Maybe color samples near the face. Nothing installed.” Shammy relaxed by one visible degree. Brenda noticed. Her expression softened. “No surprises.” Shammy smiled. “No surprises.” The attendant moved to the cabinets and began pulling options. The first wig was brown. Technically. It was also flat, dull, and so aggressively ordinary that Brenda looked like a clerk in a municipal office for crimes committed by dust. Reyes stared. Panam frowned. Kiro winced. Ace said, “No.” Brenda looked in the mirror. “I look like I file complaints about music.” The attendant removed it instantly. “Dead brown.” Kiro whispered, “Like dead beige.” Ace turned. “Kiro.” Kiro looked away. The second wig was too glossy, too expensive, too polished. Darker brown with sleek waves and a shine that made Brenda look like someone who had never opened a casing with her teeth because the proper tool was in another room. Brenda stared at herself. “I look like I own a lobby.” Panam shook her head. “No.” Reyes smiled. “Maybe Jessie after three divorces.” “Why does everyone’s future include divorce?” Brenda asked. Ace pointed at the mirror. “No.” The attendant removed it. “Too executive.” The third had warmth. Chestnut brown, medium depth, faint lighter strands through the front, soft enough not to look theatrical, practical enough that it did not announce itself as a wig. It did not try to turn Brenda elegant. It did not try to erase the shape of her face. It simply changed the first assumption. The attendant held it near Brenda without fitting it. The room got quiet. Brenda noticed the quiet before seeing herself properly. “What?” Mai stepped closer. “That one.” Panam nodded. “Yeah.” Kiro whispered, “There.” Reyes leaned back against the counter, smile slower now. “Oh. That works.” Ace said nothing. Brenda looked at her through the mirror. Ace nodded once. “Try it.” Brenda swallowed. Not fear. Not exactly. But the energy in her shifted, bright chaos tightening around the center. She sat. The attendant moved quickly and carefully. Cap first. Hair tucked away. Adjustments. Pins. Lace. A little repositioning at the temples. The chestnut hair settled around Brenda’s face like the first line of a new sentence. He turned the chair toward the mirror. “Look.” Brenda did. Nobody spoke. For a moment, the back room held only mirror light and the faint hum of old neon. Brenda Boom did not disappear. That was the first thing Ace noticed. Good. Brenda was still there in the eyes, the posture, the mouth already wanting to comment, the way her fingers twitched toward a tool that was not on the counter. But the frame had changed. The messy public charge softened into something warmer and less immediately suspicious. Chestnut hair made her look less like someone who might end a stream with an explosion and more like someone who had been made presentable by relatives who loved her and did not fully understand her hobbies. Not polished. Not expensive. Not hidden. Just redirected. Brenda stared. Her face went through six reactions too quickly to name. Then she said, very softly, “I look...” Ace waited. Mai waited. Shammy leaned closer, eyes careful. Brenda finished, “...like I know where the warranty went.” Reyes broke first. Panam bent forward, laughing into one hand. Kiro made a small strangled sound. The attendant looked at Brenda in the mirror and nodded once. “Keep that.” Brenda’s mouth twitched. “Is that good?” Ace stepped closer. “Yes.” Brenda looked at her through the mirror. “Do I look like Jessie?” Ace hesitated. Not because the answer was no. Because the answer was yes, and that had weight. “She’s starting.” Brenda went still. Then smiled. Small. A little embarrassed. A little pleased. Shammy moved to the side of the chair and studied the reflection. “Brenda is still there.” Brenda glanced up at her quickly. “Yeah?” Shammy nodded. “Yes. The hair is a new room. You are inside it.” The attendant stared at Shammy for half a second. Then very deliberately said nothing. Smart man. Brenda looked back at herself. “A new room.” Kiro looked physically pained by not typing. Ace saw. “No.” Kiro whispered, “But—” “No.” Mai walked around to stand behind Brenda’s chair. “Try posture.” Brenda looked alarmed. “Already?” “Yes.” “I just got hair.” “Hair changes frame. Posture tells the room how to read it.” Brenda looked at Ace. “Is she always like this?” Ace stared at Mai. “Yes.” Mai looked at Ace through the mirror. Ace added, “Worse when correct.” Mai’s mouth curved. “Sit as Jessie might sit.” Brenda thought about that. Then sat up too straight. Everyone said, “No.” Brenda deflated. “What?” Panam pointed. “That looks like someone told you not to touch anything.” Brenda blinked. “Someone usually has.” Reyes nodded. “Valid but wrong.” The attendant circled her once. “Too stiff. She’s not court-appointed.” Brenda relaxed too much and immediately looked like she was about to crawl under the counter to inspect wiring. Ace said, “Also no.” Brenda threw up both hands. “Then what?” Mai leaned closer, voice calm. “Jessie has been made presentable by family, not domesticated by them.” Brenda stared at Mai through the mirror. “That sentence was useful and insulting.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Ace smiled despite herself. Brenda tried again. Less stiff. Still alert. Shoulders loose enough not to look frightened. Hands visible but not idle. Chin not lifted in challenge. Eyes curious. Not polished. Presentable. The mirror changed. Not dramatically. Enough. Kiro whispered, “Oh.” Panam nodded. “That.” Reyes smiled. “There’s the drawer.” Brenda frowned. “What drawer?” “Organized drawer.” “I have one.” “Jessie has two.” Brenda looked scandalized. “Ambitious.” The attendant adjusted the fall of the chestnut hair near her jaw. “Good. But she needs the eyes eventually.” Brenda looked at him. “Honey-brown?” He nodded. “Amber-brown would work too, but if Amber is already blue and Maeve is green, honey-brown keeps this one grounded.” Brenda smiled faintly. “This one?” “Jessie.” Brenda looked at the mirror again. The word no longer sat only on Kiro’s file. It had found hair. That made it more real. Ace saw the moment Brenda realized that. So did Mai. So did Shammy. Brenda reached up slowly and touched the chestnut hair. Not pulling. Just checking. “This feels less weird than I expected.” The attendant shrugged. “Good covers usually do. Bad covers feel like helmets.” Ace muttered, “Some feel like lawsuits.” Reyes smiled. “Amber?” “Do not.” Brenda looked over. “Is Amber a lawsuit?” Panam answered before Ace could. “Emotionally.” Kiro whispered, “And financially.” Ace turned. “I will start throwing wig heads.” The attendant reached protectively toward the foam head. “Please don’t. Those are inventory.” Shammy pointed toward a shelf. “There are hats.” Ace’s entire body went still. Reyes’ smile became wicked. Panam immediately said, “No.” Kiro looked up too quickly. Brenda turned toward the shelf. “Hats?” Ace pointed at Shammy. “Do not.” Shammy looked innocent. There was no universe where Shammy looked convincingly innocent, but she tried. “I was observing.” “You were summoning.” Brenda’s eyes widened. “This is hat lore.” Reyes whispered, “It is sacred.” Mai said, “It is not relevant.” The attendant looked from Shammy to Ace to Brenda. Then, with the subtle cruelty of a merchant who remembered prior profit, reached under the counter and produced a soft brown cap. Not wide-brimmed. Not mysterious. Not dramatic. Practical. Stylish enough. Warm enough. The kind of cap someone might wear while walking between a coffee kiosk and a technical campus. Ace stared. “That is not the hat.” The attendant said, “No. This one is legal.” Brenda reached for it. Ace did not stop her fast enough. She put it on. The room considered. Panam tilted her head. “Huh.” Reyes smiled. “Oh, that works too.” Kiro whispered, “Jessie has a field variant.” “No,” Ace said. Brenda looked in the mirror. “I look like I know where the service entrance is.” Mai nodded. “Because Jessie probably does.” Ace covered her face. The attendant added the cap to the counter. Ace lowered her hand. “No.” Brenda turned. “It’s practical.” “That is not the standard.” Panam stepped in, betraying Ace in broad daylight. “It is practical.” Ace stared at her. Panam shrugged. “If she needs to move through less formal spaces, that works. Not for the event. For outer layer.” Kiro typed on her agent. Ace turned. Kiro froze. “Mentally.” “That was not mental.” “I was using my hands to think.” Reyes nodded. “I respect that.” Mai looked at the cap, then at Brenda. “Not core event wear. But useful for movement before and after.” Brenda held the cap a little closer. “Approved?” Ace looked around the room. At Panam, already lost. At Kiro, visibly writing the cap into history. At Reyes, delighted. At Shammy, serene and entirely guilty. At Mai, who had already made the tactical decision. Ace sighed. “Conditional.” Shammy brightened. “Like Sera.” “No.” Brenda looked delighted. “I have conditional hat?” The attendant quietly added it to the bill. Ace saw him. “You.” He did not flinch. “I sell wigs. Betrayal is implied.” Reyes put one hand against the wall and bent forward laughing. Brenda turned to Ace. “He said the thing?” Ace pointed at her. “You do not know the thing.” “I know it now.” “Barely.” “That still counts.” The attendant began gathering the selected wig, cap, maintenance tools, and sample swatches. “No lenses today,” he said. “But I can send honey-brown options to your secured contact. Test tray only. No fitting until everyone involved agrees.” He looked at Shammy when he said it. Shammy nodded once. “Good.” Brenda looked at the mirror again. Chestnut hair. Brown cap in her lap. Still her own eyes. Still her own face. But the room around her had changed. Or maybe she had. A little. Ace stepped beside the chair. “How does it feel?” Brenda did not answer right away. She made a face. Then looked at herself from a slightly different angle. Then tried the not-polished posture again without anyone asking. The mirror held. “Like me,” she said slowly. A pause. “After family interference.” Mai smiled. “Accurate.” Reyes wiped one eye. “Beautiful.” Panam nodded. “Very accurate.” Kiro whispered, “Core line.” Ace did not even stop her that time. Brenda looked at Ace. “Is that enough?” Ace studied the reflection. Chestnut hair. Curious eyes. Shoulders still too alive to be corporate. Mouth ready to ask the wrong question for exactly the right reason. Jessie was not finished. Not even close. But she had entered the room. Ace nodded. “For today? Yes.” Brenda smiled. Small again. Then, because she could not leave sincerity unattended for too long, she lifted the cap and said, “Can the hat have tools?” Ace turned and walked toward the door. “No.” “One tiny tool?” “No.” “What about a non-illegal tool?” Panam followed, laughing. “No hidden storage.” “Not hidden. Emotionally available.” Reyes nearly walked into a wig stand. Kiro made a high sound and clutched her agent to her chest. Mai guided Shammy toward the front room, smiling despite herself. The attendant packed the cap. Ace heard the register chirp. She stopped in the doorway. “I did not approve that.” The attendant looked at the receipt. “Conditional approval carries financial implications.” Brenda leaned around Ace, chestnut hair shifting across her cheek. “Is that taxes?” Ace closed her eyes. From behind her, Mai said, “In a sense.” Brenda groaned. “I hate family.” Shammy smiled. “You are learning quickly.” And GLAMR COVE, treacherous as ever, accepted payment for one more temporary story. --- # Chapter 5 — Mara Judges the Third One Mara’s place did not have a sign. This was how Ace knew it was dangerous. Night City advertised everything that wanted walk-in victims. Food, guns, joy, grief, replacement organs, replacement memories, legal services, illegal services pretending to be legal services, and several categories of vice that had been invented only because someone needed a new tax loophole. A shop without a sign meant one of three things. It had failed. It was a trap. Or it was good enough not to need strangers. Mara’s place was the third. Probably also the second, under the right circumstances. It sat beneath a half-dead commercial block behind a narrow door that looked like it led to maintenance, regret, or both. Kiro opened the lock remotely before anyone touched it. Mai gave her a look. Kiro pretended not to notice. Panam noticed and approved silently because the door looked like tetanus had opinions. Brenda stood beside Ace wearing the chestnut wig packed carefully under a plain hood, the conditional cap in a bag she kept patting as if it might escape. “It still feels weird that a place without a sign is where clothes happen,” Brenda said. Reyes smiled. “Signless clothes are how you know the judgment is premium.” Panam muttered, “Judgment better come with good soles.” Ace looked at Brenda. “Do not mention the hat first.” Brenda blinked. “Why would I mention the hat first?” “Because you are holding the bag like it contains state secrets.” “It contains conditional approval.” “It contains a cap.” “Conditional cap.” Kiro lifted one finger. “Technically—” “No,” Ace said. Kiro lowered the finger. Shammy looked down the stairwell leading under the block. Soft light waited below. Warm, indirect, very expensive in a way that did not need to brag. “Sera liked this place,” Shammy said. Ace pointed at her. “No hats.” Shammy looked innocent again. It had not improved since GLAMR COVE. “I did not say hats.” “You thought hats.” “My thoughts are tall.” “That is worse.” Mai moved past them and started down the stairs. “Focus.” Ace followed. Behind her, Brenda whispered to Panam, “Are thoughts usually height-regulated?” Panam whispered back, “Not in this family.” Brenda nodded as if filing that under operational wisdom. The lower door opened before Mai knocked. Mara stood inside. Black clothing. Silver hair pinned back with absolute severity. One thin line of gold-thread optic augmentation tracing along her left temple like an elegant warning. Late fifties, maybe. Could have been older. Could have been younger. Could have been carved out of expensive disapproval and given retail authority. She looked at Mai. Then Ace. Then Shammy. Then Panam. Then Reyes. Then Kiro. Then Brenda. Her expression did not change. “No.” Amber had not been activated, but Ace still felt personally accused. Mai inclined her head. “Mara.” “No.” Ace sighed. “We have not said anything.” “You brought a new one.” Brenda raised one hand. “Hi.” Mara looked at her. Then at Ace. Then back at Brenda. “Absolutely not.” Brenda’s hand lowered. “Is that about me or the concept?” Mara studied her for one second longer. “The concept.” Brenda brightened slightly. “Oh. Good.” Mara’s gaze sharpened. Then she looked at Mai. “What is this?” Mai answered with the calm of someone knowingly placing a lit match near a formal invoice. “Family emergency.” Mara closed her eyes. Ace could respect that. When Mara opened them again, they were worse. “Your last family emergency required blue lenses, green lenses, two operational wardrobes, one public artist contingency, one logistics woman who threatened my shoes, and a hat I still regret selling.” Shammy smiled. “The hat is well.” Mara looked at her. “That is not comforting.” Panam stepped forward. “I still stand by the shoe threat.” “I know,” Mara said. “You were correct. It made you more irritating.” Panam seemed pleased. Brenda leaned toward Reyes. “She’s good.” Reyes whispered, “Very.” Mara heard it. Of course Mara heard it. Her eyes moved to Brenda. “And you are?” Brenda straightened. Then hesitated. Ace watched the hesitation. Not fear. A choice. Brenda could say Brenda. She could say Jessie. She did neither immediately. Mai noticed. Shammy noticed. Mara waited. That, Ace realized, was one of the reasons Mara was dangerous. She did not fill silences for people. She let them reveal what they carried. Finally Brenda said, “Brenda. Maybe Jessie.” Mara’s gaze held on her for a moment. Then she looked at Ace and Mai. “She has more sense than you.” Ace opened her mouth. Mai said, “Often.” Ace turned. “Excuse me?” Mai’s face was composed. Too composed. Mara stepped aside. “Inside. Before someone sees your unsupervised cousin-shaped problem in the hall.” Brenda whispered, “Cousin-shaped.” Kiro whispered back, “Strong descriptor.” Ace pointed over her shoulder. “No one records that.” Kiro looked innocent. Worse than Shammy. --- Mara’s fitting room was exactly as Ace remembered it. Too clean to be comforting. Too quiet to be friendly. Too well-lit to permit lies from fabric. Garment racks stood in ordered lines by color, purpose, and probably moral threat level. A long table carried measuring tape, pins, fabric swatches, scanner tools, garment tags, and one small black cup of coffee that looked untouched because Mara’s disapproval alone probably caffeinated her. Brenda stepped inside and looked around. “This room knows what taxes are.” Ace closed her eyes. Reyes wheezed. Panam turned away. Kiro made a sound like a dying modem. Mara looked at Brenda. Then, very slowly, at Ace. Ace lifted both hands. “She came with that.” Mara said, “Obviously.” Brenda looked concerned. “Was that bad?” Mara looked back at her. “No.” Brenda relaxed. “Was it good?” Mara did not answer. Reyes whispered, “That means yes.” Mara pointed at the center platform. “You. Stand.” Brenda looked at Ace. Ace nodded. Brenda stepped onto the platform with the careful suspicion of someone approaching machinery that might judge her. She still wore her own clothes, but the chestnut wig had been unpacked and fitted again before they left GLAMR COVE. It changed the room around her in ways that were becoming harder to ignore. Mara circled once. Then again. No measuring tape yet. Just eyes. Ace hated watching Mara look at people. Not because Mara was cruel. Cruelty was lazy. Mara was worse. She was accurate. “She is not another Amber,” Mara said. Amber had not been activated, but the sentence still landed like a formal ruling. Ace said, “No.” Mai said, “Definitely not.” Brenda asked, “Is that good?” Ace answered immediately. “Yes.” So did Mai. “Yes.” Brenda looked between them. Mara noticed that too. “Hm.” Ace did not like that hm. No one liked that hm. Mara pointed toward Brenda’s current boots. “Those are not coming into a corporate event.” Brenda looked wounded. “They are good boots.” Panam crossed her arms. “For your life, yes.” Mara’s eyes flicked to Panam. Panam nodded. Mara nodded back. A temporary alliance formed. Ace felt the room become more dangerous. Brenda looked betrayed. “Why do shoe people keep finding each other?” “Because exits exist,” Panam said. “Because ankles are not theoretical,” Mara added. Brenda stared. Then looked at Ace. Ace lifted a hand. “I am not getting between them.” “Coward.” “Survivor.” Mara moved to a rack and began removing pieces without looking at labels. “Profile.” Mai answered. “Distant O’Sullivan cousin. Technical. Warm. Not polished. Presentable through family interference. Socially approachable, technically underestimated, non-hostile. She enters because Amber is proud of her and Maeve trusts her enough to let Amber be proud in public.” Brenda looked at Mai. “That is a lot.” Mai glanced at her. “Yes.” Mara looked over one shoulder. “Is it true?” That was directed at Brenda. Brenda blinked. “The technical part?” “The pride part.” The room changed again. Brenda’s hand moved once at her side. Ace saw her almost reach for a pocket that was not useful. Then stop. “I don’t know Amber yet,” Brenda said. Good answer. Honest answer. Mara’s eyes moved to Ace. Ace held her gaze. Then Mara looked back at Brenda. “No. But you know whether being introduced that way would break you.” Brenda got quieter. “No,” she said. “It would be weird.” Mara waited. Brenda added, “But not bad weird.” Mara nodded once. “Good.” Ace’s shoulders loosened. Mara turned to the rack. “No doll clothes.” Ace almost laughed. Mai’s mouth curved. Brenda looked suspicious. “What are doll clothes?” Reyes answered before anyone could stop her. “What Ace feared Amber would be.” Ace snapped, “Reyes.” Mara continued as if Reyes had merely supplied a footnote. “No fragile femininity. No costume cleverness. No sharp little skirt that says someone wanted to make the technical girl cute because they did not know what else to do with her.” Brenda slowly pointed at Mara. “I like her.” Panam nodded. “Told you.” Mara pulled a pale cream jacket from the rack. “Cream, not beige.” Brenda straightened. “Important distinction.” “It is when beige is dead.” Brenda gasped. Ace looked at Kiro. Kiro lifted both hands. “I did not transmit that.” Mara looked at all of them. “You did not have to.” Reyes whispered, “She knows.” Mara handed the jacket to Brenda. “Try.” Brenda took it like it might explode into responsibility. It did not. She put it on over her shirt. The jacket was structured but soft, lightly tailored, with enough shape to make her look intentional without making her look locked in. The color warmed the chestnut hair instead of burying it. The sleeves were practical. The cut allowed movement. Brenda looked in the mirror. “Oh.” Not bad. Not delighted yet. Oh. Mara moved behind her and adjusted one shoulder. “Too large by half a measure. Good. If it fits too perfectly, she looks curated.” Kiro whispered, “Curated is bad for Jessie.” Ace pointed without turning. “Kiro.” “I whispered.” “I heard italics.” Kiro closed her mouth. Mara handed Brenda a soft brown top. “Underlayer.” Brenda changed behind a screen with the kind of commentary that suggested clothing had committed several structural crimes. “This has no obvious front.” “It does,” Mara said. “I disagree.” “Clothing does not require consensus.” Brenda emerged wearing the brown top under the cream jacket. Panam leaned back slightly. “That works.” Reyes smiled. “Very cousin.” Brenda looked at her. “What does cousin mean as an adjective?” Reyes considered. “Related, but legally deniable.” Ace pinched the bridge of her nose. Mai said, “Accurate.” Brenda looked at the mirror again. The outfit had changed her without smoothing out the wrong things. She still looked curious. Still ready to move. Still like she might notice a maintenance panel before a chandelier. But now she also looked like someone had tried to bring her into a formal room and had mostly succeeded. Mara looked at Ace. “She was right.” Ace nodded. “She was.” Brenda turned. “About what?” “Presentable, not polished,” Mara said. Brenda’s smile came quickly and then tried to hide. Mara saw that too. “Keep the phrase. It is useful.” Kiro whispered, “It is in the file.” “No one is surprised,” Ace said. Mara moved to another rack. “Trousers.” Brenda made a worried sound. “What kind?” “The kind that fit.” “That is vague.” “It is professional.” Mara selected dark warm-brown trousers, wide enough for movement, tailored enough for the event, with actual pockets that did not destroy the line. Panam inspected them physically. Mara let her. This was how Ace knew the alliance had become formal. Panam checked the seam, pocket depth, and movement range with frightening seriousness. “Acceptable.” Mara said, “Obviously.” Brenda looked at the trousers. “Pockets?” Panam nodded. “Real.” Brenda took them with reverence. Ace looked at Mai. Mai’s expression said, Do not interfere with pocket diplomacy. Ace did not. Brenda changed again. When she stepped out, the room became quiet in a different way. Not emotional like the mirror at GLAMR COVE. Professional. The look had assembled. Cream jacket. Warm brown top. Dark brown trousers. Chestnut hair. Still her own eyes, which made the temporary nature of the whole thing more visible, but not in a bad way. Jessie had not arrived fully. But Jessie could stand there. Mara circled. “Good.” Brenda looked startled. “That’s it?” “That is more than most people get.” Reyes nodded solemnly. “Treasure it.” Mara looked at the shoes. “Now fix the betrayal.” Brenda groaned. Panam smiled. Ace saw it and became concerned for everyone. --- Shoes took longer than any weapon loadout had ever taken in Ace’s life. This was because shoes, according to Panam and Mara, had ethics. Brenda disagreed. Loudly. “Shoes cannot have ethics.” Panam held up a low brown boot. “Bad shoes lie about exits.” Mara held up another. “Cheap shoes punish fear.” Brenda looked at Ace. “Help.” Ace shook her head. “I am learning.” Reyes sat on a fitting bench, chin in hand, blissful. “This is the best seminar I have ever attended.” Kiro, on the floor again, was cross-referencing Mara’s recommendations with Night Corp’s venue flooring from Rogue’s shard. Mai noticed. “Kiro.” Kiro looked up. “What?” “Do not hack the venue to validate shoe choice.” Kiro paused. Then very carefully closed one window. Ace stared. “One window?” Kiro looked wounded. “I closed the illegal one.” Panam pointed at the boots in Mara’s hand. “Those.” Mara nodded. “Yes.” Brenda eyed them suspiciously. “They look normal.” “Correct,” Mara said. “Normal is a trap.” “Not this time.” Brenda put them on. Walked. Stopped. Walked again. Jumped once before anyone could tell her not to. Panam said, “No jumping in fitted trousers.” Brenda looked down. “But I can jump.” Mara said, “Good.” Panam nodded. “Good.” Brenda smiled slowly. “Oh.” Ace leaned toward Mai. “She understands shoes now.” Mai whispered back, “For four minutes.” “Better than expected.” Brenda moved around the platform, testing pivot, step, weight, quietness. Her face became more interested with every movement. “They don’t feel like disguise shoes.” Mara nodded. “They are not. Disguise shoes get people killed.” Panam pointed. “Exactly.” The alliance became terrifyingly permanent. Mara added the boots to the growing outfit set. Then she placed a small bag on the table. Brenda leaned forward. “A bag.” “No,” Ace said immediately. Brenda looked at her. “I did not ask anything yet.” “You were going to.” Mara opened the bag. Soft brown leather. Small enough to pass as a style choice. Structured enough not to collapse. Slightly rounded edges. Nothing aggressive. Nothing tactical. Brenda looked disappointed. “It looks useless.” Mara’s mouth curved for the first time. Barely. “Good.” Brenda stared. Then slowly turned to Mai. Mai nodded. “If it looks useful, security checks it.” Brenda looked back at the bag. “But it is useful?” Mara opened the interior. Small compartments. Flexible dividers. Non-metallic tool loops hidden under a lining flap. A shallow side pocket just large enough for a scanner wafer if disguised properly. No obvious tech. No visible modifications. Brenda’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Ace leaned closer. “That is actually—” “Do not compliment the bag,” Mara said. Ace straightened. Mara looked at Brenda. “It can carry approved tools.” Brenda brightened. Panam said, “Approved.” Kiro said, “Define approved.” Mai said, “We will.” Reyes said, “Tiny?” Ace said, “You are all banned from tools.” Brenda took the bag reverently. “It looks stupid.” Mara nodded. “That is why it works.” Brenda held it like she had been handed a moral puzzle. “I hate how much sense that makes.” Ace smiled. “Jessie is learning.” Brenda looked at her. Then at the mirror. Then at the bag. Then back at herself. Something clicked. Not the full lock. A small one. A practical one. She adjusted the cream jacket, slung the stupid useful bag over her shoulder, shifted her weight into the brown boots, and stood in front of the mirror. Not Brenda Boom. Not entirely. Not yet. But not merely Brenda in costume either. Someone family had made presentable. Someone who understood electronics better than etiquette. Someone who could walk into a corpo room and be underestimated by the exact people most eager to prove they understood things she had already noticed. Mara saw it. So did Ace. So did Mai. Shammy moved closer, her expression soft with wonder. “There is more Jessie.” Brenda looked at her reflection. “Yeah.” Mara picked up a tag gun. Ace immediately tensed. “No dramatic labeling.” Mara ignored her and wrote by hand instead. Her handwriting was sharp, controlled, and somehow judgmental even before it formed words. She attached one tag to the garment bag. **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN — CHESTNUT / HONEY-BROWN LATER / PRESENTABLE, NOT POLISHED** Brenda read it. Then smiled. “Later?” Mara looked at Shammy. “Eyes later.” Shammy nodded. “Good.” Mara took another smaller tag and attached it to the bag. **TOOLS: APPROVED ONLY** Brenda frowned. “That tag is oppressive.” Panam said, “That tag is civilization.” Kiro whispered, “Civilization is often oppressive.” Mai said, “Kiro.” Kiro looked at the floor. Mara began packing the selected pieces. Cream jacket. Warm brown top. Dark trousers. Low boots. Soft bag. A pale gold scarf Mai approved and Ace mistrusted on principle. A second underlayer in warm ivory because Mara said, “Events stain people.” A lightweight outer coat, soft camel-brown, that made Brenda look like someone had somewhere legitimate to be. Brenda touched the coat sleeve. “This is too nice.” Mara said, “No.” Brenda looked at her. “It feels too nice.” “That is because your life has lowered your standards.” Reyes whispered, “I love her so much.” Mara did not look up. “You cannot afford me emotionally.” Reyes placed a hand over her heart. “Devastating.” Ace checked the stack. “Is this enough?” Mara looked offended. “For one event, yes. For a recurring cover, no.” Brenda turned. “Recurring?” The room paused. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at Brenda. Kiro stopped pretending not to listen. Panam’s expression shifted. Reyes grew quieter. Shammy’s gaze moved to Brenda’s reflection. Mara continued packing as if she had not just dropped a stone into still water. “Do not build a cover for one night if it fits better than expected.” Brenda looked at the garment bag. At the tag. At her own chestnut reflection. Then at Ace. “This is maybe not just one night?” Ace answered honestly. “We do not know yet.” Brenda nodded slowly. Not frightened. Not thrilled. Thinking. Mai stepped beside her. “The first rule remains. If Jessie stops fitting, we put her away.” Brenda looked at Mai. “And if she fits?” Ace sighed. “Then Kiro becomes unbearable.” Kiro whispered, “I am already becoming unbearable.” Panam said, “At least you’re self-aware.” Reyes smiled. “Growth.” Brenda looked back at the mirror. “If she fits,” she said slowly, “then she gets better pockets.” Panam nodded immediately. “That is the correct long-term priority.” Mara’s mouth moved. Almost. A smile would have been unprofessional. This was close enough to count. Ace looked at Mara. “How much?” Mara gave her a number. Ace stared. Then looked at Mai. Mai looked at the receipt. “Rogue said bill operational wardrobe.” Ace looked back at the receipt. “This is not wardrobe. This is organized extortion.” Mara said, “Quality resembles extortion to people who buy emergency clothing.” Reyes laughed. Kiro opened a payment channel. Mai approved it before Ace could emotionally recover. The transaction cleared. Brenda winced. “O’Sullivan really does come with invoices.” Mai said, “Yes.” Ace took the garment bag. Panam took the boots box. Kiro took the digital receipt and looked too happy. Reyes took nothing and still looked guilty. Shammy took Brenda’s hand. Brenda looked down at their joined hands, then up at Shammy. Shammy smiled. “Jessie did not take Brenda.” Brenda’s expression softened. “No.” Ace watched them. Mara watched too, though she pretended to check tags. Then Brenda added, “Jessie did take my hatred of beige and turn it into pale gold.” Mara said, “A respectable survival strategy.” Panam nodded. “Better than dead beige.” Mara looked at Panam. “Never say that in here again.” Panam smiled. “No promises.” Mara opened the door for them herself, which probably meant she wanted them gone before another identity appeared. As they stepped into the stairwell, Brenda looked back. “Thank you.” Mara gave her a look that made gratitude seem like a breach of contract. Then said, “Do not let them over-polish you.” Brenda nodded. “I won’t.” Mara’s gaze moved briefly to Ace and Mai. “And do not let them under-explain you.” Brenda blinked. Ace did too. Mai inclined her head. “Good advice.” Mara looked at Shammy. “No new hats.” Shammy smiled. “Not today.” Ace stopped on the stair. “Not today?” Mara shut the door. The lock clicked. Reyes started laughing before they reached the top. Panam carried the boot box like a trophy. Kiro was already muttering about approved tool profiles. Mai walked beside Ace, composed and satisfied. Brenda descended into the city light carrying one stupid useful bag, one conditional cap, one garment bag with her name on it, and an expression that said she was trying very hard not to smile too much. Ace looked at her. “What?” Brenda shook her head. “Nothing.” Ace waited. Brenda lasted three seconds. “I have pockets.” Panam lifted the boot box. “And shoes that won’t betray your knees.” Kiro lifted her agent. “And a light identity scaffold with behavioral anchors.” Reyes spread both hands. “And family embarrassment.” Shammy smiled. “And cousin weather.” Mai looked at Ace. Ace sighed. “And invoices.” Brenda grinned. Jessie was not finished. But she now had clothes. That was, apparently, how disasters became presentable. --- # Chapter 6 — Family Rehearsal By the time they returned to the safehouse, the garment bags had become everyone else’s problem. This was unfair, because Ace was carrying one of them. It was also accurate, because the bag had Brenda’s temporary name on it, Kiro’s future notes inside it, Mai’s tactical approval around it, Panam’s shoe doctrine beneath it, Reyes’ emotional blackmail hovering near it, and Shammy’s cousin weather somewhere invisibly folded through the seams. Ace had only paid for it. Well. Technically, Rogue had paid for it. Emotionally, Ace had paid for it. The safehouse door closed behind them with a soft hydraulic seal. Brenda stepped inside first and looked immediately toward the table, where Kiro’s abandoned noodles still sat beside two dark screens and one file that had absolutely not been open when they left. Ace noticed. Kiro noticed Ace noticing. Kiro moved one inch sideways. Ace pointed at the screen. “What is that?” Kiro blinked with perfect innocence. “A closed terminal.” “It was open.” “It is now closed.” “Why was it open?” “To be closed efficiently.” Panam walked past them with the boots box. “That one means she was working.” Kiro looked betrayed. Panam set the box on the table. “Don’t look at me like that. I know guilt posture.” Reyes entered last, carrying nothing but joy. “Kiro has at least one guilt posture and three guilt velocities.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai took the garment bag from Ace and laid it across the back of a chair. “Kiro.” Kiro sighed. “I made no irreversible changes.” Ace stared. “That was not the question.” “It should be appreciated as an answer.” “No.” Brenda leaned over the back of the couch, still wearing the chestnut wig because Mara had insisted it would help her learn “the weight of the frame,” which sounded like fashion nonsense until everyone realized it was correct. “What kind of changes?” Kiro brightened despite herself. “Light scaffolding. Only local drafts. No live records. Name structure, social role, possible academic traces, two old forum handles, one repair anecdote anchor, and a possible dead link to an electronics club that no longer exists.” Mai’s eyes narrowed. Kiro lifted both hands. “Local only.” Ace looked at the ceiling. “Why do criminals always say local like that makes crime polite?” Brenda pointed at Kiro. “Electronics club?” Kiro leaned forward. “Old one. Defunct. Good residue. Low-risk.” “Was Jessie in it?” “Not yet.” “Can she have been?” “Maybe.” Brenda considered. “Did they fix things or just argue about fixing things?” Kiro froze. Reyes slowly sat down. Panam folded her arms. Mai’s mouth curved. Ace closed her eyes. There it was again. The question that made Kiro forget everything except delight. Kiro whispered, “Both.” Brenda nodded. “Good. Jessie would leave if they only argued.” Kiro turned to the terminal. Ace snapped, “No live records.” “I am making a behavioral note!” “Fine.” Kiro typed with ferocious restraint. **Repair Club Anchor: Jessie tolerated argument only when soldering followed.** Brenda leaned in. “That sounds like me.” Mai said, “Good.” Shammy sat on the couch and pulled one blanket into her lap. “Jessie is closer now.” Brenda looked down at herself. Chestnut hair. Her own clothes beneath Mara’s careful outer layer, because the full outfit was hanging in the garment bag for event rehearsal, not casual safehouse contamination. The conditional cap was in her hands. She had not put it down. Ace had decided not to fight that battle. Yet. Brenda turned the cap once. “She feels close. But not... here.” Mai nodded. “Because you have not met the rest of the family.” Ace went still. Brenda looked up. “Amber and Maeve?” Reyes sat forward with visible anticipation. Panam took one look at Reyes and said, “Behave.” Reyes placed a hand over her chest. “I am a professional.” Ace said, “Professional what?” “Witness.” “That is worse.” Kiro opened a second local note file. Ace pointed. “No live notes.” “It is not live.” “No emotional notes.” Kiro looked personally wounded. “That category is undefined.” Mai ignored them both and looked at Brenda. “You need to see the dynamic before the event. Not full activation. Not hair. Not lenses. Just enough posture, voice, and relationship logic that Jessie has somewhere to attach.” Brenda nodded slowly. “Okay.” Then she looked at Ace. “Do I have to call you Amber?” Ace made a face. “No.” Mai said, “Eventually, yes.” Ace turned. “Not helpful.” Mai looked serene. “It is accurate.” Brenda looked between them. “Do you hate it?” Ace almost answered too fast. Then stopped. The room noticed. Of course it noticed. The safehouse had become extremely rude about emotional timing. Ace exhaled. “I hate that it works.” Brenda’s expression softened. “That’s different.” “Yes.” Mai walked to the garment rack built into the wall storage and unlocked it. The door hissed open. The storage light came on. Garment bags hung inside, each tagged and sealed. Amber. Maeve. Sera. Panam Cruz. Now Jessie. Brenda stood without seeming to decide to stand. Her gaze went first to the Amber tag. **AMBER O’SULLIVAN — BLUE LENSES / DYE-FIRST OPERATIONAL VERSION** Then to the Maeve tag. **MAEVE O’SULLIVAN — GREEN LENSES / DYE-FIRST OPERATIONAL VERSION** Then to her own. **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN — CHESTNUT / HONEY-BROWN LATER / PRESENTABLE, NOT POLISHED** She did not joke. That alone made Ace gentler. “Still okay?” Brenda nodded, but it took a moment. “Yeah.” Mai watched her. “Why?” Brenda glanced at her. “What?” “Why is it still okay?” Brenda looked back at the tags. “Because it’s not hiding me from you.” Shammy’s eyes warmed. Ace felt that one land in the room like a careful hand on a bruise. Brenda continued, quieter. “It’s hiding me from them.” Ace nodded. “Yes.” Mai said, “Exactly.” Kiro did not type. Ace noticed and gave her half a point. Reyes did not joke. Ace noticed that too and gave her half a point reluctantly. Panam leaned against the table, arms folded, expression softer than her voice usually allowed. “Then we rehearse.” Brenda took a breath. “Okay.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. There were entire conversations that happened between them without words. This one included warnings, resignation, trust, mild betrayal, and a promise to make Reyes pay if she laughed too hard. Mai’s eyes softened. Ace sighed. “Fine.” Reyes whispered, “Oh, this is going to be beautiful.” Ace snapped, “One sound and I put you outside.” Reyes pressed her lips together and mimed locking them. Panam said, “She can still laugh through her nose.” Ace pointed at Reyes. “Do not.” Kiro raised one finger. “Should I record for training analysis?” Everyone said, “No.” Kiro lowered the finger. Shammy smiled. “I will remember.” Ace looked at her. “That is somehow more dangerous.” Shammy’s smile widened. --- They did not dress fully. That would come later. No blonde wig. No blue lenses. No red hair. No green eyes. No full wardrobe. No mirror shock. Just posture. Voice. Relationship. The story under the costume. Mai moved first. Nothing dramatic. She simply set her shoulders a fraction differently. Let her face settle into a quieter, warmer control. Her gaze sharpened at the edges and softened in the center. A smile found her mouth, small and knowing, as if every room had already made three mistakes and she was willing to let them discover the first one themselves. Maeve did not enter like a disguise. She arrived like permission. Brenda’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Ace muttered, “Yeah.” Maeve looked at Brenda. “Jessie.” Brenda straightened before she could stop herself. Then frowned. “Why did that work?” Reyes made a tiny sound and clapped both hands over her mouth. Panam leaned toward her. “Breathe quietly.” Maeve’s smile deepened. “Because you heard where you belong in the sentence.” Brenda stared. “That is either very helpful or very unfair.” “Both,” Maeve said. Ace rubbed her face. “Worse when correct.” Brenda turned to Ace. “So where’s Amber?” “No.” Maeve looked at Ace. Love sat in the look. Also tactical cruelty. Ace recognized both. “Ace.” “No.” “She has to meet her.” “No, she really does not.” Brenda raised a hand. “I feel like I maybe do.” Ace turned on her. “Et tu, cousin?” Brenda blinked. “Was that Irish?” “No.” Kiro whispered, “Latin.” Ace pointed. “No notes in any language.” Maeve stepped closer to Ace. Not touching yet. Worse. Waiting. Ace hated waiting from Mai. Waiting meant Mai had already won and was allowing Ace the dignity of walking voluntarily into defeat. “You said Amber would be proud of Jessie,” Maeve said. Ace looked at her. Maeve’s voice was gentle. “And she would.” Ace exhaled slowly. Then her posture changed. Again, not much. Not the full costume. Not the bright hair, blue lenses, soft jacket, careful earrings, or disarming social smile. Just the inner angle. The blade tucked away under sunlight. Shoulders less forward. Chin softer. Eyes less directly challenging and more openly curious. Hands visible, light, expressive. Mouth ready to smile before it cut. Amber did not arrive all at once. She peeked out like trouble remembering it could be charming. Brenda’s face went completely still. Ace hated that. Amber smiled. Not Ace’s grin. Not the little sharp thing that warned people to start regretting choices. Amber’s smile was warmer. Easier. Slightly brighter than safety recommended. “Hi,” Amber said. Reyes made a noise and immediately shoved her own fist against her mouth. Panam looked at the ceiling. Kiro silently leaned so far forward she nearly fell. Shammy folded both hands under her chin, delighted and soft. Brenda stared. “You are terrifying.” Amber blinked. Then laughed. Ace almost dropped the posture. Almost. Maeve’s smile appeared beside her. Amber turned slightly. “What?” Brenda pointed at her. “That. That is terrifying.” Amber placed a hand lightly over her chest. “I said hi.” “That was not just hi.” Reyes wheezed. Panam said, “She’s not wrong.” Kiro whispered, “External observer confirmation.” Ace glared at her without fully leaving Amber. It produced an expression so strange that Kiro looked happier. Maeve stepped beside Amber with the ease of long practice, even without the clothes. “There,” Maeve said to Brenda. “That is Amber.” Brenda looked between them. Not at Ace and Mai. At Amber and Maeve. The distinction formed visibly in her mind. “Oh,” she said again. Amber softened. “Too much?” Brenda thought. Then shook her head. “No. Just... I get why people answer questions.” Ace almost smiled. Amber did smile. “There you are.” Brenda blinked. “What?” Amber stepped closer, and this time the warmth became specific. Not broad. Not social. Not room-facing. Family-facing. “You saw the mechanism,” Amber said. “That is why Jessie works.” Brenda looked down. Her ears went pink. “Maybe.” Maeve said, “Definitely.” Brenda glanced at her. “You too?” Maeve’s smile carried velvet and steel. “Family should be accurate.” Ace broke. She stepped backward and pointed at Mai. “No. That line is not allowed yet.” Mai’s normal voice returned halfway, amused. “Why?” “Because it is too effective.” Reyes finally lost the fight and laughed into her own sleeve. Panam shook her head. Kiro whispered, “Family should be accurate,” like she had discovered scripture. Ace turned. “No.” Kiro straightened. “I said nothing.” “You whispered doctrine.” Shammy looked at Brenda. “Did Amber scare you?” Brenda shook her head after a moment. “No.” “Good.” Brenda looked back at Ace, who was now somewhere uncomfortably between herself and Amber. “I think I understand.” Ace crossed her arms. “Do you?” “Amber opens doors because people think she is the door.” Maeve’s eyes brightened. Kiro’s mouth fell open slightly. Panam looked at Brenda with fresh respect. Reyes whispered, “Damn.” Ace stared. Brenda frowned. “Was that wrong?” Mai answered before Ace could. “No.” Ace looked at her. Mai said softly, “It is very right.” Brenda’s embarrassment returned full force. “Oh.” Ace sighed, but there was no irritation in it. “She is going to be unbearable.” Brenda blinked. “Who?” Ace looked at her. “Amber.” Maeve’s smile turned knowing. “Love, Amber is not the only one.” Panam muttered, “There it is again.” Brenda looked delighted. “Wait, say love again.” Ace immediately dropped Amber fully. “No.” Reyes pointed. “She ran.” “I tactically withdrew.” Kiro typed something. Ace moved. Kiro yelped and hid the agent behind her back. Mai’s normal posture returned, though Maeve lingered at the edges like perfume. Brenda looked from one to the other. “So Jessie has to stand between that.” Ace nodded. “Yes.” Mai said, “Not between. With.” Brenda considered the correction. “With Amber opening social space.” Mai nodded. “With Maeve stabilizing authority.” “Yes.” Brenda touched the end of the chestnut hair. “And Jessie asks why the panel is in the wrong place.” Ace smiled. “There she is.” Shammy smiled too. “Door opens.” Panam looked at the garment bag. “Then we need to see her in the full outfit.” Brenda’s smile vanished. “Already?” Mara would have approved of Panam’s answer. “Yes.” --- The first full safehouse test was less dramatic than the GLAMR COVE mirror. And worse. Because GLAMR COVE had been about seeing a reflection. This was about being seen by family. Brenda disappeared into the bedroom with the garment bag, boots box, and a warning from Panam not to jump until the seams were checked. She shouted through the door three times. First: “Which side is the front of this top again?” Mara had been right. Then: “Why do nice pants feel like they are judging my history?” Then: “Is the bag supposed to look useless or am I using it wrong?” Ace answered that one. “Yes.” Brenda shouted back, “That did not clarify!” Reyes sat on the couch with both hands clasped, eyes shining. “This is better than television.” Panam checked the boot box lid. “She better not jump.” Kiro had arranged her local notes into sections despite being told not to organize anything emotionally. Shammy sat beside Ace, quiet now. Ace glanced at her. “You okay?” Shammy nodded. “Brenda is still loud.” Ace smiled. “Yes.” “That helps.” Mai sat on Shammy’s other side and touched her hand. “No eyes today.” Shammy nodded. “I know.” Ace looked toward the bedroom door. “Hair and clothes are enough.” “For Jessie to start,” Shammy said. “Yes.” The bedroom door opened. Brenda stepped out. The room went silent. Chestnut hair. Cream jacket. Warm brown top. Dark trousers. Low brown boots. The small stupid useful bag over one shoulder. Still her own eyes, bright and Brenda-blue, which made the incomplete cover honest instead of jarring. She stood in the doorway and immediately looked uncomfortable because everyone was looking. “What?” Panam stood first. “Walk.” Brenda groaned. “Why?” “Shoes.” Brenda walked. Not runway. Not performance. She walked like herself at first, too much bounce, too much direct intent, too ready to go around obstacles by climbing over them. Panam pointed. “Slow down.” Brenda slowed too much and looked like someone trying to pass a sobriety test. Reyes covered her mouth. Ace said, “No.” Brenda stopped. “What is the correct amount of walking?” Mai rose. “The one that says you are not in a hurry because you know where you are going.” Brenda looked at the floor. Then at the door. Then tried again. Better. Not perfect. Better. The boots helped. Mara’s tailoring helped. The chestnut hair softened motion that would otherwise have read as Brenda-about-to-touch-something. She came to the center of the room. Panam nodded. “Acceptable.” Brenda looked relieved. “That’s high praise?” Ace said, “From Panam? Yes.” Panam said, “Extremely.” Kiro circled once, agent clutched against her chest to avoid typing. “Visual profile holds. Approachable. Technical. Non-hostile. Slightly under-formal but family-corrected.” Brenda smiled. “Family-corrected sounds like a medical condition.” Reyes nodded. “In this house, yes.” Maeve’s voice returned softly from Mai. “Jessie.” Brenda reacted faster this time. Not startled. Located. She turned. “Yes?” The room noticed. Brenda noticed the room noticing. “Oh.” Amber arrived next. Not fully. Just enough. Amber looked at Jessie like she had been waiting to introduce her to someone worth irritating. “My cousin Jessie,” she said, voice warm with unbearable pride. “She’s the smart one.” Brenda turned pink instantly. “Amber.” The room exploded. Not loudly. But fully. Reyes fell sideways into the couch. Panam bent over laughing. Kiro made a noise that no professional linguist could classify. Shammy clapped once, delighted. Maeve looked pleased beyond all safety. Ace lost Amber completely and stared at Brenda. Brenda stared back, horrified. “What did I do?” Ace pointed at her. “You answered.” Brenda looked around. “Was I not supposed to?” Mai, still smiling, said, “No. That was perfect.” Brenda looked more alarmed. “It was?” Reyes managed, “She said Amber like family embarrassment.” Panam wiped one eye. “She did.” Kiro whispered, “Core dynamic acquired.” Ace spun. “No.” Kiro hugged the agent tighter. “I did not type!” “You thought in bullet points.” Brenda covered her face with both hands. “Oh no.” Shammy leaned forward. “Good oh no?” Brenda peeked through her fingers. “Maybe.” Amber returned just enough for Ace’s smile to become devastatingly fond. “It is good,” Amber said. Brenda groaned and hid again. “Do not do that when I can see your normal hair.” Reyes slid off the couch. “I am dying.” Panam said, “Walk it off.” “I cannot. The family formed in front of me.” Mai returned to herself more fully and rested one hand lightly against Ace’s back. Ace was still half-smiling, which meant she had not recovered. Brenda lowered her hands. “I think Jessie fits.” No one laughed. Not that time. Ace studied her. The clothes helped. The hair helped. The name helped. But the thing that mattered was the way Brenda had responded to Amber without planning to. The reflex had not been performance. It had been embarrassment. Warm. Familiar. Real enough to build on. Mai nodded first. “Yes.” Panam said, “She moves okay.” Kiro said, “Behavioral anchor confirms.” Reyes said, “She is absolutely the smart one.” Brenda made a distressed sound. Shammy smiled. “Jessie fits, but Brenda is still inside.” Ace looked at Shammy. That was the important part. Brenda turned toward her. “You can still find me?” Shammy nodded without hesitation. “Yes.” Brenda’s shoulders dropped by a fraction. “Good.” Mai’s voice softened. “Then we continue.” Ace looked toward the screen where Night Corp’s shard waited. “We still need to build the actual approach.” Kiro finally allowed herself to type. “I have drafts.” Ace looked at her. “Of course you do.” Panam crossed her arms. “And approved tool list.” Brenda brightened. “Yes.” “No illegal tools.” Brenda deflated. “Oppression.” Reyes stood, recovered enough to cause more trouble. “And family introductions.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?” Reyes smiled. “Jessie needs to practice being introduced.” Ace felt dread. Mai looked thoughtful. “That is correct.” “No.” Amber flickered at the edge of Ace’s expression, amused despite her. Brenda saw it. Pointed. “That.” Ace froze. “What?” “That happens before you say yes.” Kiro gasped. Panam looked at Ace. Reyes whispered, “She reads Amber.” Ace closed her eyes. Shammy smiled with cosmic satisfaction. “Jessie moves quickly.” Mai leaned close to Ace and said, softly enough that only Ace heard: “Love, we are in trouble.” Ace opened one eye. Amber smiled before Ace could stop her. “Yes,” she said. “We are.” --- # Chapter 7 — The Smart One Kiro titled the session **Behavioral Rehearsal One**. Ace deleted the title. Kiro titled it **Conversation Test**. Ace deleted that too. Kiro titled it **Not Fake Fake Practical Alignment**. Ace stared at the screen. Brenda leaned over her shoulder. “I like that one.” “No,” Ace said. Reyes raised one hand from the couch. “I also like that one.” “Also no.” Panam, seated backward on a chair with one arm draped over the backrest, said, “It is accurate.” “That does not help.” Mai looked at the screen from beside the wall display. “It is inelegant but structurally correct.” Ace turned toward her. “I need you on my side.” Mai’s expression remained calm. “I am on the side of operational accuracy.” “That is not my side.” “Not always.” Shammy sat cross-legged on the couch with a folded blanket in her lap, watching the argument with the luminous patience of someone who had accepted that humans named things badly on purpose. Brenda stood in the middle of the room wearing Jessie’s clothes. Not the full event-ready version. The cream jacket was on. The warm brown top. The dark trousers. The low boots Panam had approved with the severity of a battlefield medic. Chestnut hair framed her face, still new enough that she touched it whenever she forgot not to. Her eyes were still her own. For now. The honey-brown lens tray sat unopened on the table. Everyone knew it was there. No one had mentioned it for ten minutes. Which meant everyone had been mentioning it by not mentioning it. Kiro looked at Ace. “May I title the file something?” “No.” “It needs a name.” “It can be unnamed.” “Unnamed files are how civilizations collapse.” Brenda pointed at Kiro. “That sounds true.” Ace looked at her. “You are supposed to be rehearsing.” “I am rehearsing family alignment.” Reyes slapped the couch cushion once. “She is the smart one.” Brenda immediately turned pink. “Stop saying that.” Amber had not appeared fully, but Ace felt her smile try to happen. She crushed it. Barely. Mai saw. Of course Mai saw. Maeve’s amusement hovered near the edge of her mouth. Ace pointed between them. “No.” Mai said, “No what?” “No enjoying that I cannot stop it.” “I was not.” “You were.” “Quietly.” Brenda looked between them. “This is rehearsal?” Panam said, “This is baseline.” Reyes nodded. “If you survive this room, corpo hell is easier.” Kiro opened a blank local file. Ace’s eyes narrowed. Kiro said quickly, “No title. See? Growth.” Ace looked at the file. It was titled **Untitled Jessie Session**. Ace closed her eyes. “I am surrounded by criminals.” Brenda lifted one finger. “Technically—” Ace opened one eye. “Choose survival.” Brenda lowered the finger. Mai clapped her hands once. Soft. Not sharp. The room settled. “Rehearsal,” Mai said. Everyone moved differently when Mai used that voice. Even Reyes sat up. Even Kiro stopped typing. Even Panam straightened slightly, though she pretended it was because the chair was uncomfortable. Brenda stood more still. Too still. Mai noticed. “Not frozen.” Brenda exhaled and loosened her shoulders. “Right.” “Jessie is not military,” Mai said. “Not polished. Not trained in rooms like this. She belongs because family brought her, not because she conquered the space.” Brenda nodded. “Presentable, not polished.” “Exactly.” Kiro’s fingers twitched. Ace said, “Do not type the phrase again.” “It deserves repetition.” “It has had repetition.” Mai stepped to the center of the room. “We start with introductions.” Brenda made a face. “I hate those.” “Good,” Panam said. “Use that.” Brenda looked at her. “How?” Panam shrugged. “Jessie would hate fake introductions too. She just does not let that be the loudest thing about her.” Brenda considered that. Then nodded. “Okay.” Mai looked toward Ace. Ace immediately knew what was coming. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Amber introduces her cousin.” Ace crossed her arms. “Amber is unavailable.” Reyes leaned forward. “Is she?” Ace turned her head slowly. Reyes smiled with the confidence of someone standing very far from wisdom. “Do you want to finish that sentence?” Reyes settled back. “No.” Mai waited. Ace sighed. Then adjusted. It was getting easier. That was annoying. Shoulders softening. Hands lighter. Chin no longer a blade. Attention turning outward instead of cutting forward. Mouth warming before the eyes did, because Amber trusted rooms to underestimate her and punished them for it politely. Amber arrived without hair, without lenses, without costume. Still visible. Brenda watched the change with open fascination. “That is so weird.” Amber smiled. “You will get used to it.” Panam muttered, “She will not.” Shammy said, “She will pretend.” Kiro whispered, “Badly.” Ace did not break Amber to threaten her. This was growth. Probably. Maeve appeared beside Amber, not through costume but through weight. Mai’s stillness altered. Her voice became warmer at the edges, lightly Irish, not exaggerated, just enough that English seemed to remember another coastline. “Jessie,” Maeve said. “You are with us.” Brenda stood straighter. Then caught herself and relaxed. “Yes.” Amber moved beside her, looking toward an imaginary corporate contact near the far wall. “This is my cousin Jessie O’Sullivan,” Amber said, bright and proud enough to be a problem. “She’s the smart one.” Brenda went pink instantly. “Amber.” “Excellent,” Mai said, dropping Maeve for one word. Ace snapped out of Amber halfway. “What?” Mai pointed at Brenda. “That reaction.” Brenda looked alarmed. “What reaction?” Reyes was grinning. “The family embarrassment.” Panam nodded. “Immediate.” Kiro finally typed something and then looked guilty about it. Ace pointed. “Kiro.” “It was only ‘immediate.’” “Delete it.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai considered. “Keep it.” Ace stared. Mai said, “It is operationally useful.” Ace looked toward the ceiling. “Night City, please return me to the booth.” Shammy smiled. “Booth is not safe.” “No. But it had fewer cousins.” Brenda touched her chestnut hair, still embarrassed. “So I’m supposed to react like that?” Mai returned fully to Maeve and answered. “No. You are not supposed to. That is why it works.” Brenda frowned. “Accidental authenticity.” Kiro whispered, “Core principle.” Ace pointed. “No.” Kiro deleted something. Maybe. Amber returned with a smile Ace did not approve of but could not prevent. “Jessie is brilliant,” Amber said to the imaginary contact. “She understands old hardware, embedded locks, analog bypasses, improvised circuits—” Brenda groaned. “Amber.” Amber turned to her, delighted. “What?” “You can’t list things like that.” “I absolutely can.” Maeve said, “She is underselling herself.” Brenda turned on her. “You too?” Maeve smiled. “Family should be accurate.” Reyes slid sideways on the couch and covered her face. Panam made a sound that might have been a cough if anyone liked lying. Kiro whispered the line again. Ace broke character. “No. Absolutely not. That is too effective.” Mai returned to herself, eyes warm. “That means we keep it.” Brenda looked between them. “I feel attacked by compliments.” Shammy nodded solemnly. “Family can do that.” Panam pointed at her. “True.” Brenda looked at Panam. “Do you get attacked by compliments?” Panam opened her mouth. Closed it. Reyes’ smile became predatory. Ace immediately pointed at Reyes. “Do not.” Reyes lifted both hands. “I am behaving.” Panam glared. “Barely.” Mai redirected before the rehearsal became an ambush. “Again. This time Jessie answers the imaginary contact directly.” Brenda took a breath. Amber faced the imaginary contact again. “My cousin Jessie. She’s the smart one.” Brenda closed her eyes briefly. Then opened them. “Only when things are built wrong,” she said. The room went still. Kiro looked like someone had handed her a sunrise. Mai nodded slowly. Ace felt Amber smile before she allowed it. Reyes whispered, “Oh, that is good.” Panam said, “That sounds like her.” Shammy smiled. “Jessie answers with doors.” Brenda looked uncertain. “Too much?” Ace shook her head. “No. That was very Jessie.” Brenda relaxed. A little. Mai walked to the display and brought up one of Rogue’s public-facing Night Corp event pages. A mock reception layout. Guest categories. Probable conversation clusters. Security demonstration zones. Partner branding. Procurement tables. Decorative visualizations that made civic control look like public art. Brenda looked at the display and immediately frowned. “That wall is fake.” Everyone looked. Ace stepped closer. “What wall?” Brenda pointed at a decorative panel in the event layout. “That one. It says interactive lighting installation, but the spacing is wrong for just lighting. Either there’s a service corridor behind it or someone routed something they didn’t want visible.” Kiro opened another window. Ace stared. “From the guest brochure?” Brenda shrugged. “Maybe the brochure is lying badly.” Panam looked at Mai. Mai’s eyes sharpened. Reyes said softly, “Smart one.” Brenda flushed again. “Stop.” Mai said, “No. That is exactly what we rehearse.” Brenda looked at the display. “Looking at fake walls?” “Not only looking,” Mai said. “Asking questions that sound like curiosity, not intrusion.” Kiro pulled up a list of likely technical attendees. “Rogue expects two senior engineers, one product liaison, three procurement representatives, and several corporate guests who will pretend to understand half of it.” Ace read the names. “Do not memorize too much.” Brenda looked confused. “Why?” “Because Jessie should not look like she studied the guest list.” Kiro winced. Brenda looked at her. “You studied the guest list?” Kiro looked offended. “I consumed it responsibly.” Ace said, “No one consumes a guest list responsibly.” Mai nodded toward the display. “Jessie notices systems, not résumés.” Brenda nodded. “Okay.” Reyes stood and smoothed her jacket with theatrical seriousness. “I will be a young corporate idiot.” Panam snorted. “Stretch.” Reyes pointed at her. “You wound me.” Ace sat down on the arm of the couch. “This is going to be terrible.” Reyes stepped in front of Brenda with a smile so polished it made everyone dislike imaginary money. “Jessie O’Sullivan, right? I heard you’re into technical things.” Brenda stared. “Technical things?” Reyes smiled wider. “Machines. Gadgets. You know.” Brenda looked at Ace. “Do I have to be polite?” Amber answered before Ace did. “Unfortunately.” Brenda sighed and looked back at Reyes. “Yes. I like technical things.” Reyes leaned in with fake charm. “That must be fascinating.” Brenda looked pained. “It can be.” “What kind of fascinating?” Brenda visibly fought herself. Then said, carefully, “The kind where someone says a system is redundant, but the backup path shares enough routing with the primary that the whole claim becomes decorative.” Kiro whispered, “Marry her.” Ace and Panam both said, “Kiro.” Brenda blinked. Reyes, still playing the corporate idiot, looked lost. “That sounds complicated.” Brenda smiled. Not mean. Not sweet. Jessie. “It is, if they did it wrong.” Mai nodded once. “Good. You did not overexplain.” Brenda brightened. “I didn’t?” “No. You let the gap sit.” Reyes dropped the corporate idiot. “I hated that man.” Panam said, “You played him well.” “Thank you. I will shower emotionally.” Kiro stood next. “I will be an engineer.” Ace said, “You will overdo it.” Kiro looked offended. “I will be accurate.” “That is the same warning.” Kiro adjusted her posture and instantly became someone who had opinions about cable routes and did not get invited to enough parties because of it. Brenda’s expression changed. Interest. Immediate. Ace noticed. Mai noticed. Kiro-as-engineer nodded toward the display. “You mentioned routing. The public diagram simplifies it.” Brenda tilted her head. “Too much.” Kiro’s eyes sharpened. “Does it?” “Yes. If the backup path is really separate, the paneling would need another access route. But if that wall is fake, then the backup might be behind it.” Kiro-as-engineer smiled with professional superiority. “Unless the fallback is analog and does not rely on the same control logic.” Brenda’s face lit. “There it is.” Ace leaned forward. Mai’s eyes sharpened again. Brenda stepped closer to the display. “Okay, but then why call it non-lethal urban denial? Analog fallback implies they expect network denial or active interference. That’s not crowd management. That’s deployment during contested control.” The room fell silent. Kiro dropped character first. “Oh.” Brenda turned. “What?” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at the display. Panam’s jaw tightened. Reyes was no longer smiling. Shammy’s hair lifted slightly. Brenda’s face shifted from excitement to caution. “What did I say?” Mai answered slowly. “You said what Rogue is afraid of.” Brenda looked back at the diagram. “Oh.” Ace stood. “Good rehearsal.” Brenda turned toward her. “Good?” “Yes.” “That felt bad.” “Sometimes good does.” Panam nodded. “Especially when corpos use words like urban denial.” Shammy looked at the display. “The sentence has teeth under its tongue.” Kiro whispered, “That is—” Ace said, “Not now.” Kiro closed her mouth. Mai blanked the display. “Break.” Brenda exhaled. She looked suddenly younger without the technical focus pulling her forward. Still Jessie clothes. Still chestnut hair. Still Brenda eyes. Ace walked over. “You okay?” Brenda nodded. “Yeah. I just thought it was a fake wall.” Ace smiled faintly. “It probably is.” “That is not comforting.” “No.” Reyes sat back down, quieter. Panam went to the kitchen. Kiro pretended to organize files, which for Kiro was a form of prayer. Shammy watched Brenda with gentle attention. Mai picked up the unopened lens tray from the table. The room noticed. Brenda noticed last. Then first. Her gaze snapped to it. “Oh.” Mai held it in both hands. “We do this only if you want to test today.” Brenda looked at Shammy. Not Ace. Not Mai. Shammy sat very still. Not tense. Still. Brenda’s voice softened. “Do you want to test today?” Shammy blinked. Then her whole expression changed. Not because the question surprised her. Because Brenda had asked it correctly. Ace felt that. Mai did too. Shammy looked at the honey-brown lens tray. Then at Brenda’s face. Then at the chestnut hair. Then at her own hands. “I want to see slowly.” Brenda nodded. “Okay.” Mai opened the tray on the table. No one moved too quickly. Kiro did not type. Reyes did not joke. Panam came back from the kitchen but stopped near the counter, giving room. Ace stood beside Shammy, not between her and Brenda. Brenda sat at the table. The lens case looked absurdly small for the weight it had in the room. Honey-brown. Warm. Soft. Not Amber’s blue. Not Maeve’s green. Not Brenda’s own bright eyes. Jessie’s future eyes. Mai cleaned her hands and set out the drops. “You have worn lenses before?” Brenda nodded. “Stream effects sometimes.” Ace stared. “Of course.” “Not like this,” Brenda added quickly. Mai nodded. “This is not performance. We test one first. Then pause.” Brenda nodded again. Shammy leaned forward, eyes wide and careful. Ace touched her shoulder. “Still here.” Shammy nodded. “Still here.” Mai handed Brenda the first lens. Brenda held it on her fingertip. For once, she did not make a joke. She put it in. Blinked. Blinked again. The room stayed quiet. One eye Brenda. One eye honey-brown. Half a door open. Shammy inhaled slowly. Ace felt the air listen. Brenda turned toward her immediately. “Too fast?” Shammy shook her head. “No.” “Bad?” “No.” Brenda waited. Shammy studied her face with an intensity that made the entire safehouse feel like it had narrowed down to eye color and trust. Then Shammy smiled. “There you are.” Brenda’s shoulders dropped. Ace looked away for half a second. Not because she needed to. Because she wanted to give the moment room. Mai did the same. Reyes pressed a hand to her mouth, this time not to stop laughter. Panam looked at the floor. Kiro stared at the table with enormous discipline. Brenda swallowed. “Still?” Shammy nodded. “Still Brenda. One window changed.” Brenda let out a breath. “Okay.” Mai waited. “Second?” Brenda looked at Shammy. Shammy nodded. “Slowly.” Brenda put in the second lens. Honey-brown settled over both eyes. The full effect did not erase her. It warmed the whole frame. Chestnut hair, cream and brown clothes, honey eyes, stupid useful bag resting near her chair. Brenda Boom receded from public recognition. Jessie O’Sullivan became easier to believe. Brenda looked toward the mirror panel near the storage door. Then stopped herself. She looked at Shammy first. “Can you still find me?” Shammy stood. Walked closer. Bent slightly, bringing her electric blue gaze level with Jessie’s honey-brown one. “Yes.” No hesitation. Brenda smiled. Not big. Not bright-streamer. Small. Relieved. “Good.” Shammy touched her cheek very lightly. “Jessie has warm windows.” Brenda laughed once, soft and shaky. “That sounds better than taxes.” Reyes broke then, but gently. “Everything sounds better than taxes.” The room breathed again. Panam cleared her throat. “Mirror?” Brenda looked at Ace. Ace nodded. “Mirror.” Brenda stood and walked to the mirror panel. The boots made almost no sound. She faced herself. Chestnut hair. Honey-brown eyes. Cream jacket. Warm brown. Presentable. Not polished. For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then: “Oh.” Ace stepped behind her, careful to stay Ace. Mai stood beside Ace, careful to stay mostly Mai. Shammy stood where Brenda could see her in the reflection. Kiro slowly rose. Reyes leaned forward. Panam crossed her arms, pretending not to be affected. Brenda looked at herself for a long time. Then lifted one hand. “Hi.” The reflection did not answer. Obviously. But something in Brenda did. Her posture shifted by one fraction. Not performance. Recognition. “Jessie,” she said quietly. Amber arrived before Ace could stop her. Not fully. But enough. Amber’s voice was warm with pride. “There she is.” Brenda turned pink even through the new eyes. “Amber.” Maeve joined her, softer than before. “Family should be accurate.” Brenda covered her face. “Oh no.” Reyes laughed, wet-eyed and delighted. Panam muttered, “There it is.” Kiro whispered, “Full anchor.” Ace dropped Amber and pointed. “No.” Kiro wiped under one eye and deleted something without being asked. Progress. Brenda lowered her hands and looked at the room. “So I look like Jessie?” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Panam said, “You move like you can leave.” Reyes said, “You embarrass like family.” Kiro said, “You analyze like a threat hidden under a cardigan.” Brenda looked down. “I’m not wearing a cardigan.” “Future layer.” “No,” Ace said. Shammy said, “I can find you.” That mattered most. Brenda looked at her. Then nodded. “Then Jessie fits.” Ace felt the room accept it. Not officially. Not with ceremony. Not with the kind of heavy declaration Night City liked before destroying something. Just acceptance. A temporary story had become usable. Mai picked up the timer. “Lenses out in fifteen minutes. We do not push first wear.” Brenda nodded. “Yes.” Ace smirked. “Look at that. Obedient.” Brenda pointed at her. “I am respecting eye protocol.” Panam said, “Good.” Reyes smiled. “Responsible-adjacent.” Brenda turned. “I have two organized drawers now. Be careful.” Ace laughed. There was nothing else to do. Kiro turned the display back on, this time with the event map simplified. Mai nodded toward it. “One more round. Light. Jessie introduces herself, notices the wrong wall, and exits the conversation before becoming too interesting.” Brenda looked at the map. Then at herself in the reflection. Then at Amber and Maeve’s garment bags. Then at her own. “Okay.” Her voice was still Brenda’s. Mostly. But the room heard Jessie inside it now. She stepped away from the mirror and took her place near the display. Not polished. Presentable. Warm. Technical. Underestimated until too late. Ace watched her and felt Amber’s pride try to surface again. This time, she did not crush it completely. Mai noticed. Maeve noticed more. Brenda noticed the flicker and pointed immediately. “That means yes.” Ace stared at her. “You are becoming a problem.” Jessie smiled. Small. Quick. Entirely Brenda underneath. “Operationally?” Shammy beamed. Kiro whispered, “Operationally.” Panam lifted her coffee. Reyes leaned back, satisfied. Mai’s smile turned dangerous. Ace sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Operationally.” --- # Chapter 8 — Approved Tools Kiro called the next file **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN — FIELD PREP**. Ace looked at it. Kiro looked at Ace. Ace kept looking. Kiro slowly added **LOCAL ONLY** to the end. Ace still looked. Kiro added **NO LIVE RECORDS**. Ace waited. Kiro sighed, then added **ACE IS WATCHING**. Ace nodded. “Acceptable.” Kiro looked wounded. “That is not a professional file name.” Panam leaned against the counter with a fresh cup of coffee and the expression of someone who had decided this was not her circus but had unfortunately adopted several of the animals. “It’s the most honest one you’ve had tonight.” Reyes sat on the couch with one leg folded under her, still enjoying herself far too much. “I like the title. It has stakes.” Brenda, sitting at the table in Jessie’s clothes with the honey-brown lenses removed and carefully sealed back in their tray, looked between them. “Does Ace usually get added to file names?” Kiro looked at her gravely. “Only when oppression is active.” Ace pointed at her. “One more word and I approve no tools.” Brenda went still. Kiro went still faster. The entire room, including the safehouse lights, seemed to understand that Ace had found leverage. Panam took a slow sip of coffee. “Effective.” Reyes nodded. “Brutal.” Shammy sat on the couch beside Brenda’s garment bag, one hand resting lightly on the folded cream jacket through its protective cover. “Ace has found the tool weather.” Brenda turned toward Ace with new caution. “You would really approve no tools?” Ace held her gaze. “Yes.” Brenda narrowed her eyes. “That feels like a war crime.” Mai, seated beside the wall display, did not look up from Rogue’s shard. “It is not.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” Brenda looked at Panam. Panam shook her head. “No court would help you.” Brenda looked betrayed by civilization. Reyes leaned toward her. “That is why we avoid courts.” Ace looked at Reyes. “You are not helping.” “I am educating.” “Same crime.” Kiro cleared her throat, hands hovering just above the keyboard as if approaching a dangerous animal. “May I begin the light identity scaffold review?” Ace looked at Mai. Mai nodded once. “Local review only.” Kiro’s posture became painfully correct. “Jessie O’Sullivan. Distant cousin of Amber O’Sullivan. O’Sullivan side, but not close enough to require frequent historical overlap. Minimal family trace. No large shared photographs. No public family reunions. No emotionally complicated ancestry trees.” Brenda lifted one finger. “Do I have fake grandparents?” “No,” Ace said immediately. Kiro inhaled. Mai said, “No.” Kiro exhaled through her nose. Brenda frowned. “Not even one?” Panam pointed her coffee at Brenda. “Do not ask Kiro to invent grandparents. That is how you get property disputes.” Reyes nodded solemnly. “And curses.” Kiro looked mildly offended. “I would not add curses.” Ace stared at her. Kiro looked away. “Without thematic reason.” Mai tapped the table once. “Light.” Kiro nodded. “Light. Jessie’s trace consists of small public comments on old electronics forums, repair-adjacent questions, a dead student project page from an inactive local club, and a few social mentions tying her to Amber’s wider family circle without requiring direct scrutiny.” Brenda leaned forward. “What do the forum comments say?” Kiro brightened. “One asks why a manufacturer would place a service port under a glued decorative panel.” Brenda made a face. “That is a valid question.” “Exactly. Another corrects someone on capacitor aging in cheap drone batteries.” Brenda nodded. “Also valid.” “And one says, ‘If you need a proprietary tool to open a consumer device, the design has already confessed.’” Brenda stared. Then slowly smiled. “I said that?” Kiro smiled back. “Jessie did.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai’s mouth curved. “That one is believable.” Panam nodded. “I don’t even know what it means and I believe it.” Reyes said, “It means corporations are cowards.” Brenda pointed at Reyes. “Yes.” Ace sighed. “This is not supposed to radicalize the cover.” Mai looked up. “Night Corp is selling urban denial.” Ace considered that. “Fine. Mildly radicalized.” Kiro typed something. Ace saw the movement. “What did you type?” Kiro looked at the screen. “‘Mildly radicalized’?” “No.” Kiro deleted it. Probably. Mai continued the review. “No live family-tree edits until after the event, and only if Jessie remains useful. No deep educational record. No employment. No official certificates. Night Corp’s data people should find enough to accept her, not enough to become interested.” Brenda lifted her finger again. “What if they become interested because of the tech questions?” Ace said, “Then you stop talking.” Brenda frowned. “That seems inefficient.” Panam said, “So is getting detained.” Brenda considered. “Good point.” Reyes leaned forward. “Alternative: you redirect.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Brenda looked at her. “How?” Maeve appeared at the edge of Mai’s voice without full activation. “Family embarrassment.” Ace groaned. Brenda’s eyes widened. “Oh no.” Mai smiled. “If someone presses too directly, Jessie can retreat behind Amber.” Brenda looked at Ace. “A human shield?” Ace stared. “No.” Reyes said, “Social shield.” Panam said, “Still a shield.” Ace turned. “Do not help.” Mai continued, amused. “Amber can absorb attention. Maeve can close the topic. Jessie does not need to win every conversation.” Brenda thought about that. “That part may be hard.” Ace said, “Then we practice it.” Kiro added a heading. **EXIT LINES** Ace looked at her. Kiro added quickly, “Local.” Mai nodded. “Useful.” Brenda leaned in. “What are exit lines?” Panam answered first. “Things you say before leaving instead of explaining yourself into prison.” Brenda looked impressed. “That is a strong category.” Reyes lifted a finger and adopted a polite corporate smile. “‘I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.’” Brenda made a pained sound. Ace pointed at Reyes. “No.” Mai said, “Actually, yes.” Ace turned slowly. Mai continued. “It is believable. It centers Amber. It makes Jessie seem embarrassed rather than evasive.” Brenda covered her face. “That is horrible.” Maeve smiled. “Useful.” Kiro typed it. **Exit Line: I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.** Brenda peeked between her fingers. “Do I have to say cousin like that?” Reyes grinned. “Yes.” Panam said, “Painfully.” Ace said, “Naturally.” Brenda groaned. Kiro added another. **Exit Line: I promised Maeve I would not vanish near equipment.** Everyone paused. Brenda lowered her hands. “That is good.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “Why is that good?” Brenda looked at her. “Because Jessie would vanish near equipment.” Panam pointed at Ace. “She would.” Shammy smiled. “Equipment has doors.” Ace looked at the ceiling. “Everything has doors tonight.” Kiro added another. **Exit Line: Sorry, I’m not supposed to touch anything without witnesses.** Reyes inhaled sharply. Panam laughed. Brenda smiled too quickly. Ace pointed at the line. “No.” Brenda protested immediately. “But that is true.” “That is why no.” Mai considered. “Perhaps not for corporate conversation.” Kiro moved it to a lower section. Ace squinted. “What section?” Kiro said, “Emergency humor.” “No emergency humor.” Reyes said, “Every emergency has humor.” Panam said, “That is unfortunately how this family works.” Shammy nodded. “Humor lets air move.” Ace looked at Shammy. That was too true to argue with. She hated those. “Fine. But not that line unless we are leaving anyway.” Kiro tagged it. Brenda looked delighted by the existence of restricted jokes. Ace decided to deal with that later, which in Night City meant never safely. Mai turned the display to the venue map again. “Now tool list.” Brenda sat up as if someone had plugged her into a wall socket. Panam pointed. “Calm.” “I am calm.” “You sparked.” “I did not spark.” Kiro whispered, “Emotionally sparked.” Ace looked at her. Kiro lowered her eyes. Mai placed a small tray on the table. It contained nothing dangerous. This disappointed Brenda visibly. Ace saw. Panam saw. Reyes laughed under her breath. Mai began. “Jessie may carry items consistent with a technically curious family guest. They cannot look tactical. They cannot trigger obvious scanning. They cannot suggest intent.” Brenda raised one finger. “What about invisible intent?” Ace said, “Do not help prosecution.” Mai picked up the first item. “A slim personal agent. Normal casing. No intrusion suite. No active exploit package.” Kiro flinched. Ace looked at her. “Kiro.” Kiro put both hands under her thighs. “I am sitting on my hands.” “Good.” Brenda frowned at the agent. “So it just... works normally?” Mai nodded. “Yes.” “That feels wasteful.” Panam said, “That feels legal.” Brenda made a face. Mai set down a second item. “A small analog note stylus.” Brenda brightened. “That can be useful.” “It writes.” “Writing is useful.” “No hidden tip,” Panam said. Brenda looked at her. “I didn’t ask.” “You thought.” Brenda looked offended. “Is everyone reading me now?” Reyes smiled. “You are not subtle about tools.” Mai set down a third item. “A pocket light.” Brenda leaned in. “How bright?” “Normal.” “Can it pulse?” “No.” “Can it overheat a sensor?” “No.” “Can it—” Ace said, “It can be a light.” Brenda slumped. “Oppression.” Kiro made a sympathetic sound. Ace turned. Kiro straightened. Mai set down a fourth item. “A non-metallic inspection mirror.” Brenda’s eyes lit. Panam pointed immediately. “No extending handle longer than this.” Brenda froze. “How did you know?” Panam stared. “You are you.” Reyes leaned toward Ace. “That is a legal argument.” Mai set down a fifth item. “A small cleaning cloth.” Brenda looked at it. Then at Mai. Then at Ace. “That is not a tool.” Mai said, “It is, if you need to touch something without appearing to touch it.” Brenda froze. Kiro whispered, “Oh.” Panam nodded slowly. Reyes smiled. Ace watched Brenda’s face transform from disappointment into respect. “The cloth is sneaky.” Mai nodded. “The cloth is normal.” Brenda picked it up reverently. “I underestimated the cloth.” Shammy smiled. “Cloth has soft doors.” Ace looked at the ceiling again. “The door theme is spreading.” Mai set down one final item. A small, cheap-looking accessory charm. Brenda stared. “What is that?” “Bag decoration.” “It is ugly.” “Good.” Mara’s doctrine had infected them all. Mai turned it over. Inside the harmless little charm was a tiny passive scanner wafer, low power, short range, and useless unless positioned close to the right panel. Kiro made a sound so pained with admiration that it nearly became music. Brenda’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “This is the stupid bag principle.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Brenda looked at the charm. “It looks useless.” Panam said, “Therefore it may live.” Ace said, “Passive only.” Kiro whispered, “Very passive.” Ace pointed. “You do not touch it.” Kiro clutched her own hands. “I know.” Mai slid the charm across the table to Brenda. “Only if needed. Only near something already public. No active scan. No breach.” Brenda picked it up with immense care. “What does it collect?” Kiro answered because she could not physically stop herself. “Environmental handshake residue. Mostly device identity, manufacturer class, basic emission pattern. It cannot crack anything, but it can tell us whether a panel is lying about what kind of system it belongs to.” Brenda stared at the charm with new reverence. “It detects lies.” Ace said, “Very small lies.” Brenda smiled. “Still lies.” Panam leaned in. “If you start chasing every lying panel, I carry you out.” Brenda looked up. “You can?” Panam stared. “Yes.” Brenda considered her height, Panam’s arms, and the certainty in Panam’s face. “Okay.” Reyes smiled. “Good survival instinct.” Kiro pulled up the approved tool list. **APPROVED ITEMS:** - Standard personal agent, clean casing, no intrusion suite. - Analog note stylus. - Pocket light, normal function only. - Non-metallic inspection mirror, short form. - Cleaning cloth. - Bag charm with passive scanner wafer. - No active breach tools. - No illegal hardware. - No hidden blades. - No detonators, current or future. - No “currently unarmed” devices. - No tools described as emotionally supportive. Brenda read the list. Her face fell line by line. “No emotionally supportive tools?” Ace nodded. “Correct.” “That feels personal.” “It is.” Reyes leaned over to read. “No current or future detonators,” she read aloud. “That is beautifully specific.” Panam nodded. “Necessary.” Kiro whispered, “Future detonator is a philosophical category.” Mai said, “No.” Shammy looked thoughtful. “Can a thing become a detonator by wanting?” Ace stared at her. “No.” Brenda lifted one finger. “Technically—” Ace and Panam both said, “No.” Brenda lowered the finger. “Hostile room.” Reyes smiled. “Family room.” “Same room.” Mai handed Brenda the empty stupid useful bag. “Pack it.” Brenda took the bag. Everyone watched. She placed the clean agent into one pocket. Stylus into another. Pocket light. Inspection mirror. Cleaning cloth. Charm clipped to the outside, where it looked exactly as ugly and harmless as intended. Then she paused. Looked at the bag. Looked at Ace. “One more thing?” Ace said, “No.” Brenda had expected that. “Not a tool.” “No.” “A personal item.” Ace hesitated. That was the mistake. Mai noticed. Reyes noticed. Panam noticed. Kiro noticed with visible pain. Shammy smiled. Brenda reached into her own jacket and pulled out a tiny old screw. Not sharp. Not modified. Not useful except as memory. Worn dark at the edges. Ace looked at it. “What is that?” Brenda held it on her palm. “First thing I ever fixed that stayed fixed.” The room quieted. Panam lowered her coffee. Reyes’ smile softened. Kiro stopped breathing. Mai watched Brenda, not the screw. Shammy leaned forward. Brenda shrugged like she did not care quite as much as she obviously did. “It’s not a tool. It just reminds me that broken things can stay less broken if you do the work right.” Ace felt Amber’s pride surge so hard she had to look away. Damn it. Mai’s eyes softened. Panam muttered something under her breath that might have been approval. Reyes did not joke. Kiro blinked too much. Shammy smiled like a sunrise being careful. “Jessie can carry that.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy nodded once. “Brenda is in it.” Ace exhaled. Then nodded. “Fine.” Brenda smiled. Small. Real. “Thanks.” Panam pointed at the screw. “No using it to open anything.” Brenda looked wounded. “I would never.” Everyone stared. Brenda sighed. “Without asking.” Mai held out her hand. Brenda hesitated. Then gave her the screw. Mai took a small strip of soft cloth from the tray and wrapped the screw carefully before placing it into an inner pocket of the bag. “Memory, not tool.” Brenda nodded. “Memory, not tool.” Kiro whispered, “Memory, not tool.” Ace looked at her. Kiro swallowed. “I will not type it.” Mai looked at her. “You may type that one.” Kiro’s face lit. Ace sighed, but did not object. Kiro added: **Personal Anchor: wrapped old screw. Memory, not tool. Brenda remains inside Jessie.** Brenda read it. For once, she did not make a joke. Then she zipped the pocket closed. “Okay.” Mai nodded. “Now exit practice with the bag.” Brenda groaned. “More walking?” Panam stood. “Always more walking.” --- Exit practice turned out to be less about walking and more about not looking like someone leaving with state secrets. This was difficult because Brenda now had an ugly charm that detected small lies, a wrapped memory screw, and the knowledge that Night Corp’s brochure wall was probably fake. She walked too fast the first time. Panam stopped her. “Again.” She looked over her shoulder too often the second time. Ace stopped her. “Again.” She held the bag like it mattered the third time. Mara was not present, but everyone felt her judgment anyway. Mai stopped her. “Again.” The fourth time, she moved like Jessie might. Warm. Curious. Slightly embarrassed by attention. Not polished. Presentable. The bag at her side, useful because it looked stupid. Brenda stopped near the door. Panam nodded. “Better.” Reyes leaned back. “She looks like she forgot where Amber went.” Ace felt Amber twitch. Mai smiled. “That is useful.” Brenda turned from the door. “I should find my cousin before she brags about me again,” she said. The room erupted. Ace pointed at her. “No enjoying that line.” Brenda’s grin said she absolutely enjoyed it. Kiro typed. Panam laughed. Reyes applauded once. Shammy beamed. Mai looked at Ace with the calm cruelty of someone watching a plan become undeniable. Ace sighed. “Again.” Brenda blinked. “You want me to say it again?” “No. I want you to survive saying it without grinning like you stole the room.” Brenda considered. “But what if Jessie is happy Amber brags?” Ace froze. The room froze with her. Mai’s expression softened. Shammy’s hands clasped together under her chin. Reyes whispered, “Oh.” Panam looked down into her coffee. Kiro stopped typing. Brenda’s smile faded into uncertainty. “What?” Ace took a breath. Amber answered before she could stop her. “She can be.” Brenda turned pink. “Amber.” Ace did not drop it this time. Amber smiled at her. Proud. Open. Real enough to make the cover stronger and the room warmer. “Just do not grin like you stole the room,” Amber said. Brenda swallowed. Then nodded. “Okay.” Maeve appeared beside Amber in Mai’s voice. “Steal it quietly.” Reyes made a strangled sound. Panam closed her eyes. Kiro looked like the sentence had physically struck her. Brenda’s face went through panic, delight, embarrassment, and dawning understanding. Then Jessie settled over her shoulders just a little more. She turned back toward the imaginary exit. Let the smile become smaller. Warmer. Private. “I should find my cousin,” she said, “before she brags about me again.” This time it worked. No performance. No cartoon embarrassment. Just family, used as cover. Ace felt it. Mai felt it. Everyone did. Panam nodded first. “That one.” Kiro typed, hands shaking with restraint. Reyes whispered, “God, this is good.” Shammy smiled. “The door opens and closes.” Brenda looked back. “Did I do it right?” Ace let Amber’s smile remain for one breath longer. “Yes.” Then she returned fully to herself and added, “Unfortunately.” Brenda grinned. Ace pointed. “Too much.” Brenda dimmed the grin by exactly one degree. Ace stared. “Better.” Panam said, “We can work with that.” Mai checked the clock. “Lenses again tomorrow. Full wear for thirty minutes, supervised. No event until Shammy is comfortable with the eyes in motion.” Shammy nodded. “I want to see Jessie walk with warm windows.” Brenda smiled. “Okay.” Kiro saved the local file. Ace watched until she saw the offline marker. Kiro sighed dramatically. “Oppression complete.” Ace said, “Prep complete.” “First prep,” Mai corrected. Ace looked at her. Mai smiled. “There is still the briefing map, guest flow, conversational lanes, and Amber’s bragging thresholds.” Brenda blinked. “Amber has thresholds?” Reyes laughed. Panam shook her head. Kiro opened a new untitled local file before Ace could stop her. Shammy leaned toward Brenda. “Thresholds can be soft.” Ace looked at the ceiling. “No one in this house knows how to end a meeting.” Brenda patted the stupid useful bag, then stopped herself because Jessie probably would not do that in public. Progress. “I have tools,” she said. Ace pointed at her. “Approved tools.” Brenda smiled. “Approved tools.” Panam lifted her coffee. “Shoes.” Brenda lifted one boot slightly. “Shoes.” Kiro lifted her agent. “Light scaffold.” Mai lifted the lens tray. “Eyes, slowly.” Reyes lifted both hands. “Family embarrassment.” Shammy lifted the blanket. “Cousin weather.” Ace looked at all of them. Then at the garment bags in storage. Amber. Maeve. Jessie. The O’Sullivan family had somehow gained a technical cousin, a stupid useful bag, a conditional cap, a wrapped screw, and a list of forbidden emotional detonators. Night Corp had no idea what was coming. Ace almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Then she remembered urban denial. No. Not sorry. She looked at Brenda. “Tomorrow, we teach you how to stop talking before you win too hard.” Brenda frowned. “That sounds fake.” Mai smiled. “It is very real.” Kiro whispered, “Winning too hard: high-risk category.” Ace pointed. “No headings.” Kiro slowly minimized the file. Brenda looked down at the bag, then at the mirror, then at the sleeping garment bags. Jessie did not feel like a costume anymore. Not entirely. She felt like a rule Brenda was learning how to bend without breaking. “Okay,” Brenda said. “Tomorrow, I stop winning too hard.” Panam snorted. Reyes laughed. Kiro whispered something that might have been a prayer. Shammy smiled. Mai looked at Ace. Ace sighed. “Night City help us.” And somewhere inside the stupid useful bag, wrapped in soft cloth, an old screw waited quietly. Memory. Not tool. Proof that broken things could stay less broken if someone did the work right. --- # Chapter 9 — Stop Winning Too Hard The next morning, Ace found Kiro asleep at the table with her forehead on one arm and three local files open on the wall display. This was not unusual. The unusual part was that none of the files had alarming titles. Ace stood in the kitchen doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand and suspicion in the other. The first file was called: **JESSIE — CONVERSATION LANES** Acceptable. The second: **NIGHT CORP — SOCIAL MAP** Also acceptable. The third: **WINNING TOO HARD** Ace stared. Kiro, without lifting her head, said, “It is a valid risk category.” Ace took a sip of coffee. “I hate that you are right.” Kiro lifted one hand weakly and made a tiny victorious gesture against the table. Then she went still again. Panam entered from the hallway a moment later, hair still damp, expression already suspicious of the day. She looked at Kiro. Looked at the files. Read the third title. Nodded. “Good category.” Ace looked at her. Panam walked to the coffee. “Don’t look at me like that. Brenda absolutely wins too hard.” Reyes followed Panam in wearing borrowed safehouse socks and the look of someone who had slept well because chaos improved her circulation. “She wins like a puppy finding a grenade.” Ace closed her eyes. “That sentence is going to stay with me.” Reyes smiled. “You’re welcome.” Shammy drifted in last, wrapped in a blanket over her shoulders, silver-white hair loose, eyes bright in that soft morning way that made reality seem briefly less hostile. She looked at the third file. “Winning too hard makes rooms notice themselves.” Ace pointed toward her with the coffee. “See, that is exactly why we need this chapter of our lives.” Mai arrived behind Shammy, already awake enough to be dangerous, carrying Jessie’s lens tray and a small sealed container with the stupid useful bag’s approved contents. She looked at the display. Then at Ace. “You let Kiro title one.” Ace sighed. “I was not emotionally prepared to fight truth before coffee.” Mai smiled. “Reasonable.” Kiro lifted her head enough to reveal one eye. “I also made a category called **Losing Correctly**.” Ace lowered the coffee. Kiro shrank slightly. “It is not open.” Mai walked to the table. “We may need it.” Ace stared at her. Mai’s expression remained serene. “Not today.” “That did not help.” Brenda arrived ten minutes later with chestnut hair already fitted badly enough that Mara would have manifested from judgment if summoned. The front sat slightly too high. One side tucked behind her ear, the other free. The whole thing had the energy of someone who had been made presentable by family but had escaped supervision halfway through. Panam saw her first. “No.” Brenda stopped in the doorway. “What?” Panam pointed at the hair. “No.” Brenda touched it. “I did it myself.” “Yes. I can see the crime.” Brenda looked offended. “It stayed on.” Ace said, “That is not the whole standard.” Reyes leaned around Panam. “Oh, sweetheart.” Brenda turned. “Bad?” Reyes smiled. “Educational.” Kiro opened her mouth. Ace said, “Do not document hair crime.” Kiro closed her mouth. Shammy stood and moved toward Brenda with gentle purpose. “I can help the room fit.” Brenda immediately relaxed. Shammy adjusted the wig with careful hands, not professional but attentive. Mai stepped in for the temple line. Ace fixed the back, muttering insults at lace as if it had personally betrayed her. Brenda stood very still. Not because she was afraid. Because she was learning how many hands it took to make Jessie visible. When they finished, Panam inspected the result. “Better.” Brenda beamed. “High praise.” “Correct.” Mai handed her the honey-brown lenses. “Eyes today. Thirty minutes. Walking, talking, exits.” Brenda took the case. Her smile softened. She looked at Shammy. “Still okay?” Shammy nodded. “I want to see Jessie walk with warm windows.” Brenda smiled. “Okay.” No one rushed. No one joked over the process. Brenda washed her hands, sat at the table, and put the lenses in one at a time. Honey-brown settled over her bright eyes again. Chestnut hair framed her face. Cream jacket followed. Warm brown top. Dark trousers. Low boots. Stupid useful bag. The old screw, wrapped in soft cloth, went into the inner pocket last. Memory, not tool. When Brenda stood in front of them, Jessie O’Sullivan stood close enough to be addressed by name. Shammy looked at her for a long moment. Then smiled. “There you are.” Brenda’s shoulders eased. “Still?” “Still.” Ace nodded toward the display. “Good. Now we make sure you do not accidentally defeat the room before appetizers.” Jessie turned. “That sounds fake.” Mai said, “It is very real.” Panam crossed her arms. “You see wrong things fast.” Reyes added, “Then you say them.” Kiro lifted a finger. “And then people who should know better attempt to correct you.” Ace pointed at the display. “And if they correct you too much, they give us everything Rogue wants and possibly three things Rogue will yell about later.” Jessie considered. “So the problem is success.” Mai nodded. “The problem is uncontrolled success.” Jessie looked at the file. **WINNING TOO HARD** Then back at Ace. “I hate how much sense that makes.” Ace smiled. “Good. You are learning.” --- Kiro’s conversation map looked like a crime committed with polite arrows. The Night Corp event room had been divided into zones. Reception. Investor cluster. Procurement cluster. Technical demonstration area. Decorative installation wall, probably fake. Bar area, possibly cocktails. Security chokepoints. Emergency exits. Service routes. “Do not chase the fake wall,” Ace said immediately. Jessie stared at the map. “I was not going to chase the fake wall.” Panam said, “You were emotionally facing it.” Jessie frowned. “Emotionally facing a wall is not a crime.” Reyes smiled. “In this family, it is probably step one.” Mai gestured to three highlighted paths. “These are your conversation lanes.” Jessie leaned forward. “Lanes?” “Yes. Safe routes through social interaction. You do not wander into every technical opportunity. You stay within lanes unless one of us redirects you.” Jessie looked wary. “What are the lanes?” Kiro brightened and brought up the first. **Lane One: Family Guest** Mai explained. “You are there because Amber wanted you there. Not because you need to be there. If someone asks why you came, you do not mention systems, prototypes, security interest, or curiosity about fake walls.” Jessie looked personally attacked. “What do I say?” Amber appeared without warning, or perhaps Ace simply gave up preventing her. Amber smiled warmly. “I wanted to see what this kind of room looked like.” Jessie blinked. Then repeated, more awkwardly, “I wanted to see what this kind of room looked like.” Amber tilted her head. “Too honest.” Jessie frowned. “It is honest.” “Yes,” Amber said. “But it sounds like you are collecting evidence.” Reyes whispered, “She is.” Panam elbowed her. Mai said, “Add social softness.” Jessie thought. Then tried again. “Amber said it would be interesting.” Amber smiled. “There.” Maeve appeared at the edge of Mai’s voice. “And if they ask whether it is?” Jessie looked at the imaginary corporate guest. “It is very... designed.” The room went silent. Then Panam laughed. Reyes nearly fell off the couch. Kiro put both hands over her mouth. Ace closed her eyes. Amber stared at Jessie with pure pride. Maeve’s smile became dangerous. Jessie looked around. “What?” Mai said, “Keep that.” Ace opened one eye. “No.” Mai looked at her. “It is perfect.” “It is suspicious.” “It is polite enough to pass. Meaningful enough to Jessie. Harmless enough if said warmly.” Jessie looked at Amber. “Warmly?” Amber demonstrated. “It is very designed.” The sentence somehow became charming. Jessie tried it. “It is very designed.” Still too analytical. Amber stepped beside her. “Less autopsy.” Jessie tried again. “It is very designed.” Better. Reyes whispered, “That is so mean if you know her.” Panam nodded. “Good.” Kiro typed. **Lane One Response: Amber said it would be interesting. It is very designed.** Ace sighed. “Fine.” Jessie smiled. Small. Victorious. Ace pointed. “Do not win about winning less.” Jessie dimmed the smile. “Right.” Kiro brought up the second lane. **Lane Two: Technical Curiosity** Mai’s voice became all structure. “This is where you are useful. But this is also where you are most dangerous.” Jessie nodded. “Because engineers talk.” “Because you make engineers talk,” Ace said. Jessie looked uncertain whether to apologize or take notes. Mai continued. “If you notice something, you ask one question. One. Then wait.” Jessie stared. “One?” “One.” “What if the answer is wrong?” Panam said, “Especially then.” Jessie looked alarmed. Kiro nodded solemnly. “Wrong answers generate more information when allowed to continue.” Jessie slowly sat back. “Oh.” Reyes smiled. “She felt that.” Ace nodded. “She did.” Mai pointed to the example prompt. “Try this. You see a panel in a strange place.” Jessie’s eyes immediately moved to the fake wall on the map. Ace snapped her fingers. “No chasing.” Jessie looked back. “I’m here.” “Emotionally?” “Mostly.” “Good enough.” Mai said, “Ask the first question.” Jessie looked at the imaginary engineer. “Is that panel part of the lighting installation?” Ace shook her head. “Too direct.” Jessie frowned. “It is direct.” “Yes.” Mai said, “Make it smaller.” Jessie thought. Then said, “That lighting wall must be a pain to service.” Kiro inhaled. Panam pointed. “That.” Reyes smiled. “Oh, that is good.” Maeve said, “Why?” Jessie answered. “Because it invites correction.” Kiro whispered, “Smart one.” Jessie turned pink. Amber’s pride hit the room like sunlight through a weaponized window. Ace felt it happen and muttered, “Damn it.” Mai smiled. “Correct.” Kiro typed: **Technical Opener: That lighting wall must be a pain to service.** Ace nodded despite herself. “Good. Then you shut up.” Jessie looked pained. “For how long?” Mai said, “Until someone fills the silence.” Jessie looked at the ceiling as if negotiating with God. “What if no one does?” Reyes said, “Then you survive.” Panam added, “And leave.” Jessie seemed troubled by this. Kiro, with the solemnity of a priest presenting doctrine, brought up the next note. **Silence Is A Tool** Jessie stared. Ace said, “I did not approve that heading.” Mai said, “I do.” Ace turned. Mai ignored her. Jessie read the line. “Silence is a tool.” Kiro nodded. “Untraceable. Legal. Often devastating.” Brenda vanished for half a second under Jessie’s horrified admiration. “I underestimated silence.” Ace pointed at her. “You underestimate every tool that does not have screws.” Jessie nodded slowly. “I see that now.” Shammy smiled. “Silence has soft hinges.” Ace sat down. “I am losing control of language.” Mai brought up the third lane. **Lane Three: Family Exit** Jessie groaned. “No.” “Yes,” Amber said. Jessie turned pink again. “No.” Amber smiled. “This is how you stop winning too hard.” Jessie looked at the line and sighed like someone being handed a safety harness shaped like embarrassment. Kiro displayed the approved exits. **I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.** **I promised Maeve I would not vanish near equipment.** **Amber will come looking if I miss the next round of introductions.** **I should not make family worry on the first night.** Jessie stared at the last one. “That one is illegal.” Ace looked. Then at Mai. Mai looked entirely unrepentant. “It is effective.” “It is emotional extortion,” Ace said. Reyes nodded. “Family.” Panam looked at Jessie. “Would it work?” Jessie made a face. “Yes.” “Then it stays.” Jessie looked at the first line. “I still hate the bragging one.” Amber leaned closer. “No, you do not.” Jessie covered her face. “Amber.” Reyes slid down the couch. Panam laughed. Kiro whispered, “Confirmed.” Ace pointed at all of them. “Everyone stop confirming things.” Mai’s expression softened, though Maeve still touched her voice. “Jessie. Try the line after a technical win.” Jessie dropped her hands. “What technical win?” Kiro stood, delighted, and adopted engineer posture again. “I will overcorrect you.” Ace muttered, “Finally, typecasting.” Kiro-as-engineer approached the imaginary lighting wall. “That panel is not part of the lighting system. It is only decorative housing.” Jessie’s head tilted. Bad sign. Ace saw the question load. Mai saw it. Panam saw it. Reyes whispered, “Incoming.” Jessie said, “Then why is there a service clearance gap at the bottom?” Kiro-as-engineer smiled. “There is not.” Jessie pointed at the display. “There is.” Kiro-as-engineer leaned in. “That is probably a rendering artifact.” Jessie’s eyes brightened. “A rendering artifact with mounting shadows?” Ace stood. “Stop.” Jessie stopped. Barely. Her whole face said she had three more points and one of them had claws. Mai stepped in. “That was the edge.” Jessie exhaled. “I felt it.” “Good. Exit.” Jessie turned toward imaginary Amber. Then back to Kiro-as-engineer. “I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.” It was too stiff. Everyone heard it. Jessie heard it too and made a face. “That sounded like hostage dialogue.” Reyes nodded. “Tiny bit.” Panam said, “Again.” Kiro reset. Jessie tried again. This time she let herself look embarrassed before speaking. Not fake. She remembered Amber’s pride. The way it made her cheeks warm. The way the whole safehouse had watched her become family by accident. “I should find my cousin,” she said, softer, “before she brags about me again.” Amber’s smile glowed. Maeve nodded once. Panam said, “Better.” Reyes said, “Much.” Kiro dropped character and whispered, “Clean exit.” Ace crossed her arms. “And that is how you stop winning too hard.” Jessie looked back at the fake wall. Then at Ace. “What if I really want to know?” Ace held her gaze. “You will.” “That is not helpful.” “It is honest.” Mai stepped beside Ace. “You are not there to solve Night Corp.” Jessie frowned. “We aren’t?” “No,” Mai said. “We are there to learn enough that Rogue knows what problem she is looking at.” Jessie looked at the wall map. That helped. Ace saw it. Jessie was good with broken things. She wanted to touch the broken thing. Open it. Name it. Fix it if possible. Make it confess if not. But this was not repair. This was diagnosis. Mai said, “You are not fixing the machine.” Jessie looked at her. “You are listening for the sound it makes when it thinks no one understands it.” Silence. Then Kiro whispered, “That is the sexiest operational sentence ever spoken.” Ace and Panam both turned. Kiro sat down immediately. Reyes said, “She is not wrong.” Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes also sat back. Jessie stared at Mai. “That makes sense.” Mai nodded. “Good.” Shammy smiled from the couch. “Machines confess in small weather.” Jessie turned. “That also makes sense.” Ace put her coffee down. “I am concerned by how much sense all of this makes.” Panam nodded. “That means prep is working.” --- They ran the lanes again. And again. And again. Jessie learned to let wrong answers breathe. This was painful for her. Very painful. The first time Kiro-as-engineer explained an obviously bad control path, Jessie bit the inside of her cheek and looked physically ill from restraint. Panam marked it as progress. The second time, Reyes-as-young-corporate-idiot asked whether “analog fallback” meant “like, older tech but retro,” and Jessie stared at her for so long that Ace had to step in. “No murder by silence.” Jessie blinked. “I was thinking.” Reyes smiled. “I felt judged by physics.” “Good,” Jessie said. “Bad,” Ace corrected. The third time, Jessie managed to say: “I think I promised Maeve I would not vanish near equipment.” Maeve, without missing a beat, answered: “You did.” Jessie looked betrayed. “That felt real.” Maeve smiled. “It should.” Amber stood beside them, radiant with proud menace. “She is learning so fast.” Jessie turned pink. “Amber.” Ace dropped Amber halfway and pointed at Mai. “That is enough reinforcement.” Mai said, “She needs it.” “She is weaponizing embarrassment.” “Family often does.” Reyes sighed happily. “I love this household.” Panam muttered, “We know.” Kiro added a new section despite Ace’s glare. **BRAGGING THRESHOLDS** Ace stared. Kiro typed faster. **Amber may brag lightly to create family warmth. Avoid technical overloading unless target is useful. Maeve may verify once. Jessie must not correct the praise, only soften it.** Jessie leaned over. “I must not correct the praise?” Mai nodded. “No.” “What if it is exaggerated?” Amber smiled. “It will not be.” Jessie looked at Ace. Ace tried not to let Amber answer. Failed. “Not about Jessie.” Jessie covered her face again. Reyes laughed. Panam shook her head. Kiro whispered, “Threshold exceeded.” Ace turned. Kiro pointed to the file. “It is literally the category.” Ace hated that this was valid. Shammy lifted one hand. “Family praise can be loud inside quiet people.” Everyone went still again. Jessie lowered her hands. That one found the room. Ace watched Brenda inside Jessie hear it. Maybe Brenda Boom was loud in public because loud was safe. Loud filled space before doubt did. Loud made people laugh before they could decide what to take. Jessie was quieter. So praise had fewer places to hide. Amber’s pride filled them. Mai stood beside Jessie. “We can lower it.” Jessie shook her head. “No.” Ace raised an eyebrow. Jessie looked at the floor. Then at Amber. Then at Maeve. Then at the file. “It works.” Amber did not smile this time. Ace did. Small. Proud without pushing. “Yeah.” Jessie swallowed. “Just... maybe not too much in front of actual people.” Maeve nodded. “Threshold noted.” Kiro typed very softly. No one stopped her. --- The final exercise was called **Conversation Failure**. Ace hated the name. Mai approved it. Therefore it stayed. The point was not to perform perfectly. The point was to recover. Panam played a security liaison who asked why Jessie had been near the demonstration wall. Jessie answered too honestly the first time. “Because it looked fake.” Everyone stopped. Panam stared. “No.” Jessie winced. “Right.” Second try. “Because Amber said the lighting was expensive.” Amber gasped softly. “I would.” Maeve added, “She would.” Ace muttered, “Stop making Amber worse.” Third try. “I was curious how they hide service access in decorative installations.” Mai shook her head. “Too technical.” Jessie groaned. Fourth try. “I liked the pattern.” Everyone considered. Panam nodded. “That works.” Jessie looked offended. “But I didn’t.” Ace smiled. “That is why it is a cover.” Jessie made a face. “Fine.” Reyes played a procurement guest who asked if Jessie worked in security. Jessie answered: “No, I fix things people make difficult for no reason.” Ace pointed. “Too Jessie.” Mai said, “But useful.” Ace glared. Mai corrected. “Too useful.” Jessie tried again. “Not formally. I help with old hardware sometimes.” Kiro nodded. “Good.” Reyes pressed. “What kind?” Jessie smiled politely. “The kind no one wants to admit still matters.” The room stopped. Ace slowly looked at Mai. Mai slowly looked at Ace. Panam said, “That is dangerous.” Reyes said, “But good.” Kiro whispered, “Too good.” Jessie looked panicked. “Winning too hard?” Everyone said, “Yes.” Jessie threw both hands up. “How is being correct this complicated?” Ace smiled. “Welcome to espionage.” Maeve’s voice softened. “You do not need the best answer. You need the answer that leaves room.” Jessie breathed out. “Okay.” Third try. “Mostly old boards, repair forums, family tech emergencies. Nothing exciting.” Amber immediately said, “That is not true.” Ace snapped out of Amber. “Damn it.” Jessie pointed. “See? Amber is the problem.” Reyes lost it. Panam put her face in one hand. Kiro added something to **BRAGGING THRESHOLDS**. Mai smiled helplessly. Ace stared at all of them. “This is why we rehearse.” Jessie crossed her arms. “To control Amber?” “To control everyone.” Shammy smiled. “No one controls weather.” Ace looked at her. “That is the least reassuring possible answer.” --- By evening, Jessie could pass through all three lanes without detonating a conversation. Usually. She could identify a technical opening and ask one question. Usually. She could let silence work. Painfully. She could exit behind family embarrassment without grinning too hard. Mostly. She could avoid chasing the fake wall. In theory. Ace decided theory would have to do, because perfection was exactly what Rogue had warned them not to build. Kiro saved the local files offline. Mai checked the lens wear time. Panam approved the boots again after one final walk. Reyes made Jessie repeat the bragging exit line twice because she claimed the first one “lacked cousin pain.” Shammy watched Jessie move through the room with honey-brown eyes and chestnut hair until she finally nodded. “Warm windows stay connected.” Brenda removed the lenses after thirty minutes exactly. No pushing. No shortcuts. No sudden. When her own eyes returned, the safehouse seemed to remember how to breathe in its normal colors. Brenda looked tired. Not bad tired. Used. Ace handed her water. “You did well.” Brenda took it. “Did I stop winning too hard?” Ace considered. “Sometimes.” Brenda smiled. “I’ll take it.” Mai sat beside her. “You learned where the edge is.” Brenda looked toward the display, where the fake wall waited in simplified lines. “I still want to know what is behind it.” Panam said, “We all do.” Reyes nodded. “That is the problem.” Kiro whispered, “And the point.” Shammy leaned closer. “Tomorrow, the room will try to become interesting.” Ace looked at her. “That sounds like a warning.” Shammy nodded. “It is.” Mai’s gaze moved to the Night Corp map. Then to Ace. Then to Jessie’s garment bag. “Then tomorrow we make sure Jessie remains more interesting to them than they are to her.” Brenda frowned. “That sounds impossible.” Amber’s smile flickered through Ace. “Not impossible.” Maeve’s voice touched Mai. “Just difficult.” Brenda looked between them. Then sighed. “This family is terrible.” Reyes lifted her glass. “Operationally.” Panam lifted her coffee. “Presentably.” Kiro lifted her agent. “Locally only.” Shammy lifted the blanket. “With weather.” Ace looked at all of them. Then at Brenda. Then at the Night Corp map. She picked up her coffee and lifted it slightly. “To not winning too hard.” Brenda lifted her water. “To winning exactly enough.” Mai smiled. “That is the mission.” And for once, no one corrected the heading. --- # Chapter 10 — Corpo Hell Night Corp had chosen a venue that looked expensive enough to be immoral. This did not narrow it down in Night City. The building rose out of a corporate district edge like glass had learned ambition and forgotten mercy. Not a tower, not quite. Too low for arrogance. Too wide for modesty. A private event structure wrapped in reflective panels, light strips, security seams, decorative greenery, and the kind of smooth architectural confidence that suggested someone had used the word civic during a budget meeting. Ace hated it immediately. Amber loved it on sight. This was inconvenient. She stood across the street under the overhang of a closed luxury pharmacy, watching the front entrance with blue eyes that were not hers, blonde hair that had taken two people and one argument to make behave, and a cream jacket that had once again reminded Ace that clothing could be tactical oppression. Beside her, Mai was Maeve. Completely enough to matter. Copper-red hair falling in clean waves. Green eyes calm and assessing. Dark elegance wrapped in soft control. The faint Irish warmth in her voice already settled in place, not overdone, not theatrical, just enough that anyone who noticed would think they had noticed something charming instead of dangerous. Between them stood Jessie O’Sullivan. Chestnut hair. Honey-brown eyes. Cream and warm brown. Low boots. Stupid useful bag. Conditional cap absent, despite last-minute negotiation. The wrapped screw tucked inside the bag, memory not tool. Approved items only. Mostly. Ace had checked. Panam had checked. Mai had checked. Kiro had looked personally betrayed by the results. Jessie stared at the venue. Her expression did not inspire confidence. Amber leaned closer. “Indoor voice.” Jessie blinked. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” Jessie looked offended. “You don’t know that.” Maeve said, “You leaned toward the building.” Jessie turned to her. “That is not speech.” Amber smiled. “With you, it is early speech.” Jessie opened her mouth. Closed it. Then sighed. “Fine.” Across the street, the entrance admitted another cluster of guests. Corpo suits. Designer jackets. Procurement faces. Security pretending not to be security. A few people whose chrome had been selected to look expensive instead of useful. Night Corp knew how to build a room before anyone entered it. That was the first warning. Amber felt it as social texture. Ace felt it as a trap. Maeve felt it as structure. Jessie, judging by the way her eyes moved across the entry canopy, felt it as bad maintenance. “Do not say the canopy thing,” Amber said. Jessie froze. “There is a canopy thing?” Maeve’s smile deepened by one degree. “There is now.” Jessie whispered, “The drainage angle is wrong.” Amber closed her eyes for one bright, terrible moment. “Reception first. Drainage later.” Jessie looked pained. “Water damage is not a later problem.” “It is tonight.” The comm clicked softly. Panam’s voice came through, low and dry. “Vehicle position set. Two exits clean. Third exit ugly but usable if nobody minds stairs that look like they lost a lawsuit.” Reyes followed. “Exterior crowd light. No tails I like enough to name.” Kiro said, “Signal environment is ugly. Not active ugly. Polished ugly.” Ace murmured, “Clarify.” “Layered corporate mesh, guest net, event net, venue net, security net. Too many polite walls. I am not touching any of it.” Maeve said softly, “Good.” Kiro sighed like obedience had cost her dearly. Shammy’s voice arrived last. Distant. Quiet. From her observation point somewhere high enough to see the building without entering its story. “The room is cold before people warm it.” Amber looked toward the upper structures across the street, though she could not see Shammy. “Stay far.” “I am far.” Ace heard the softness under the answer. Shammy was not happy to be far. But she understood why. A room like this would notice her too quickly. It would form questions around her before the O’Sullivans had crossed the threshold. Tonight, Shammy was weather beyond the window. Watching. Not solving. Not entering. Maeve touched Amber’s wrist. Small. Brief. An anchor through costume, cover, and all the names between. Amber looked at Jessie. “Ready?” Jessie stared at the entrance. “No.” Maeve smiled. “Good. Too ready would be suspicious.” Jessie looked at her. “Why is everything reassuring in the worst possible way?” Amber’s smile warmed. “Family tradition.” Jessie made a face. Then straightened. Presentable, not polished. Warm, not bright. Technical, not threatening. Mostly. She took one breath. Then another. Amber offered her arm. Jessie stared at it. “What?” Amber’s expression became dangerously fond. “You are my cousin. I brought you.” Jessie turned pink immediately. “Already?” Maeve said, “Before we cross the street, yes.” Jessie took Amber’s arm with the air of someone accepting a social explosive. Amber beamed. Maeve stepped to Amber’s other side. The three O’Sullivans crossed the street together. Three looked like family. Damn Rogue. She had been right. --- The first security layer was polite enough to be insulting. Two host staff with corporate smiles. One visible guard. One invisible guard reflected in glass. One camera line overhead. Passive scan embedded in the entry arch. Guest verification table positioned not for convenience but for controlled delay. Amber saw the delay first. Maeve saw what the delay forced. Jessie saw the arch. Ace felt her see it. Amber squeezed her arm once. Jessie did not say anything. Progress. The host at the desk smiled with trained warmth. “Welcome to Night Corp’s private partner reception. Names?” Maeve answered. “Maeve O’Sullivan.” The host’s smile shifted into recognition as the system pulled up the cover. “And Amber O’Sullivan?” Amber gave her brightest appropriate smile. “That’s me.” The host looked at Jessie. “And your guest?” Amber’s smile grew warmer. “My cousin, Jessie O’Sullivan.” Jessie did not flinch. Good. “She’s visiting,” Amber added, with pride already threatening to become operationally expensive. “I thought she should see what a room like this looks like.” Jessie’s fingers tightened once on Amber’s arm. Maeve noticed. Of course Maeve noticed. The host looked at Jessie. “First time at a Night Corp event?” Jessie smiled. Small. Polite. Not too much. “First time at anything this designed.” Amber nearly died. Maeve did not visibly react. The host laughed lightly, taking it as charm because Amber was smiling like it had been charm. “It is quite a space.” Jessie looked past her at the entry hall. “Yes.” Amber could feel the rest of that yes trying to become a paragraph. She stepped in smoothly. “She notices details.” Maeve added, “Usually the correct ones.” Jessie turned pink. “Maeve.” The host smiled more honestly this time. Family embarrassment. It worked. Damn it. The guest verification cleared. Badges printed. Thin, elegant strips with embedded event IDs and too much trust placed in the assumption that social people did not notice systems. Maeve took hers without hurry. Amber took hers with a smile. Jessie took hers and looked at it for half a second too long. Amber whispered, “No.” Jessie whispered back, “It has a weird laminate.” Maeve murmured, “Later.” Jessie clipped the badge to her jacket. The host gestured inward. “Enjoy the reception.” Amber smiled. “We will.” They stepped through the arch. The passive scan crawled over skin, lenses, hair, clothing, the stupid useful bag, the charm, the wrapped screw hidden quietly inside, and the three layers of lies that made family out of necessity. No alarm. No pause. No hesitation. They were inside. --- “So this is corpo hell,” Jessie whispered. Amber’s smile did not move. “Indoor voice.” Jessie looked genuinely offended. “That was my indoor voice.” Maeve’s eyes swept the hall. “Then we should all be grateful for the ceiling.” Jessie made a small sound that was almost a laugh and almost fear. The reception hall opened wide around them. Too wide. Too clean. Too curated. A ceiling of suspended light panels floated overhead in soft geometric grids. A bar ran along the left wall, staffed by people trained to pour drinks without participating in history. On the right, a demonstration zone displayed glossy nonfunctional models behind transparent smartglass. The far wall held the so-called interactive lighting installation from the brochure. It was worse in person. Jessie saw it immediately. Amber felt it through the way Jessie’s whole attention leaned forward. “Do not chase the wall,” Amber murmured. Jessie inhaled through her nose. “I am not chasing the wall.” “You are hunting it.” “I am observing its crimes.” Maeve said, “Observe laterally.” Jessie paused. “What does that mean?” “It means move with us.” “Oh.” They moved. Slowly. Amber took the social lead without looking like she was taking anything. She smiled at faces, acknowledged glances, accepted the room’s first assumptions, and let them be wrong in comfortable ways. Maeve walked half a step beside and behind, not following. Never following. She let Amber shine and quietly made it clear that the light had protection. Jessie stayed near Amber’s arm, eyes curious, posture just uncertain enough to read as family guest rather than operator. The effect was immediate. People saw Amber first. Then Maeve. Then Jessie. And because Amber was smiling proudly, because Maeve was calm, because Jessie looked presentable but not polished, the room filed Jessie under harmless enough for later. Good. Terrible. Useful. The comm clicked. Kiro: “Entry confirmed. Badges clean. No active flags.” Panam: “Outside still clean.” Reyes: “One security watcher noticed Amber. Not alarmed. More like… financially interested.” Ace did not respond. Amber could not roll her eyes properly in public. Shammy’s voice came softer. “The room has accepted the story at the door.” Maeve murmured, “Good.” Jessie looked at a waiter passing with a tray. “Are those cocktails?” Amber blinked. “What?” “You asked Rogue.” Maeve’s mouth curved. Amber whispered, “Operational clarity is not a lifestyle.” Jessie nodded toward the drinks. “They are very clear.” Maeve glanced once. “Clear drinks are rarely honest.” Jessie looked concerned. “Should I not drink one?” Amber smiled. “You should not drink anything you did not watch poured.” Jessie nodded immediately. “Good rule.” Maeve said, “Also family rule.” Jessie looked between them. “How many family rules are there?” Amber’s smile sharpened. “We make them as needed.” “That sounds unstable.” “It is.” “Okay.” A man in a steel-gray suit approached before Jessie could ask whether unstable families had documentation. Mid-forties. Polished. Procurement, if posture and boredom could be trusted. His eyes went to Amber first, then Maeve, then Jessie, then back to Amber because the room had already decided what kind of mistake it wanted to make. “Mrs. O’Sullivan?” Amber turned with easy warmth. “Yes?” “Darren McNamara. Blackstone Municipal Procurement.” Maeve’s hand touched Amber’s back for half a second. Not possessive. Not performative. Just present. Darren registered it. Adjusted. “Mrs. O’Sullivan,” he said to Maeve as well. Maeve smiled. “Mr. McNamara.” Amber felt Jessie go very still beside her. Not frozen. Learning. Darren’s gaze moved to Jessie. “And this is?” Amber brightened. “My cousin Jessie.” Jessie’s face began to betray her early. Amber continued before mercy could interfere. “She’s the smart one of the family.” Jessie turned pink instantly. “Amber.” Darren laughed. A real little social laugh. Not because the line was funny. Because the embarrassment was. Because family was easier to believe than biography. Maeve said, “She dislikes when Amber is accurate.” Jessie turned toward her. “You too?” Maeve smiled. “Family should be accurate.” Amber nearly lost the entire cover from pride. Darren looked charmed. And, more importantly, uninterested in questioning why Jessie was there. Perfect. Dangerous. Effective. Darren leaned slightly toward Jessie. “What do you do, Jessie?” Jessie took half a breath. Amber felt the rehearsal load. Not too much. Not too useful. Leave room. “Mostly old boards, repair forums, family tech emergencies,” Jessie said. “Nothing exciting.” Amber’s soul rebelled. That was not true. Amber wanted to correct it. Maeve’s hand found Amber’s wrist. A warning. A promise. A threat. Amber smiled instead. Darren nodded with the faintly patronizing ease of a man who had just categorized Jessie safely. “Ah. A hobbyist.” Jessie’s eyes lit by one dangerous degree. Amber squeezed her arm. Jessie smiled politely. “Sometimes the old things are the only ones that still tell you what they are.” Darren paused. Not enough to understand. Enough to feel maybe he had missed something. Maeve stepped in smoothly. “Amber wanted her to see how polished rooms describe practical problems.” Darren laughed. “Well, we certainly do polish them.” Yes, Amber thought. You do. Out loud, she smiled. “I can tell.” --- The first fifteen minutes were almost boring. This was, Ace knew, suspicious. Amber met two procurement guests, one civic liaison, one investor who used the phrase “urban resilience” three times in under a minute, and a woman from a private security cooperative who did not believe half the official material and was pretending otherwise for funding reasons. Maeve mapped alliances by silence. Jessie said very little. This was good. This was also visibly painful. Every time someone used a corporate phrase, Jessie’s face did tiny things. Not enough to break cover. Enough that Amber knew she was mentally taking a device apart with pliers. “Adaptive deterrence,” one man said, gesturing toward the smartglass demo models. “That’s where the field is going.” Jessie’s mouth opened. Amber’s hand touched her elbow. Jessie closed it. Victory. “Exactly,” Maeve said smoothly. “Everyone wants flexible language for inflexible outcomes.” The man smiled, not understanding he had been cut. “Quite.” Jessie looked at Maeve with open awe. Amber whispered, “Do not applaud.” Jessie whispered back, “I wasn’t.” “You were emotionally applauding.” “I am allowed.” “Quietly.” They moved again. Closer to the demonstration zone. Not the wall. Not yet. The public models were glossy, black-and-white, and deliberately abstract. A drone cradle. A deployable street node. A cylindrical device that looked like a speaker if a speaker had been designed by someone who hated crowds. Jessie’s gaze locked. Amber felt it. Maeve felt it too. “Lane two,” Maeve murmured. Jessie swallowed. “One question.” Amber smiled at a nearby engineer standing beside the display. Young enough to still enjoy explaining things. Old enough to believe he had earned frustration. Technical badge. Night Corp internal. Perfect. Amber approached first. “Excuse me,” she said, warm and harmless enough to be underestimated twice. “My cousin was wondering about the demonstration models.” Jessie looked betrayed. “Amber.” The engineer smiled. “Of course.” His badge read **E. Harrow — Systems Integration**. Not Evelyn Harrow. Different Harrow. Night City enjoyed bad jokes. Amber filed it away. Maeve noticed. Jessie did not. Jessie was looking at the cylindrical model. Good. The engineer said, “This unit represents one of the modular deployment nodes. Scalable, mobile, non-lethal, and designed for urban response environments.” Jessie stared at it. Then at him. Then at the floor diagram. Then back at the unit. Amber felt the question sharpen. One. Only one. Jessie said, “Is the housing sealed for weather, or for tamper control?” The engineer blinked. Not the question he expected. Excellent. “Both, actually,” he said. “The outer layer protects against environmental exposure, but the internal service lock is designed to prevent unauthorized modification.” Jessie nodded. Then, visibly, painfully, stopped herself. Amber almost cheered. Maeve’s smile barely moved. The engineer, however, had been invited to continue. He did. “The trick is maintaining serviceability without compromising deployment integrity. Public-facing systems can’t require field techs to dismantle the whole unit.” Jessie’s face said: then why did you design it like that? Her mouth did not. Progress. Amber said brightly, “That sounds like something Jessie would complain about for an hour.” Jessie turned scarlet. “Amber.” The engineer laughed. “What would you complain about?” Jessie looked at Amber. Amber looked back. One step. Not a chase. A lane. Jessie looked at the model. “That service seam is in an odd place if the unit is supposed to be fast-access.” The engineer’s eyes lit. Technical pride. Correction impulse. The trap opened itself. “Well, the production layout differs from the display shell. The actual access path is offset because the fallback components sit behind the primary control ring.” Maeve went very still. Amber smiled wider. Jessie did not move. Ace, somewhere under Amber, whispered mentally: do not win too hard. Jessie inhaled once. Then said, “Oh. That makes sense.” It did not. It absolutely did not. The engineer smiled. “Exactly.” Jessie smiled back. Small. Warm. Lying through restraint. Amber felt immense pride. Maeve said, “We should not keep Mr. Harrow from other guests.” Jessie nodded. “I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.” Amber almost died. The engineer laughed again. Amber placed one hand over her heart. “I would never.” Jessie looked at her. Even through honey-brown lenses, the look said liar. Maeve’s voice was velvet. “She would.” They moved away cleanly. No suspicion. No linger. One question. One correction. One useful phrase. The comm clicked. Kiro’s voice came through like she was trying not to explode. “Fallback components behind primary control ring.” Panam: “That sounds bad.” Reyes: “That sounds like Jessie just got us something.” Maeve murmured, “Record, but do not analyze live.” Kiro made a pained sound. “Local note only.” Ace, inside Amber, understood the pain. The first thread had appeared. Jessie walked beside Amber, eyes forward, hands relaxed. Amber leaned close. “You did very well.” Jessie’s ears reddened. “Do not start.” Maeve said, “She did.” Jessie looked at Maeve. “You too?” Maeve smiled. “Family should be accurate.” Jessie muttered something under her breath. Amber caught only part of it. “...terrible family.” Amber smiled. “Operationally.” Jessie tried not to smile back. Failed by one degree. Across the room, the interactive lighting wall pulsed softly with decorative civic calm. Jessie did not look at it. Not directly. Ace noticed. Maeve noticed. Shammy’s voice came through the comm, quiet and distant. “The wall knows she did not look.” Amber’s smile faded by half a millimeter. Maeve’s eyes shifted. Jessie whispered, “What does that mean?” Amber kept walking. “It means we keep moving.” Jessie nodded. This time, she did not ask another question. Progress. Terrifying, useful progress. --- # Chapter 11 — The Wrong Questions They did not go to the wall. This was the first victory. They did not go to the wall immediately. This was the honest version. Amber guided them toward the bar instead, not because she wanted a drink, but because bars were excellent social machinery. People paused there. People pretended not to listen there. People said things near glasses that they would not say near official displays. Maeve approved of this without saying so. Jessie looked back at the lighting wall exactly once. Barely. A glance small enough to pass for nothing. Amber felt it anyway. Maeve murmured, “Later.” Jessie did not protest. That was the second victory. The bar was built from dark composite material and lit from beneath with soft white light that made drinks look cleaner than anyone’s intentions. A server poured something transparent into narrow glasses while two corporate guests discussed deployment timelines in the loose way people did when they wanted to sound important without committing to facts. Amber accepted a glass of water she had watched poured. Maeve accepted nothing. Jessie accepted a clear drink, looked at it, then looked at Amber. Amber took it from her hand and replaced it with water. Jessie blinked. “I watched it poured.” “From a bottle you did not watch opened.” Jessie looked at the glass. Then at the server. Then back at Amber. “Family rule?” “Family rule.” Maeve said, “Also survival rule.” Jessie nodded solemnly. “I am learning so many rules.” Amber smiled. “You are doing very well.” Jessie’s eyes narrowed. “That is bragging tone.” “It is cousin tone.” “That seems like the same thing.” “Not always.” Maeve’s mouth curved. “With Amber, often.” Jessie looked vindicated. Amber ignored both of them with dignity, which Ace considered heroic given the circumstances. At the far edge of the bar, two engineers had collected around Harrow from Systems Integration. One older, one younger, both with the slightly loosened posture of technical staff temporarily abandoned by marketing. Harrow was speaking in low tones, gesturing with two fingers near his own palm, miming a ring, an offset, a lock. Jessie saw the gesture. Her whole body did not move. Only her attention did. Amber felt it like a leash going taut. Maeve saw it too. “That is useful,” Maeve murmured. Jessie swallowed. “Can I?” Amber studied the group. Harrow had noticed them, not with suspicion, but with recognition. The older engineer had followed his glance. The younger one was laughing at something and looked bored in the specific way young technical staff became bored when surrounded by polished non-answers. Potential. Risk. A lane. Amber let warmth return. “One question at a time.” Jessie nodded. “Silence is a tool.” Amber almost smiled too widely. “Yes.” Maeve leaned closer. “And if they become too interested?” “I should find my cousin before she brags about me again.” Amber placed a hand over her heart. “I continue to feel misrepresented.” Jessie gave her a look. Maeve said, “You are not.” They approached. Harrow noticed first. “Mrs. O’Sullivan,” he said, and then, with a smile toward Jessie, “and Jessie.” Amber did not miss that he used Jessie’s first name. Not dangerous yet. Social familiarity produced by shared technical interest. Useful if managed. Maeve smiled politely. “Mr. Harrow.” Harrow gestured to the older engineer. “Dr. Soren Vance, platform architecture.” Vance was in his late fifties, compact, gray at the temples, with eyes that seemed to have been tired since before half the room was born. He looked at Amber, nodded. Looked at Maeve, measured. Looked at Jessie, paused. Technical recognition did not always begin with words. Sometimes it began when one person saw another looking at a system incorrectly enough to be correct. “And this is Lio Park,” Harrow added, indicating the younger engineer. Park lifted his glass in a lazy greeting. “Integration support. Mostly I stop the software people from blaming the hardware.” Jessie’s face lit. “Do they deserve it?” Park laughed. Vance smiled before hiding it. Harrow looked delighted. Amber felt a tremor of pride and immediately controlled it. Mostly. Maeve’s hand brushed hers. A warning. A promise. A threat. Again. Amber behaved. Harrow said, “Jessie had questions about the modular node.” Jessie took a breath. Not too much. Not too useful. One. “The display model has the service seam on the wrong side,” she said. Amber closed her eyes internally. That was not a question. Vance’s eyes sharpened. Park leaned in. Harrow blinked. Jessie added quickly, “I mean, compared to what Mr. Harrow said earlier about the fallback components.” Better. Slightly. Vance turned toward Harrow. “What did you say?” Harrow suddenly looked like a man realizing he had been helpful in public. “Only that the production layout differs from the display shell.” Vance looked back at Jessie. “The display shell is simplified.” Jessie nodded. “That makes sense.” It did not. Amber felt the lie and blessed it. Vance studied her. “But you are right about the seam.” Silence. Not a tool this time. A blade on a table. Park grinned. “She noticed the seam.” Harrow smiled, relieved to share the problem. “The display team hates accurate access points.” Vance’s expression turned dry. “The display team hates maintenance.” Jessie’s eyes lit so brightly Amber nearly stepped on her foot to ground her. Jessie remembered. One question. Wait. She said, “This place was designed by someone who hates maintenance.” Park laughed. Harrow laughed. Vance did not laugh. He smiled. That was better. Amber beamed. “My cousin has strong feelings about access panels.” Jessie turned pink. “Amber.” Maeve said, “Accurate feelings.” Vance looked at Amber. “Most people in these rooms do not notice access panels.” Amber tilted her head. “Jessie notices what people make difficult.” Vance looked at Jessie again. “That must be tiring.” Jessie thought about it. Then said, “Only when they insist it was elegant.” Park laughed again, sharper this time. Harrow made a helpless sound. Even Vance exhaled through his nose. The circle relaxed. That was when people became dangerous. Relaxed engineers forgot marketing existed. Vance gestured toward the display zone. “The public node is not intended to demonstrate maintenance flow. It is intended to communicate platform modularity to people who hear modularity and stop asking useful questions.” Maeve’s eyes softened in interest. Amber’s smile stayed warm. Jessie listened with her whole face. Park leaned against the bar. “Actual field units are less pretty. More locks. More modular, technically, but less friendly.” Jessie nodded. “Because friendly things get opened.” Vance pointed at her with his glass. “Exactly.” Harrow, encouraged by the social success of explaining things, added, “The production node uses internal segmentation. Primary control, fallback ring, environmental shield, local command buffer—” Vance looked at him. Harrow stopped. Late. But stopped. Amber felt Maeve’s attention go very still beside her. Jessie’s face remained curious. Only curious. Good girl, Amber thought, and immediately wanted to throw herself off the nearest balcony because that was not operational language. Maeve noticed anyway. Her mouth twitched. Jessie asked, very carefully, “Local command buffer?” Vance answered instead of Harrow. “Safety requirement.” Two words. Too clean. Too fast. Not an explanation. A wall. Jessie nodded. “Oh.” Park looked between Vance and Jessie. Then, perhaps because he was young, bored, and had not yet had enough bad experiences with polished rooms, he said, “It’s not as scary as it sounds. The buffer just keeps units coordinated when the mesh drops.” Vance’s eyes moved to him. Park realized, perhaps, that he had stepped near an edge. Harrow looked at his drink. Amber smiled like none of this mattered. Maeve said gently, “Useful in emergencies.” Vance looked at her. “Yes.” Jessie did not speak. Silence was a tool. It worked. Park filled it. “Emergencies, blackouts, net denial, riot conditions, localized interference—” “Lio,” Vance said. Park stopped. There it was. Not everything. Enough. Amber touched Jessie’s arm. Jessie breathed in. Exit. “I should find my cousin before she brags about me again,” Jessie said. Amber gave a wounded little laugh. “You make that sound like a threat.” Jessie looked at her. “It is a pattern.” Park laughed. Harrow smiled. Even Vance softened by a degree. Maeve inclined her head. “Gentlemen.” They moved away. Clean. Almost. Behind them, Vance said to Harrow, too quietly for most people: “Stop helping.” The comm clicked. Kiro’s voice was tight. “Local command buffer. Coordinated units when mesh drops. Net denial. Riot conditions. Localized interference.” Panam’s voice followed. “Urban denial my ass.” Reyes said, “That is a system.” Maeve murmured, “Yes.” Shammy’s voice came distant and low. “The cold room has warm machinery.” Jessie whispered, “I only asked one question.” Amber squeezed her arm. “And you waited.” Jessie looked shaken. “Waiting works too much.” Maeve said, “Yes.” Jessie looked back once, not at the wall this time, but at the engineers. Vance was watching them. Not suspicious. Not exactly. But aware. Amber smiled at him across the room. Bright. Family. Harmless. His gaze moved from Amber to Jessie, then away. Maeve’s voice remained soft. “We change lanes.” --- They moved into procurement. Procurement people were easier and worse. Easier because they understood less. Worse because they repeated what they had been told with confidence no engineer could afford. Darren McNamara found them again near a projection table displaying abstract city blocks in blue-white light. “Enjoying the evening?” Amber smiled. “It is very designed.” Jessie choked softly into her water. Maeve’s mouth did not move, but her eyes laughed. Darren took the comment as praise. Of course he did. “Night Corp does know presentation. This platform could redefine emergency urban response.” Jessie looked down at the projection table. Small buildings. Deployment zones. Colored rings expanding across tiny streets. She did not say: That looks like containment. Amber felt her not say it. Progress again. Maeve asked, “Is Blackstone evaluating procurement?” Darren gave the kind of smile people used when they wanted to say yes without being quoted. “We are observing. Municipal clients are always interested in scalable response.” “Clients?” Maeve asked. Darren’s smile widened. “Cities, districts, private civic authorities. Anyone with infrastructure responsibility.” Jessie looked up. “Private civic authorities?” Amber almost winced. Not because the question was bad. Because it was good. Too good. Darren seemed pleased to explain. “Increasingly common. Public-private management models. Development zones. Industrial corridors. Transit districts.” Maeve said, “Places with people but unclear accountability.” Darren laughed. “You make it sound sinister.” Maeve smiled. “I make many things sound like themselves.” Amber loved her so much it became briefly operationally inconvenient. Darren blinked, recalibrated, and chose charm. “Well, accountability is always part of the conversation.” Jessie’s eyes flicked toward the expanding rings on the projection. Her mouth tightened. Amber touched her elbow. Jessie looked at her. Amber’s smile said: not here. Jessie breathed out. Then said, softly enough that Darren had to lean in to hear, “Amber said I shouldn’t make family worry on the first night.” Amber froze. Darren chuckled. Maeve’s eyes warmed. “That is wise of her.” Jessie looked embarrassed enough to pass. Amber’s heart did something complicated and unhelpful. Darren moved on, satisfied that the strange technical cousin had been gently contained by family dynamics. The moment he turned away, Jessie whispered, “That projection is ugly.” Maeve said, “Yes.” Amber said, “Later.” Jessie nodded. But her hand moved once near the stupid useful bag. Not touching. Almost. Amber saw. “Not yet.” Jessie closed her hand. “Okay.” The comm clicked. Kiro: “Public-private management models. Development zones. Industrial corridors. Transit districts.” Reyes: “That is deployment market language.” Panam: “And control language.” Shammy: “The rings on the table do not like feet.” Amber’s smile stayed fixed. Ace listened under it. Do not react to Shammy in public. Do not react to the words. Do not react to Jessie seeing the same thing. They kept moving. --- The lighting wall waited. It was not at the center of the room. That was why it mattered. Night Corp had placed the real wrongness off-center, dressed as atmosphere. The wall rose from floor to ceiling at the far side of the hall in a wash of soft color and slow patterns. Guests occasionally drifted past it, waved a hand, watched light ripple around them, smiled, and moved on. Interactive art. Civic calm. Decorative lie. Jessie did not look at it directly. Amber almost laughed from pride. Almost. Maeve murmured, “Good.” Jessie whispered, “It is making me angry.” Amber said, “Quietly.” “It has no service logic.” Maeve said, “Lane?” Jessie swallowed. “Family guest.” Amber guided her toward the edge of the room where the wall entered peripheral vision but did not dominate. A woman in a dark blue suit stood near it, speaking with a security liaison. Her badge identified her as **Mara Bell — Event Experience Director**. Not Mara the boutique judge. Different Mara. Night City, again, enjoyed jokes it had no right to make. Amber saw Jessie notice the name. Jessie’s expression did something tiny. Maeve whispered, “No.” Jessie whispered back, “I wasn’t.” Amber whispered, “You were comparing Maras.” Jessie looked betrayed. “How do you all know?” “Early speech,” Amber said. They approached slowly. The event director smiled. “Are you enjoying the installation?” Amber smiled back. “It is very calming.” Jessie looked like she might perish. Maeve said, “My wife appreciates atmosphere.” Amber turned warmth toward her. “I do.” Jessie managed not to make a sound. The event director looked pleased. “It is designed to respond subtly to movement density and conversation flow. A living mood piece, in a way.” Jessie inhaled. Amber’s hand found her arm. One question. Not winning. Jessie looked at the wall. Then at the floor. Then at the wall again. “That must be difficult to service without disrupting events.” The event director laughed lightly. “Oh, I leave that to technical.” Useless. Expected. But the security liaison glanced over. Not useless. He was older. Not engineer-old. Security-old. Flat expression. Practical shoes. Badge marked **C. Rusk — Venue Security Coordination**. He said, “Panels are modular.” Jessie turned toward him with polite curiosity. “Really?” Amber felt Maeve’s attention lock. Rusk nodded. “Access from behind. Front stays clean.” Jessie smiled. “That is smarter than making techs pull decorative panels in front of guests.” The event director laughed as if this was absurd. Rusk did not. “Techs complain either way.” Jessie’s smile softened. “They usually have reasons.” Rusk looked at her more carefully. Not suspicious. Reevaluating. Amber stepped in, bright. “Jessie is very protective of anyone forced to fix pretty things.” Jessie turned pink. “Amber.” The event director laughed again. But Rusk’s gaze moved to the floor line. Then back to Jessie. “There is a service corridor. Nothing exciting.” Lie. Not total. But partial. Jessie nodded. “Oh. Good.” She did not look at the corridor gap. She did not ask. She did not chase. She let silence breathe. Rusk filled one more inch of it. “Runs behind most of the wall. Lighting controllers, environmental sensors, event mesh repeaters.” Maeve smiled pleasantly. “All that behind art.” Rusk looked at her. “Everything needs infrastructure.” Maeve’s eyes warmed. “Yes. It does.” Amber touched Jessie’s bag. Not opening it. Just grounding. The stupid useful charm hung from the side, ugly and harmless. Too far for a scan. For now. Jessie did not reach for it. Victory. The event director began explaining the aesthetic philosophy of responsive public space, which gave Amber an excellent excuse to look fascinated while Maeve quietly listened for anything useful and Jessie tried not to vibrate out of her boots. Then a new voice entered from Jessie’s left. “You’re really into this stuff, huh?” Young corpo. Late twenties, maybe. Suit too sharp. Smile practiced badly. Badge said **N. Calder — Strategic Partnerships**. His eyes were on Jessie, not the wall, not Amber, not Maeve. Amber saw him read Jessie wrong. Maeve saw it too. Jessie, unfortunately, did not. She looked at Calder with polite confusion. “Stuff?” Calder smiled wider. “The tech. The panels. Makes security architecture sound almost interesting.” There it was. Amber went very still. Maeve’s eyes cooled by one invisible degree. Jessie brightened, because she heard the wrong part. “It is interesting when it’s built weird.” Calder blinked. The line did not land where he expected. Amber felt a laugh trying to climb her throat. Maeve’s hand brushed hers. Not yet. Calder recovered and stepped a little closer. “Maybe you could explain it to me over a drink later.” Jessie was still half-looking at the wall. “Oh, no thanks,” she said, with no drama whatsoever. “But see, if the controllers are behind the installation and the event mesh repeaters are in the same corridor, then calling it only a mood piece is weird.” Rusk turned his head. The event director’s smile thinned. Calder stood there, charm bouncing off Jessie like rain off sealed housing. Amber’s pride hit so hard it was almost a security event. Maeve did not move. But her smile knew. Jessie continued, still not looking at Calder properly. “Unless the sensors are feeding more than lighting response. Which would make sense, because movement density and conversation flow are weirdly useful inputs for a crowd-control demo.” The world narrowed. Amber’s pride froze mid-flight. Maeve’s attention sharpened. Rusk stopped pretending not to listen. The event director went too still. Calder looked lost. Jessie’s mouth closed. She realized. Too much. Too far. Winning too hard. Amber moved instantly. She laughed. Light. Warm. Family. “Jessie.” Jessie turned pink. Amber’s smile became unbearable. “This is why I said we should not let you near installations before dinner.” The event director relaxed by a fraction. Calder laughed because Amber had told him the social meaning. Rusk did not relax. Maeve stepped in, smooth as dark water. “Amber’s cousin has a gift for making art maintenance sound like infrastructure theory.” Jessie looked mortified. “Maeve.” “Accurately,” Maeve added. Amber took Jessie’s arm. “We should find somewhere less breakable.” Jessie whispered, “I am sorry.” Amber squeezed once. Not now. Rusk’s eyes followed them. Not alarmed. Not yet. But the room had noticed. The comm clicked. Kiro whispered, “Movement density. Conversation flow. Sensors feed more than lighting. Crowd-control demo.” Panam said, very quietly, “We need to move.” Reyes said, “Security man clocked her.” Maeve murmured, “Not fully.” Shammy’s voice came through last. “The wall has remembered Jessie.” Amber kept smiling. Jessie walked beside her, stiff now. Too stiff. Amber leaned closer, still smiling for the room. “Breathe.” “I won too hard.” “Yes.” Jessie looked stricken. Amber’s voice softened. “And you stopped.” Jessie swallowed. Maeve said, “We change rooms.” “There are no rooms,” Jessie whispered. Maeve smiled. “Then we change stories.” Amber looked across the reception hall. Toward the investor cluster. Toward the procurement guests. Away from the wall. Away from Rusk. Away from the cold, warm machinery hidden behind art. Ace listened under Amber’s smile and felt the shape of the job change. They had not tripped an alarm. They had not breached anything. They had not touched the bag. They had asked questions. Wrong questions. Right questions. Questions that made the room answer. And somewhere behind the interactive lighting wall, Night Corp’s hidden infrastructure had just become part of the story. Amber smiled brighter. “Come on, cousin.” Jessie looked at her. Amber let pride return, carefully this time. “You did not explode.” Jessie let out a shaky breath. “That bar is low.” Maeve touched Jessie’s shoulder as they walked. “Important bar.” Jessie managed a small smile. Behind them, the lighting wall pulsed gently, beautifully, and lied to everyone who did not know how to listen. --- # Chapter 12 — Clean Enough They did not run. That was important. People in rooms like this noticed running. They noticed panic. They noticed sudden changes in posture, abandoned drinks, shortened conversations, people who stopped smiling too quickly, people who looked at exits like exits had started calling their names. Amber did none of those things. Maeve did less than none. Jessie wanted to look back at the wall so badly that Ace could feel it through the air between them. She did not. That was progress. Terrifying, useful, fragile progress. Amber guided them toward the investor cluster with exactly the kind of bright social drift that looked like curiosity instead of retreat. Maeve walked beside her, calm and elegant, the little Irish warmth in her voice still settled at the edges of her words. Jessie stayed close, breathing like someone who had been told not to touch a live wire while already knowing what it connected to. Behind them, the interactive lighting wall continued to pulse. Soft. Beautiful. Polite. Lying. Rusk did not follow. Not openly. That mattered. He had clocked Jessie, yes. Or part of Jessie. Or the shape of a question he did not like. But he was a venue security coordinator in a corporate reception full of procurement guests, investors, internal engineers, and senior people who would not appreciate a scene over a technical cousin noticing maintenance logic. Rusk could watch. He could remember. He could ask later. Later was acceptable. Later meant they were gone. Maeve’s voice came through the comm, barely above a breath. “Exterior.” Panam answered immediately. “Still clean. Vehicle ready. Main exit busy but usable. Side exit clean enough. Ugly stairs remain ugly.” Reyes said, “Rusk has not moved from the wall. Event director is pretending nothing happened. Calder is pretending he understood anything. He did not.” Kiro’s voice was tight. “I have enough already to make several deeply upsetting diagrams.” Amber smiled at a passing guest. “No diagrams yet.” Kiro made a sound like someone had taken away dessert. “Local notes only.” “Less.” A pause. Kiro whispered, “Mentally upsetting diagrams.” Maeve said, “Acceptable.” Ace, under Amber, nearly laughed. Jessie did not. Jessie was still too stiff. Amber touched her arm once, light and familial. “Breathe.” Jessie inhaled. Too shallow. Amber smiled at an investor approaching with a glass of something amber-colored and a face that suggested he believed money was a personality. “Again.” Jessie inhaled again. Better. The investor smiled at Amber. “Mrs. O’Sullivan. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Amber let herself become delighted enough to be harmless. “Not yet.” He introduced himself as Lionel Strake, private capital, urban infrastructure, apparently allergic to plain language. Amber gave him her hand. Maeve gave him a nod. Jessie gave him a polite smile that almost looked normal. Almost. Strake gestured toward the room. “Quite an impressive evening, isn’t it?” Amber smiled. “It is very designed.” Jessie made a small sound that might have been pain. Maeve’s eyes warmed. Strake took it as approval because Strake wanted approval. “Night Corp understands the future of civic response. Public entities are slow. Private models allow adaptation.” Maeve tilted her head. “Adaptation to what?” Strake smiled like he had purchased the question wholesale. “Urban volatility.” Jessie’s fingers twitched near the stupid useful bag. Amber’s hand found hers. Not hard. Just enough. Jessie stopped. Strake did not notice. Maeve did. Of course Maeve did. Amber said brightly, “Jessie was just telling us she promised not to make family worry on the first night.” Jessie turned pink. “Amber.” Strake laughed. “First big corporate reception?” Jessie nodded. “Yes.” “Overwhelming?” Jessie looked at the room. Then at Amber. Then at Maeve. Then back at Strake. “It is a lot of people saying small things with large words.” Silence. For one perfect, dangerous second, Strake did not know whether he had been insulted. Amber laughed first. Warm. Proud. Family. “She does that.” Maeve smiled. “Accurately.” Strake laughed because they had told him how. The room moved on. Clean. Almost. Jessie whispered, “Was that too much?” Amber whispered back, “A little.” Maeve said softly, “But recoverable.” Jessie closed her eyes for half a breath. “I am trying.” Amber’s pride returned, gentler this time. “I know.” Jessie did not look at her. But her shoulders loosened by one fraction. That was enough. They let Strake talk for ninety seconds. It felt longer. He mentioned private civic districts twice, emergency vendor partnerships once, and “deployment readiness” in the vague way of someone who had been given a phrase and not the machinery beneath it. Maeve asked exactly two questions. Amber smiled through three answers. Jessie said nothing. Silence, once again, proved deeply legal and almost offensively effective. Kiro whispered through the comm, “Deployment readiness.” Panam said, “Add it to the ugly pile.” Reyes said, “The ugly pile is now a hill.” Shammy’s voice came soft and far. “The hill has roots.” Amber did not react. Maeve did not react. Jessie almost did. Amber squeezed her hand. Jessie recovered. Good. They were close to enough. Maybe already past it. Ace could feel the balance shifting. Not alarm. Not pursuit. Not a trap closing. Attention. Rooms had weight. People had gravity. Stories bent light around themselves if they lasted too long. The O’Sullivans had been accepted at the door. Then welcomed into procurement. Then noticed by engineers. Then remembered by a wall. Enough. Maeve murmured, “Time.” Amber smiled at Strake. “It was lovely meeting you. I promised my cousin we would not stay until she started cataloguing the lighting.” Jessie made a strangled sound. Strake laughed. “Technical mind?” Amber looked at Jessie with impossible pride. “The best kind.” Jessie’s ears went red. Maeve’s hand touched Amber’s back. Gentle warning. Amber adjusted. “Unfortunately for event schedules.” Strake laughed again. Clean. Harmless. Socially complete. They left him with his drink and his vocabulary. --- The side exit was not hidden. That made it useful. Hidden exits invited suspicion when used by people who were not supposed to know them. Public side exits, on the other hand, could be reached by anyone with a plausible reason and a confident pace. Maeve created the reason before they needed it. She stopped near a host staff member by the corridor entrance and smiled with calm apology. “My cousin is beginning to lose the war against corporate lighting.” Jessie blinked. Then looked embarrassed without needing to fake much. The host’s expression softened. “Oh, of course. It can be a lot. The side lounge has quieter light if you need a moment.” Amber laughed softly. “That may save us from a technical review of the ceiling.” Jessie whispered, “The ceiling is also—” Amber’s hand tightened. Jessie stopped. The host smiled and gestured. “Just down that corridor. You can loop back into the main hall from there.” Perfect. They thanked her and moved. Not fast. Not slow. Together. Three looked like family. Three left like family. The corridor shifted the sound of the event behind them, muting the crowd into a polished hum. Soft carpet underfoot. Wall lights spaced too evenly. Closed service doors disguised as decorative seams. Jessie’s eyes went to every one. Amber did not stop her this time. Looking in a corridor was natural. Touching was not. “Hands,” Maeve murmured. Jessie folded them around the strap of the stupid useful bag. “Sorry.” “Do not apologize,” Maeve said. “Adjust.” Jessie nodded. Panam’s voice came through. “You’re on the side corridor. Good. Side exit still clean. One staffer near the lounge, not security. Two guests smoking outside. Vehicle moves when you clear.” Reyes said, “Rusk still at the wall. He is talking to the event director. Not urgent. More like annoyance.” Kiro whispered, “Annoyance is acceptable.” Ace agreed. Amber did not answer. They passed the side lounge. Two guests sat inside under dimmer light, one scrolling through messages, the other staring into a glass like the drink had betrayed him professionally. Maeve glanced once. No threat. Amber smiled vaguely. Jessie stayed between them, the family guest being escorted out of overstimulation by two women who cared. It was almost insulting how well it worked. Almost. At the end of the corridor, a glass door opened onto a covered side terrace. Cooler air touched Amber’s face. Night City beyond the corporate edge smelled like rain that would never quite arrive, hot electronics, distant food stalls, and traffic refusing to die. Two guests smoked near the far railing. Neither looked at them for longer than a second. Maeve guided Jessie through first. Amber followed. The door clicked shut behind them. No alarm. No raised voice. No sudden security step. Clean. Panam’s voice came through. “Vehicle rolling.” Jessie exhaled so hard it almost became a laugh. Amber did not let go of her arm yet. “Not done.” “I know.” “You looked done.” “I emotionally exited.” Maeve smiled. “Relatable.” Amber glanced at her. Maeve’s mouth curved. “What? It is.” They walked toward the terrace steps. Not the ugly lawsuit stairs. Better ones. Public enough, safe enough, with cameras that expected guests to use them. Halfway down, Jessie slowed. Amber immediately noticed. “What?” Jessie looked back through the glass wall at the venue. Not toward the lighting wall directly. Toward the room. “I didn’t use the charm.” “No,” Amber said. Jessie looked at her. “We got out without touching anything.” Maeve said, “Yes.” Jessie’s face showed several emotions at once. Relief. Frustration. Pride. Unfinished curiosity. “I wanted to know.” Amber softened. “We all did.” “But we didn’t.” “No.” Jessie breathed in. Then nodded. “That was the job.” Maeve’s hand touched her shoulder. “Yes.” Jessie looked down at the stupid useful bag. “The bag did nothing.” Amber smiled. “The bag looked stupid.” Jessie blinked. Then slowly smiled back. “Which was its job.” “Exactly.” Maeve said, “Sometimes the best tool remains unused.” Jessie looked offended by the sentence. But she absorbed it. Kiro’s voice came through, faintly reverent. “That is true and terrible.” Panam said, “Vehicle here.” A dark car slid to the curb below, unremarkable enough to be beautiful. Panam drove. Of course Panam drove. Reyes sat in the passenger seat, watching the building through side mirrors with a smile that had lost its earlier teasing and become all work. The rear door opened. Amber guided Jessie in first. Maeve followed. Amber entered last. The door closed. The car moved before anyone outside could decide the departure mattered. No shouting. No pursuit. No alarm. Clean. For ten full seconds, no one spoke. Then Jessie said, “I hate clean exits.” Panam laughed once from the front. “That means you survived one.” Reyes looked back. “You did good.” Jessie made a face. “Do not start.” Amber smiled. Too tired to hide all of it. “You did.” Jessie pointed at her. “That is cousin tone.” Maeve said, “It is accurate tone.” Jessie dropped her head back against the seat. “This family is impossible.” Shammy’s voice came through the comm, warm and relieved. “Jessie came out with Brenda.” Jessie closed her eyes. “Yeah.” Amber looked at her. Honey-brown lenses. Chestnut hair. Cream jacket. Stupid useful bag on her lap, useless and perfect. A little too pale from holding herself together. Still curious. Still intact. Ace, under Amber, breathed easier. Maeve asked, “Kiro. Summary only. No analysis yet.” Kiro made a tiny distressed sound. Maeve repeated, softer and more dangerous. “Summary.” Kiro obeyed. “Confirmed: fallback components behind primary control ring. Production node uses primary control, fallback ring, environmental shield, local command buffer. Local command buffer coordinates units when mesh drops. Contexts mentioned: emergencies, blackouts, net denial, riot conditions, localized interference. Procurement language includes private civic authorities, development zones, industrial corridors, transit districts. Installation sensors read movement density and conversation flow. Wall corridor contains lighting controllers, environmental sensors, event mesh repeaters. Strong implication: responsive crowd-behavior data layer connected to platform demonstration.” Silence filled the car. Not comfortable. Not panicked. Heavy. Panam’s hands tightened on the wheel. Reyes looked out the window. Maeve’s expression went very still. Amber felt Jessie listening to her own work become larger in the air. Jessie whispered, “That sounds worse outside the room.” Amber said, “Most things do.” Maeve said, “We do not decide in the car.” Kiro whispered, “Rogue will.” Ace agreed with that too. Amber looked through the rear window. The Night Corp venue receded behind them, glass and light pretending innocence. No alarm. No pursuit. No fight. Just information. Too much information, maybe. Enough to make Rogue go quiet. Jessie looked at Amber. “I won too hard, didn’t I?” Amber answered honestly. “A little.” Jessie winced. Maeve added, “And you stopped before it broke the room.” Jessie looked down. “That matters?” Panam said from the front, “That is why we’re driving away instead of shooting our way out.” Reyes nodded. “Clean exit. Very stylish. Very upsetting.” Jessie let out a small laugh. Good. Amber let her pride warm the space between them. Carefully. Not too much. “You did not explode.” Jessie opened one honey-brown eye. “That bar remains low.” Maeve smiled. “Important bar.” Jessie closed the eye again. “Terrible family.” Amber smiled. “Operationally.” The car turned away from the corporate district. Behind them, Night Corp’s room remained intact. Its guests continued drinking. Its wall continued pulsing. Its engineers continued being corrected by their own memories. Its security coordinator would, perhaps, write a note about a technical cousin who noticed too much but left politely. Later. Later was acceptable. For now, the O’Sullivans were gone. Clean enough. --- # Chapter 13 — Rogue Hears the Report Rogue listened without interrupting. That was worse than interrupting. Interrupting meant disbelief, impatience, irritation, or the familiar fixer habit of cutting through narrative fat before someone started using the word probably too many times. Rogue did none of that. She sat in her booth at Afterlife, one hand near her glass, eyes fixed on Maeve while the report unfolded. Not Amber. Not Jessie. Maeve. Because Maeve was giving the report, and Rogue knew better than most people that calm voices often carried the ugliest things. Afterlife roared around them as if nothing important was happening. Bass. Laughter. Deals. Threats. Ambition. Someone losing an argument near the bar with more confidence than survival instinct. A woman in a red jacket walking past with blood on one sleeve and a smile that suggested it was not hers. Normal. Night City normal. The O’Sullivans were not fully gone yet. That was partly practical. They had come straight from the clean exit after one safehouse pass to remove anything that did not need to be seen by Rogue. The full hair and lenses remained, but jackets had shifted, bags had been checked, the stupid useful charm had been detached and sealed in a small evidence pouch Kiro was not allowed to hold. Amber sat beside Maeve, still blonde, still blue-eyed, but quieter now. Less bright. The cover remained because removing it before reporting would have been another kind of lie. Jessie sat across from Rogue. Chestnut hair. Honey-brown eyes. Cream jacket. Hands folded around a glass of water she had personally watched poured at Afterlife’s bar and then still doubted for three seconds. Ace had approved of that. Amber had approved of it warmly. Both were inconvenient. Shammy sat near Jessie, not in cover, silver-white hair falling over one shoulder, expression soft but watchful. The booth had once again failed to be designed by a loving universe. Her knees had negotiated an uneasy treaty with the table. Kiro stood at the end of the booth because sitting would make her look calm and this was not a truthful visual condition. She held a local slate with the report, offline, air-gapped, and under Mai’s direct supervision. Panam leaned against the booth’s outer edge with her arms folded. Reyes had claimed a chair dragged from another table with the casual confidence of someone who knew Afterlife furniture had witnessed worse crimes. Rogue listened. Maeve spoke. “Production node is not a simple crowd management device. Public shell describes modular non-lethal urban response. Engineer statements indicate internal segmentation: primary control, fallback ring, environmental shield, local command buffer.” Rogue did not move. Maeve continued. “The local command buffer coordinates units when mesh connection drops. Mentioned use contexts included emergencies, blackouts, net denial, riot conditions, localized interference.” Rogue’s eyes shifted once. Not much. Enough. Amber saw it. Ace, under Amber, marked it. Rogue said nothing. Kiro looked like not saying anything might kill her. Mai did not look at Kiro. Kiro survived. Maeve went on. “Procurement language identified potential buyers and deployment environments: private civic authorities, development zones, industrial corridors, transit districts, municipal clients with infrastructure responsibility.” Rogue’s fingers tapped once against the glass. Only once. Maeve said, “The event installation was not just decorative. It gathered movement density and conversation flow under the language of responsive atmosphere. Behind the wall: lighting controllers, environmental sensors, event mesh repeaters, and service corridor access. Security confirmed this casually.” Rogue looked at Jessie. Jessie looked back. Not defiant. Not proud. Not apologizing either. Good. Rogue said, “You touched anything?” “No,” Jessie said. Her voice was quiet. Still Brenda under it. Still Jessie shaped around it. “No charm scan. No active query. No breach. No hardware.” Rogue looked at Amber. Amber nodded. “She wanted to.” Jessie turned pink. “Amber.” Rogue’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not at Jessie. At Amber. Then at Maeve. Then back to Jessie. “You didn’t.” Jessie shook her head. “No.” “Why?” Jessie glanced at Maeve. Then Amber. Then Shammy. Then her own hands. “Because that was not the job.” Rogue leaned back. The answer landed. It did not make her softer. Rogue was not soft. But it made her listen to Jessie differently. “Good,” Rogue said. Jessie’s shoulders lowered by a fraction. Amber felt pride trying to become a security problem again and held it down with both hands, metaphorically. Maeve, traitorously, noticed. Rogue tapped the booth table. “Continue.” Kiro inhaled. Maeve looked at her. Kiro exhaled and began reading from the slate. “Direct quotes or close paraphrases, separated by source type. Harrow, Systems Integration, stated production access path is offset because fallback components sit behind primary control ring. Dr. Soren Vance, platform architecture, confirmed display shell simplified and indicated public node communicates platform modularity rather than maintenance flow. Lio Park, integration support, described actual field units as ‘less pretty, more locks, more modular technically, less friendly.’” Rogue’s gaze sharpened at Vance’s name. “Vance?” Kiro nodded quickly. “Soren Vance. Night Corp platform architecture. Senior technical. Controlled. Aware enough to stop Harrow and Park, but not before both gave useful fragments.” Rogue looked at Jessie again. “Who got them talking?” Jessie hesitated. Amber smiled before she could stop herself. Rogue saw. Everyone saw. Jessie made a distressed sound. “Technically they corrected things.” Rogue stared. Reyes whispered, “That means yes.” Ace turned Amber’s smile toward Reyes like a blade through sunlight. Reyes looked deeply unrepentant. Rogue said, “You got them correcting things.” Jessie looked down. “I asked one question at a time.” Kiro whispered, “Usually.” Panam coughed. Jessie closed her eyes. Rogue’s mouth almost moved. Almost. It did not become a smile. Probably. Maeve said, “There was one overrun near the installation wall.” Rogue’s eyes moved back to her. “How bad?” “Recoverable.” Rogue waited. Maeve did not soften the answer. “Jessie connected movement density, conversation flow, environmental sensors, event mesh repeaters, and crowd-control demo logic aloud. In front of event staff, venue security, and one strategic partnerships guest who did not understand any of it.” Rogue looked at Jessie. Jessie sank by one visible inch. “I stopped.” Amber said, “She stopped.” Maeve said, “We moved stories and exited clean.” Panam said, “No tail.” Reyes added, “Rusk noticed, but not fast enough to make a move. More ‘I will think about that later’ than ‘stop them now.’” Rogue turned to Reyes. “Rusk.” “C. Rusk. Venue Security Coordination. Practical. Not corpo-polished. Heard enough to dislike Jessie but not enough to justify a scene.” Kiro added, “Rusk confirmed service corridor behind most of the wall. Lighting controllers, environmental sensors, event mesh repeaters.” Rogue looked down at her glass. For the first time since they entered, she did not look like she was listening to a report. She looked like she was arranging consequences. Afterlife thundered around them. The booth got colder. Shammy’s hand moved under the table and found Jessie’s wrist. Jessie glanced at her. Shammy smiled faintly. Still there. Rogue finally spoke. “This was supposed to be a prototype read.” Maeve nodded. “Yes.” “A function confirmation. Development stage. Names.” “Yes.” Rogue looked at Kiro. “Names.” Kiro looked relieved to have a clean category. “Harrow, Systems Integration. Dr. Soren Vance, Platform Architecture. Lio Park, Integration Support. Darren McNamara, Blackstone Municipal Procurement. Lionel Strake, private capital urban infrastructure. Mara Bell, Event Experience Director. C. Rusk, Venue Security Coordination. N. Calder, Strategic Partnerships. Possible clients: Blackstone municipal channels, private civic authorities, development zones, industrial corridors, transit districts. No confirmed deployment contracts.” Rogue nodded once. “Development stage.” Maeve answered. “Farther than demonstration shell. Production layout exists. Field unit architecture exists. Procurement language mature. Public model simplified. Internal staff discussing local command buffer and fallback behavior with confidence. Not purely concept.” Rogue’s jaw set. “Function.” Silence. That was the hard one. Mai could have answered. Kiro could have answered. Amber could have guessed. Jessie did. Not loudly. Not eagerly. Not as a girl proud she had solved the puzzle. As someone who had listened to the machine and did not like the sound. “It is not crowd management,” Jessie said. “Not really.” Rogue watched her. Jessie continued. “If the mesh is up, it probably behaves like a coordinated deployment system. Nodes talk. Sensors read density, movement, maybe sound or conversation patterns if the event wall is a live proxy. The platform decides where pressure is building and moves response units or denial effects around the area.” Kiro stared at her. So did Rogue. Jessie swallowed. “But the fallback ring and local command buffer matter because they expect the mesh to fail or be denied. That means the units do not stop when communications go down. They keep coordinating locally.” Panam’s voice was flat. “In riots.” Jessie nodded once. “In riots. Blackouts. Net denial. Localized interference. Any place where people think breaking the network stops the system.” Rogue’s eyes did not move. Jessie looked at the table. “So if someone deploys enough nodes, it is not a crowd-control tool. It is a way to keep control when the crowd or someone helping the crowd tries to break control.” The booth went quiet. Not silent. Afterlife did not permit silence. But quiet enough. Rogue looked at Maeve. Maeve said nothing. Rogue looked at Amber. Amber’s smile was gone. Rogue looked at Shammy. Shammy’s eyes were sad and bright. “The language was wearing other language,” Shammy said softly. Rogue looked back at Jessie. Jessie’s hands were still folded around her water glass. Honey-brown eyes down. Chestnut hair hiding part of her face. Presentable, not polished. Smart one of the family. Rogue said, “You pulled a war map out of a cocktail room.” Jessie looked up sharply. “I didn’t—” “Yes,” Rogue said. Flat. Not cruel. Accurate. “You did.” Jessie’s mouth closed. Amber wanted to argue. Ace knew better. Maeve said, “She did not know how much she had until after the exit.” Rogue’s gaze flicked to Maeve. “That’s why she got it.” Kiro whispered, “Because she did not look like she was collecting a war map.” Rogue looked at Kiro. Kiro froze. Then Rogue said, “Exactly.” Jessie looked deeply uncomfortable. Reyes leaned forward, voice softer than usual. “That is not a bad thing.” Jessie glanced at her. “It feels bad.” Panam said, “Good intel usually does.” Amber looked at Panam. Panam shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she did wrong.” Maeve placed one hand near Jessie’s on the table, not touching until Jessie shifted closer. “You did the job.” Jessie looked at her. “Too well?” Rogue answered. “No.” Everyone looked at her. Rogue’s expression remained hard. “You did it clean. You stopped when told. You exited. You brought back more than expected, but you didn’t force the room to break around you.” Jessie breathed out. Rogue added, “Do not get used to that.” Jessie blinked. Amber almost smiled. There was Rogue. Kiro looked like she might ask permission to make a diagram and knew better. Rogue picked up her glass, took one drink, and set it down again. “Problem.” Ace, under Amber, braced. Rogue looked at Maeve. “Night Corp will know someone in that room saw too much.” Maeve nodded. “Yes.” “Not tonight.” “No.” “Tomorrow maybe.” “Likely.” Rogue looked at Jessie. “Rusk will write a note. Vance will remember the cousin. Harrow will remember being corrected. Park will remember enjoying it. McNamara will remember Amber’s smart cousin if someone asks. Bell will remember art maintenance becoming infrastructure theory.” Jessie winced. Amber’s voice softened. “We expected residue.” Rogue looked at her. “Not this much.” Maeve said, “But not actionable yet.” Rogue nodded slowly. “Not yet.” Kiro finally spoke, careful and quiet. “Jessie’s identity scaffold is deliberately light. If searched, it holds first-layer casual scrutiny. It should not support deep pressure.” Rogue stared. Kiro swallowed. “As instructed.” Rogue looked at Mai. Maeve nodded. “Perfect smelled wrong.” Rogue gave a small, humorless smile. “Right. And now imperfect may save you.” Amber did not like the word you. Maeve did not either. Rogue continued. “Jessie goes quiet after tonight.” Jessie looked up. Amber went still. Maeve said, “For how long?” “Until I know whether Night Corp cares.” Jessie looked from Rogue to Amber. Then to Maeve. Then to Shammy. “I go quiet how?” Rogue’s answer was immediate. “No public Jessie. No forum activity. No new traces. No Amber bragging anywhere searchable. No follow-up curiosity. If anyone reaches toward the cousin, she is visiting family, overwhelmed by the event, and uninterested in corporate rooms.” Amber said, “That is believable.” Jessie made a face. “It is?” Maeve’s smile softened. “Yes.” Rogue looked at Amber. “And Amber and Maeve do not reappear around Night Corp conversations.” Amber nodded. “Understood.” Rogue leaned back. “Now the good news.” Reyes blinked. “There is good news?” Rogue looked at her. “You got out.” Panam laughed once. Dry. Fair. Rogue continued. “And nobody knows what you got.” Kiro whispered, “Yet.” Rogue pointed at her. “Yet.” Kiro looked like being pointed at by Rogue had fulfilled and endangered her simultaneously. Rogue’s eyes returned to Jessie. “You did good work.” Jessie froze. Amber’s pride rose. Maeve’s warmth followed. Shammy smiled. Panam looked away with a small grin. Reyes looked openly pleased. Kiro looked like she might ascend. Jessie turned red all the way to her ears. “Please don’t start.” Rogue stared at her. Then looked at Amber. Amber lifted both hands slightly. “Not me this time.” Rogue looked at Maeve. Maeve’s eyes laughed. Rogue looked back at Jessie. For the first time, Rogue’s mouth definitely moved. Barely. “You are absolutely family.” Jessie covered her face with both hands. Reyes slid down in her chair. Panam laughed into her coffee. Kiro whispered, “Rogue confirmed.” Ace lost Amber for half a second. “No.” Kiro shut up instantly. Rogue’s expression hardened again, business returning like a blade sliding home. “I am taking this to people who know how to hate Night Corp properly.” Maeve nodded. “Do you need anything else from us?” Rogue looked at the sealed charm pouch. “No. You did not use it?” “No,” Jessie said from behind her hands. “Good. Then there is nothing physical tying you to the wall.” Kiro said, “Only conversation.” Rogue looked at her. “Conversation is enough trouble.” Kiro nodded rapidly. “Yes.” Rogue slid a payment shard across the table. Amber looked at it. Then Rogue slid a second one. Ace, under Amber, blinked. Rogue said, “Jessie’s fee.” Jessie lowered her hands. “My what?” Rogue looked at her. “You worked.” Jessie stared at the shard like it might bite. Amber smiled. “Take it.” Jessie looked at Maeve. Maeve nodded. “You worked.” Jessie looked at Shammy. Shammy smiled. “Tools can be paid.” Ace almost laughed. Jessie took the shard carefully. “Do I pay taxes?” Reyes made a sound like she had been stabbed with joy. Panam bent over. Kiro nearly dropped the slate. Even Rogue closed her eyes. Amber put one hand over her mouth. Maeve’s shoulders moved once. Shammy looked curious. “Is this a family rule?” Ace managed, “Unfortunately.” Rogue opened her eyes. “Get out of my booth before I regret every decision that led here.” Amber stood first. Maeve followed. Jessie clutched her fee shard like a new kind of tool she did not yet understand. Shammy unfolded carefully from the booth, and the booth again seemed grateful to have survived. Panam pushed away from the edge. Reyes returned the stolen chair to no one in particular. Kiro secured the slate against her chest. As they turned to leave, Rogue spoke once more. “Jessie.” Jessie stopped. Looked back. Rogue held her gaze. “Do not chase this.” Jessie’s expression sobered. “I won’t.” Rogue’s eyes flicked to Amber and Maeve. “Make sure.” Amber nodded. Maeve said, “We will.” Rogue leaned back, already elsewhere in her mind, building calls, favors, warnings, prices. The O’Sullivans left the booth and stepped into Afterlife’s noise. This time, Amber did not lead brightly. Maeve did not cut sharply. Jessie did not scan the room for broken systems. They simply moved together. Family-shaped. Temporary. Real enough. Behind them, Rogue sat alone with a report that had started as corporate intelligence and ended as a map of something much uglier. Ahead of them waited safehouse, lens removal, hair removal, food, decompression, teasing, probably more tax jokes, and the important work of putting Brenda back where Jessie had stood. Ace looked at Jessie. Jessie looked back through honey-brown eyes. “What?” Amber smiled. “You did very well.” Jessie groaned. “Again?” Maeve’s voice warmed. “Family should be accurate.” Jessie pointed at both of them. “I am invoicing you emotionally.” Panam laughed. Reyes said, “That may be taxable.” Jessie stopped walking. “No.” Kiro whispered, “Emotional invoice category—” Ace moved. Kiro squeaked. Shammy smiled over all of them. Afterlife swallowed the laughter, kept the secrets, and charged everyone too much for the privilege. --- # Chapter 14 — Putting Jessie Away The safehouse door closed behind them. For three seconds, no one moved. Not because anyone had been followed. Not because a fight had nearly happened. Not because Night Corp had reached through the city and grabbed them by the collar. Nothing exploded. No alarms chased them. No drones arrived. No clean black van slid up behind Panam’s vehicle with corporate inevitability and terrible suspension. They had exited clean. They had reported clean. They had returned clean. And somehow, after all of that, the safehouse felt like the first place where everyone could admit they were tired. Jessie stood just inside the door, still in chestnut hair, honey-brown eyes, cream jacket, warm brown top, dark trousers, low boots, and the stupid useful bag hanging from one shoulder. She looked smaller without the event around her. Not physically. Never that. But the room had stopped needing her to be a story. That made the story visible. Ace noticed first. Mai noticed at the same time. Shammy had already noticed before the door finished sealing. “Shoes off,” Panam said. Jessie blinked. “What?” Panam pointed at the floor. “Shoes off. You survived them. Do not disrespect them by standing there like a haunted lobby.” Reyes, who had been halfway through dropping into the armchair, froze. “Haunted lobby.” Ace pointed at her. “No.” Reyes lowered herself into the chair anyway, smiling. “Too late.” Kiro moved toward the table with the sealed report slate and the charm pouch. Mai’s voice stopped her. “Kiro.” Kiro halted with one foot in the air. Mai held out her hand. Kiro’s face fell. “But—” “Report slate. Charm pouch. Now.” Kiro handed both over with visible suffering. Mai placed them in the secured box on the table, locked it, and only then looked at Kiro. “You may breathe.” Kiro inhaled dramatically. Ace glanced at her. “You were breathing before.” “Not academically.” Panam sat on the edge of the couch and began unlacing her own boots as if demonstrating correct post-mission civilization. Jessie looked down at her low brown boots. “They didn’t betray my knees.” Panam nodded. “Good boots.” Jessie carefully stepped out of them. Then looked at them with unexpected respect. “Thank you.” Ace stared. “At the shoes?” Jessie looked up. “They helped.” Panam pointed at Ace. “Do not mock respect for footwear.” “I was not mocking.” “You were spiritually mocking.” Reyes nodded. “She does that.” Ace looked at her. Reyes smiled. “What? Family should be accurate.” Jessie groaned. “Not here too.” Mai’s mouth curved. “Especially here.” Jessie looked at the couch. Then at the garment bag hanging from the storage rail. Then at Shammy. The question arrived without words. Shammy stood. Not quickly. Gently. She crossed the room and stopped in front of Jessie, looking down into honey-brown lenses that were not Brenda’s natural eyes and not wrong anymore either. “Ready?” Shammy asked. Jessie’s throat moved. “Yeah.” Ace softened immediately. Mai did too. No one joked. Not yet. That mattered. Jessie sat at the table. Mai washed her hands and opened the lens case. Shammy sat across from Jessie where she could see every step. Ace stood at Jessie’s left. Amber was still there because the blue lenses and blonde hair were still there, but Ace began pulling herself back under the cover. Less brightness. Less social heat. Less cousin pride pushing against her ribs like a cat trying to escape a bag. Maeve remained beside Mai too, quieter now. Not gone. Not needed loudly. Jessie removed the first honey-brown lens. One eye returned. Brenda’s eye. The room changed. Only a little. Enough. Shammy smiled at once. “There.” Jessie let out a breath she had been holding since Afterlife. “Still?” “Yes.” Second lens. Honey-brown gone. Brenda blinked through her own eyes again. For a moment, she looked at the small lenses in Mai’s case as if they had done something kind and dangerous. Then she looked at Shammy. Shammy’s smile widened. “There is Brenda.” Brenda’s face folded. Not breaking. Not crying. Just folding around relief she had not fully understood until it arrived. “Oh,” she said. Small word. Again. Ace looked away for half a second. Reyes suddenly became extremely interested in a cushion seam. Panam bent over her boot laces. Kiro stared at the secured box with enough intensity to suggest it might confess. Mai sealed the lens case and set it aside. “No pushing first full mission wear. Eyes rest now.” Brenda nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was Brenda’s. Not entirely free of Jessie. But Brenda’s. Shammy reached across the table and took both her hands. “Jessie did not keep you.” Brenda swallowed. “No.” “Good.” Brenda nodded again. Then, because she was Brenda and sincerity made her itchy after ten seconds, she added, “She did keep the invoice.” Reyes made a strangled sound. Panam laughed first. Kiro bent forward over the table. Ace closed her eyes. Mai smiled. Shammy looked curious. “Can stories be taxed?” Brenda pointed at her. “That is what I have been asking.” Ace opened her eyes. “No one answer that.” Kiro whispered, “Theoretically—” Ace turned. Kiro shut up. Progress. --- Hair came next. Hair was worse. Not emotionally. Mechanically. Jessie’s chestnut hair had survived the event, the exit, Afterlife, Rogue’s booth, and the ride home with dignity. It did not survive Ace trying to remove it while tired. “Ow,” Brenda said. Ace froze. “I barely touched it.” “You threatened it.” “Hair cannot feel threatened.” Mai, from behind Brenda, said, “Lace can.” Ace turned slowly. “You are on the hair’s side?” “I am on the side of proper removal.” Panam leaned back. “That means yes.” Reyes smiled. “Family divided by wig law.” Kiro perked up. “Wig law—” “No,” Ace said. Mai took over. This was wise. Maeve faded further as Mai worked with calm hands, loosening, lifting, unfastening, murmuring instructions when Brenda tried to help by moving exactly the wrong way. “Stay still.” “I am.” “You are following curiosity with your head.” “That is not a thing.” “It is with you.” Reyes nodded. “Early speech, but skull.” Brenda stared at her through the mirror. “What?” Ace pointed. “No new categories.” Kiro looked devastated. The chestnut wig came free at last. Brenda’s own hair emerged flattened, uneven, and deeply offended by captivity. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Oh no.” Panam leaned over. “Yeah.” Reyes smiled. “Brenda Boom returns from battle.” Kiro whispered, “With helmet aftermath.” Brenda touched the flattened mess. “I look like I lost a fight with a drawer.” Ace looked at her. “Organized drawer?” Brenda made a face. “Rude.” Mai placed the chestnut wig carefully on its stand. Mara would not have approved of the safehouse storage environment. Mara did not have to know everything. The wig stand sat on the table for a moment, chestnut hair smooth, empty, almost polite. Jessie without Brenda. Brenda looked at it. Everyone let her. Then Brenda reached out and touched the edge of the hair. “Thanks,” she said. Ace did not make a joke. No one did. Even Kiro had enough survival instinct to keep still. Mai covered the wig properly and placed it into the Jessie garment bag. Chestnut disappeared. The tag remained. **JESSIE O’SULLIVAN — CHESTNUT / HONEY-BROWN LATER / PRESENTABLE, NOT POLISHED** Brenda read it once. Then nodded. “Okay.” Ace opened the storage rail. Amber and Maeve’s garment bags hung there already. Jessie’s space waited beside them. Mai hung the bag carefully. Not as a costume. Not as a trophy. As a tool that had earned respectful storage. Shammy watched the rail until the zipper settled. Then she said, “Door closed. Not locked.” Brenda looked at her. “I like that.” Ace nodded. “Good way to say it.” Kiro whispered, “Door closed, not locked—” Ace did not even look at her. “Kiro.” Kiro put both hands over her mouth. Mai’s eyes softened. “Later.” Kiro’s eyes shone. Ace sighed. “Fine. Later.” Kiro looked like she had been granted a national holiday. --- The cream jacket came off. The warm brown top. The dark trousers. The stupid useful bag was emptied under supervision, which took longer than it should have because Brenda had to say goodbye to each approved item like they had gone through combat together. “Personal agent,” she said, placing it in the tray. Ace watched. “Normal personal agent.” “It did its best.” “It did nothing.” “That was its best.” Panam pointed. “She’s right.” The analog stylus came next. Then the pocket light. Then the inspection mirror. Then the cleaning cloth, which Brenda now respected with the solemnity of someone who had underestimated a monk. “The cloth was sneaky.” Mai nodded. “Normal things often are.” Brenda placed it down carefully. The ugly charm came last. Still unused. Still stupid. Still useful by existing as something no one had needed. Brenda held it up. “You detected zero lies.” Ace said, “That is not true.” Brenda looked at her. “You existed in a room that lied. You did not need to collect proof to be useful.” Brenda stared. Then looked down. “That was almost nice.” Amber was gone enough that Ace smiled like herself. “Do not get used to it.” Reyes said, “Too late.” Brenda placed the charm in the tray. Then she reached into the inner pocket of the stupid useful bag and removed the soft cloth bundle. Everyone went quiet again. The old screw. Memory, not tool. Brenda unwrapped it halfway, just enough to see the worn dark metal. It looked absurdly small on her palm after Night Corp. That made it heavier. “Still memory,” Panam said softly. Brenda nodded. “Still not tool.” Kiro whispered, “Technically it could—” Panam pointed at her. Kiro stopped. Brenda smiled faintly. Then rewrapped the screw and tucked it back into her own jacket pocket. Not Jessie’s bag. Hers. Ace approved of that more than she wanted to say. The stupid useful bag went into the garment bag with Jessie’s outfit. The shoes were cleaned by Panam before anyone could object. Brenda watched with increasing reverence. “You really like shoes.” Panam did not look up. “I like exits.” Brenda nodded. “That makes more sense now.” Panam’s hands paused. Then she resumed brushing dust from the sole. “Good.” --- By the time Brenda changed into her own clothes, the safehouse had shifted back toward itself. Not completely. A story never left cleanly. It always left fingerprints. But the room no longer held Night Corp’s cold polish. The lighting was imperfect again. The couch was emotionally inefficient again. Kiro’s abandoned noodles had finally been thrown away after a negotiation involving smell, dignity, and public health. Brenda emerged from the bedroom wearing oil-stained casual clothes, mismatched socks, her own hair in a halfhearted tie, and her own eyes. No cream. No honey-brown. No chestnut. No stupid useful bag. Just Brenda. Shammy stood immediately. Brenda stopped in the doorway. Shammy looked at her for a long moment. Then smiled. “There you are.” Brenda’s face softened so much that Ace felt it in her chest. “Yeah.” Shammy crossed the room and hugged her. Carefully. Completely. Brenda stood stiff for one surprised second, then folded into it. Not dramatically. Not collapsing. Just letting herself be held now that Jessie no longer needed to stand upright. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. Maeve was gone. Amber was gone. Mostly. Something remained in both of them. A warmth shaped like a cousin. Panam pretended to check the shoes again. Reyes did not pretend. She watched with open fondness. Kiro wiped under one eye and turned it into a fake itch when Ace glanced at her. Ace let her have it. Brenda eventually pulled back. Shammy kept both hands on her shoulders. “Brenda came home.” Brenda nodded. “Jessie behaved.” Ace snorted. “Debatable.” Brenda turned. “I behaved more than usual.” Panam nodded. “That is true.” Reyes said, “Historically significant.” Kiro whispered, “Recordable.” Ace said, “No.” Brenda pointed at her. “See? I am home. Everyone is oppressing me normally.” Mai smiled. “That is one measure.” Brenda dropped onto the couch with the exhausted collapse of someone whose body had finally learned the event was over. “Do we have food?” Panam stood. “Yes.” Brenda lifted one hand weakly. “Not corpo food.” Reyes looked offended on behalf of taste. “Corpo food is not food. It is edible branding.” Kiro nodded. “Caloric brochure.” Ace stared. “That is the worst accurate phrase of the night.” Shammy looked pleased. “Food should not be brochures.” Mai went to the kitchen. “Agreed.” Panam followed. Reyes rose too, because Reyes liked helping when the helping involved proximity to gossip. Kiro hovered near the secured report box. Ace pointed without looking. “No.” Kiro turned away with tragic dignity. Brenda leaned her head back against the couch. “I think Rogue scared me more than Night Corp.” Ace sat on the couch arm. “Good.” Brenda opened one eye. “Good?” “Rogue was on our side and still scared you. That means your instincts are working.” Brenda considered. “Night Corp scared me after I thought about it.” Mai’s voice came from the kitchen. “That also means your instincts are working.” Brenda closed her eye. “I don’t like how much thinking this job had.” Kiro sat cross-legged on the floor near the table, finally allowed to be still. “You were very good at it.” Brenda groaned. “No praise.” Reyes called from the kitchen, “Family should be accurate.” Brenda threw a cushion toward the kitchen. It missed everything important, which was probably why no one stopped her. Panam laughed. Mai returned carrying bowls. Real food. Hot. Unbranded. Safehouse food, which meant improvised, slightly too spicy, nutritionally negotiable, and morally superior to anything served near investors. Brenda accepted a bowl with both hands. “Thank you.” She took one bite. Her eyes closed. “Oh. That’s better than being designed.” Ace laughed. “There she is.” They ate around the table and couch because formal dining was for people with fewer weapons and less emotional furniture. For a while, no one talked about Night Corp. They talked about Calder instead. Specifically, they talked about Calder’s failed attempt at charm. Brenda did not understand why this was so funny. This made it funnier. “He asked if you could explain it over a drink,” Reyes said, eyes bright. Brenda frowned into her bowl. “Yes. But I was explaining why the wall was weird.” Panam covered her mouth. Kiro made a small dying sound. Mai smiled into her food. Ace shook her head. “He was flirting.” Brenda blinked. Then looked genuinely confused. “When?” Reyes fell sideways against the couch. Panam made a sound like a cough and failed. Kiro whispered, “Charm bounced off sealed housing.” Brenda stared. “What?” Ace pointed at her. “That. That right there is why it was funny.” Brenda looked down at her food. “But he picked a bad time.” Mai said calmly, “He picked a bad target.” Reyes said, “And a bad method.” Panam added, “And a bad room.” Shammy, who had been listening with delighted seriousness, said, “His weather did not reach the machine.” Everyone lost it. Brenda looked around. “I feel like I am being teased and praised at the same time.” Ace smiled. “Welcome home.” Brenda stared at her. Then smiled back. Small. Tired. Real. “Terrible family.” Mai’s voice warmed. “Accurate.” Brenda pointed with her spoon. “No.” Reyes whispered, “Family should be—” Brenda threw another cushion. This one hit Reyes square in the chest. Reyes accepted the impact like a blessing. Kiro clapped once. Panam laughed openly. Shammy beamed. Ace leaned back, letting the noise settle around her. This was the part Night Corp never understood. Rooms could be built. Systems could be hidden. Language could be polished until violence wore civic clothing. But people came home. If they were lucky. If they worked for it. If someone watched the exits, someone held the weather, someone kept the notes offline, someone told the truth gently enough to survive, and someone remembered that tools could be unused and still matter. Brenda sat in her own clothes, eating safehouse food, being roasted for missing a flirt attempt because a wall had committed infrastructure crimes. Jessie slept in a garment bag beside Amber and Maeve. Door closed. Not locked. That was enough for tonight. Later, Rogue would make calls. Later, Night Corp might remember. Later, the report would become trouble in someone else’s hands. But now, Brenda had come home. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. No Amber. No Maeve. Just them. Mai’s foot brushed Ace’s under the table. Ace smiled. Softly. Privately. Not secretly enough. Reyes saw. Of course Reyes saw. “Oh,” Reyes said. Ace’s eyes narrowed. “No.” Panam looked over. “What?” Reyes smiled. “Nothing.” Mai’s expression turned serene. Too serene. Shammy looked between them and brightened. Brenda, exhausted and fed and finally herself, lifted her spoon. “Are they doing a thing?” Kiro whispered, “Potentially.” Ace stood. “No one is doing a thing.” Mai stood too. Slowly. Gracefully. Dangerously calm. Panam started laughing before anything happened. Reyes clutched her bowl. Shammy smiled with absolute cosmic satisfaction. Brenda looked around. “What thing?” Kiro leaned toward her. “Family rule. Everyone comes home. Some people then leave again briefly.” Brenda stared. Then looked at Ace and Mai. Then her eyes widened. “Oh.” Ace pointed at Kiro. “You are dead tomorrow.” Kiro lifted both hands. “I explained culturally.” Mai took Ace’s hand. Ace looked at her. Mai smiled. “Love.” The room erupted. Brenda covered her face. “No. Absolutely not. I just became family today.” Reyes was laughing too hard to speak. Panam raised her bowl. “To education.” Shammy raised both hands. “To home.” Kiro whispered, “Adult warmth protocol successful.” Ace glared. Mai tugged gently. Ace allowed herself to be pulled toward the hallway, because dignity had already been lost at Afterlife, GLAMR COVE, Mara’s, Night Corp, Rogue’s booth, and approximately four tax jokes ago. Behind them, Brenda shouted, “Do I get to throw cushions at this part too?” Reyes shouted back, “Yes!” Panam shouted, “Aim for Kiro!” Kiro shouted, “Why me?” Shammy’s delighted laughter followed them down the hall. Ace looked at Mai. Mai’s smile softened. The safehouse stayed loud behind them. Warm. Alive. Home. Everyone laughed. Everyone got roasted. Everyone came home. And Jessie O’Sullivan slept quietly in storage, waiting for whatever door might open next.