Chapter 6 Morning did not arrive like a sunrise. It arrived like a checklist. The safe house windows were cheap and slightly warped, turning the pale winter light into something that looked tired before it even touched the floor. Outside, the street was quiet in that Finnish way—cars moving occasionally, people not making a show of existing. Inside, the kettle clicked on. The refrigerator hummed. The world pretended it was normal. Triad, as always, made it normal by force of habit. Ace was up first, as she often was after jobs that left her nerves too awake to sleep properly. She’d slept anyway—because she could when she chose to—but she’d woken with her thoughts already running laps. Shammy came down from the roof in the grey hour, hair full of cold air, eyes bright with that insomniac clarity she wore like a crown. She did not mention what she’d seen, because most of what Shammy saw at night was either unhelpful or better left as atmosphere. Mai was last. Calm. Composed. Hair tied back. No visible fatigue. Which was normal. It was also… oddly normal, Ace thought. Like someone had turned “Mai” up by one notch on the “Mai” dial. A little too crisp. A little too perfectly assembled. Ace hated her own brain for even forming the thought. She poured coffee from the cheap machine that always made it taste like burnt plastic and resignation. She did it anyway because the ritual mattered more than the flavor. Shammy leaned her elbows on the counter and watched the coffee stream like it was going to confess something. “That,” she said solemnly, “is criminal.” Ace didn’t look up. “It’s coffee.” Shammy’s eyes widened. “No. It’s hot regret with a caffeine addiction.” Mai walked in as Shammy was mid-meditation on despair. She took one look at the machine, the pot, the mugs lined up. She said, “Adequate.” Ace’s gaze flicked to her. “You did not just call that adequate.” Mai picked up her mug, unbothered. “Caffeine content appears sufficient.” Shammy clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “Mai. Sweetheart. You’re scaring me.” Mai didn’t react to the term of endearment. Not positively, not negatively. She simply raised the mug to her lips and took a measured sip. Shammy blinked once, slowly, like a cat noticing the room had rearranged itself while it slept. Ace didn’t move. She kept her hands on her own mug. Kept her voice light. “Okay. Either you’re very tired, or someone swapped your taste buds for lab equipment.” Mai’s eyes flicked to Ace. The glance was clean, direct, emotion-neutral. “This coffee is not a subject worth extended discussion.” That was the kind of sentence Mai sometimes said, yes. Especially on ops. Especially when she wanted the conversation to stay on rails. But in a kitchen, in sweatpants, with Shammy on the counter looking like she’d been carved from insomnia? It landed… a little too clipped. Ace smiled anyway. She always did. “Fine,” Ace said. “We’ll mourn the loss of flavor in silence.” Shammy muttered, “We should hold a funeral. Invite Vantaa.” Mai ignored that. She set her mug down and pulled a tablet from her kit bag, tapping the screen awake with the same decisive economy she used for weapons. “Foundation debrief at nine hundred. Rissanen expects an incident summary. We will propose containment support.” Ace sipped the coffee. It was awful. It always was. “He expects? Or you expect?” Mai didn’t look up. “Rissanen is an agent. He expects a report.” Shammy swung her feet idly. “Do we also send him a fruit basket? Or is that too intimate?” Mai’s fingers moved across the screen. “We will send data.” Shammy’s gaze held on Mai for a beat longer than usual. Not suspicious. Just… listening. Feeling. Ace noticed the look, and her stomach did a small, quiet thing. Mai continued, “We confirmed an adaptive node. Constructs appear to be distributed, potentially tethered to environmental attention mechanisms—light bands, audio distortion fields. The node showed us a maintenance access corridor consistent with the collapse event.” Ace’s eyes flicked up. “The monitor.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Shammy’s voice dropped. “And the face.” Mai’s fingers paused for a fraction. “We are not including that in the initial report.” Ace’s eyebrows lifted. “Why not?” Mai’s gaze lifted at last, silver-blue eyes calm as deep water. “Because it is unverified. It may be an induced hallucination designed to provoke engagement.” Shammy snorted softly. “It provoked my engagement with the concept of leaving.” Mai continued as if Shammy hadn’t spoken. “We are requesting a sweep team with audio isolation gear, ritual countermeasures, and structural mapping drones. We will also request an MC&D watch alert.” Ace tilted her head. “Already?” Mai’s response was immediate. “The manifestation shows market logic. Constructs that assemble from mundane compartments. Attention mechanisms. It is consistent with entities that want to be collected.” Shammy’s eyes narrowed. “Or sold.” Mai’s mouth moved slightly, almost a grimace. “Yes.” Ace leaned back against the counter, watching Mai’s hands. “We’re doing this official?” Mai glanced up, then back down. “We’re not improvising with an adaptive anomaly.” Shammy’s mouth quirked. “Look at you, being responsible.” Mai didn’t acknowledge it. Ace’s smile stayed. It didn’t reach her eyes. Because the rhythm was wrong again. Not in the content. In the cadence. Mai’s responses were clean, complete, closed. No little sideways jab. No dry flick of amusement. No softening. Ace tried one more time—not as a test, not as an accusation. Just as a reach. “You know,” she said lightly, “if we have to go back to Vantaa, you owe me actual coffee. Or at least coffee that doesn’t taste like it was filtered through a boot.” Shammy perked up immediately. “Yes. We demand reparations.” Mai didn’t smile. She didn’t frown either. She said, “We can stop by a café after the debrief if time allows.” It was… reasonable. It was also exactly the kind of answer you gave someone you didn’t know well enough to tease. Ace blinked once. Shammy blinked twice. Then Shammy laughed, bright and a little too loud, covering the moment like a blanket. “Time allows! Listen to you. You’re making it sound like coffee is a classified asset.” Mai’s gaze moved to her. “It is not.” Shammy grinned. “Not with that attitude.” Mai went back to the tablet. Ace turned her mug slowly in her hands. The coffee inside sloshed against the sides like it wanted out. Nothing was wrong, she told herself, for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. Nothing was wrong. Mai was being efficient. They were on a job. The world was loud enough without them wasting energy on banter. That was all. On the roof last night, the building had tried to split them. This morning, in the kitchen, something was splitting something else—something quieter, harder to name. Shammy hopped down from the counter and padded closer to Ace, shoulder bumping hers lightly. A casual touch, a grounding. Ace didn’t look at her, but she let the touch stay. Mai spoke without looking up. “We leave in fifteen.” Shammy’s voice turned sing-song. “Yes, boss.” Mai’s tone remained neutral. “Do not call me that.” Shammy smiled. “Okay, boss.” Mai’s fingers paused again. Then resumed, as if irritation was beneath her. Ace watched her. Not accusing. Not panicking. Just… noticing. They packed in that smooth, practiced way that made it hard for outsiders to understand where one ended and the others began. Kits checked. Weapons secured. Jackets on. Comms tested. By the time they were at the door, Mai already had the report half-written, bullet points crisp, language clean, conclusions cautious. Everything was competent. Everything was controlled. Everything was… adequate. Ace stepped out into the pale winter morning and let the cold bite her face like a distraction. Behind her, Shammy followed, tall shadow in the doorway, eyes flicking once—just once—back at Mai as she locked up. Mai didn’t notice the look. Or did. Her expression didn’t change either way. They got into the car. Mai drove. And the safe house, left behind, looked exactly the same as it had an hour ago—quiet, inert, harmless. Which was, Ace thought as they pulled onto the road, exactly what made lies so effective. Because the best ones didn’t feel like lies. They felt like the world simply deciding to be a little less warm than usual. And nobody could prove it.