Chapter 10 The drive back didn’t feel like a retreat. It felt like being moved. Helsinki slid past the windows in clean grey layers—glass, stone, people pretending nothing strange lived under the city’s skin. Mai drove with the same measured precision she always did, hands steady, speed disciplined, eyes scanning mirrors like the mirrors were part of her nervous system. Shammy sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, looking outward but not really seeing the street. Her attention was elsewhere—pressure gradients, the feeling of being politely handled, the absence of the usual MC&D “tightening.” Ace sat in the back, compact and quiet, her katanas buckled in place like two sleeping arguments. Her violet eyes kept catching on small details: the way Mai changed lanes, the way she didn’t hum, the way her shoulders didn’t loosen even when the traffic did. Nobody spoke for a while. Not because they were angry. Because words were slippery right now, and the wrong sentence could make something real. Then Mai’s tablet chimed. Once. Twice. Mai glanced down at a red notification banner and didn’t slow the car. “Foundation update.” Shammy’s head tilted. “Already? They miss us.” Mai tapped the banner with one thumb at a red light, eyes flicking between the screen and the road like she had two brains. Her face didn’t change, but the air in the car did—tightening by a notch. Ace felt it immediately. “What.” Mai answered in the same calm tone she used for weather forecasts. “The object is being moved tonight. They want us on escort.” Shammy let out a short laugh that wasn’t amused. “Of course they do.” Ace’s mouth twitched. “To where?” Mai scrolled. “Secure facility. Location not disclosed in this message.” Shammy snorted. “Love that for us.” Mai continued. “They have reason to believe MC&D will attempt contact during transit.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. “Attempt contact, or attempt theft.” Mai’s reply was immediate. “Either.” Shammy’s gaze slid to Mai’s profile. “And you think the easiest time to steal it is while it moves.” Mai nodded once. “Yes.” Ace leaned forward slightly, letting her voice stay casual by sheer force of will. “And you think Halonen wanted to watch our movement pattern.” Mai’s fingers paused on the tablet for half a beat, then resumed scrolling. “That is consistent.” Shammy’s lip curled. “He didn’t even try. That’s what creeps me out.” Mai didn’t comment. She drove. The silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of small, clicking gears. When they reached the safe house, the sky had dimmed into early evening—winter doing its fast-forward thing. Mai parked, killed the engine, and they sat for one heartbeat longer than necessary. Shammy got out first, stretching like she was about to go wrestle the air. “I’m going to the roof.” Mai said, “Later.” Shammy blinked. “Huh?” Mai’s gaze stayed on her tablet as she unlocked her door. “We have preparation tasks. Roof after.” That was… weird. Not the instruction. The timing. Shammy’s smile flickered, then returned. “Yes, boss.” Mai didn’t correct her. Ace watched that small moment slide into place like another tiny brick in a wall she didn’t want built. Inside, the safe house regained its familiar shape: table, gear, kettle, the soft hum of appliances pretending to be alive. Mai immediately started laying out equipment with crisp efficiency—binders, cloth, spare cells, comms, a small set of containment seals. She moved like a person executing a pre-written procedure. Ace and Shammy fell into the rhythm beside her without being asked. For ten minutes, it almost worked. Then Shammy, unable to stand the silence without biting it, leaned her hip against the counter and said, “Okay. Transit escort. Night drive. Fancy anomaly in a suitcase. Tell me we at least get snacks.” Mai didn’t look up. “We will not eat during transport.” Shammy stared. “That is… not what I meant.” Mai’s fingers didn’t pause. “Food introduces variables.” Ace’s mouth quirked. “So does being alive.” Mai finally looked up. “We reduce variables when possible.” Shammy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re really on a ‘reduce variables’ kick today.” Mai’s gaze held steady. “It is prudent.” Ace picked up a roll of tape and twirled it once around her fingers, a nervous habit disguised as boredom. “Prudent is fine. But you’re…,” she searched for the word, “…extra prudent.” Mai blinked once. “We encountered an adaptive node and MC&D interest within twenty-four hours. Increased prudence is reasonable.” Shammy opened her mouth, then closed it again, because Mai’s logic was clean and that was exactly the problem—clean logic was hard to argue with when what you felt was a smudge, not a fact. Ace set the tape down and forced a smile. “Okay. Fine. No snacks. But if the van gets hit, I’m biting someone.” Shammy brightened. “Yes! Violence! That’s the Ace I know.” Ace’s eyes flicked to Mai—waiting for the usual dry little line, the usual understated approval or sharp correction. Mai said, “Biting is inefficient.” Ace blinked. Shammy stared. Then Shammy laughed too loud on purpose. “Biting is inefficient. I’m putting that on a t-shirt.” Ace’s smile held, but it felt stretched. She tried again, softer. A reach. “You know,” Ace said, picking up Mai’s spare battery pack and holding it just out of reach like a teasing cat, “if we’re doing ‘reduce variables,’ then you should let me carry this. I’m smaller. Less surface area. Less variable.” Shammy grinned. “Science.” Mai’s gaze flicked to the battery pack, then to Ace’s face. There was a pause. A tiny, microscopic delay like a program searching for a missing file. Then Mai said, “No.” Just… no. Not “Give it back, gremlin,” not “Put that down before I recalibrate you,” not “Ace,” with that warning edge that always made Ace grin wider. Just no. Ace’s grin faltered for half a second and then came back harder, brighter, like overcompensation with teeth. She handed the pack back. “Okay, boss.” Mai didn’t respond. Shammy’s smile dimmed by a notch. She looked away first, pretending to focus on her gloves again. The room felt colder, though the heater was on. Ace set her palms on the table and leaned in, voice light, playful, deliberately reckless—the kind of line that normally sparked the familiar triad hum. “So,” Ace said, “escort tonight. Long drive. Tight space. Three of us in a van. We’re going to be very close.” Shammy’s grin snapped back. “Oh, we’re doing this? Yes.” Ace’s violet eyes stayed on Mai. “How are you going to survive that without short-circuiting, huh?” Normally Mai would fire back. Something dry. Something sharp. Something that pretended it wasn’t affectionate while absolutely being affectionate. Mai’s gaze didn’t change. She said, “We will maintain operational spacing.” Shammy’s grin froze like someone had poured cold water over it. Ace’s mouth opened, then closed. Because that was the clearest microfracture yet. Not because it was wrong in content. Because it was wrong in soul. Operational spacing. Like they were strangers. Like they weren’t a living knot of trust and banter and contact and shared breath. Ace laughed anyway—one short, bright sound. “Operational spacing,” she echoed, as if it was a joke. Shammy forced a laugh with her. “Yeah. We’ll put tape on the floor. ‘Do not cross.’” Mai nodded once, not seeing the joke as a joke. “If it helps maintain focus, yes.” The laughter died in the air. Ace felt her own heartbeat thud once, heavy. Shammy’s eyes slid to Ace for a fraction of a second—quick, sharp, electric. And there it was again: that shared look. That silent question. Ace held it for half a beat longer this time, then looked away. Mai went back to her kit as if nothing had happened. “We leave at twenty-one hundred. Foundation van will meet us at the north junction. We will perform a vehicle sweep for tracking anomalies before departure.” Shammy’s voice came out softer than usual. “Since when do you care about… spacing?” Mai didn’t look up. “Since now.” Shammy swallowed. “Okay.” Ace reached for her blades and began cleaning them again even though they didn’t need it. Metal work was easier than thinking. Mai packed with calm efficiency. Shammy drifted toward the back door again, then stopped as if remembering Mai’s earlier instruction. She looked back. “Roof after?” Shammy asked, voice light, like nothing was weird. Mai answered without hesitation. “Roof after.” Shammy nodded once, then turned away. Ace watched her go. Then, without looking up, Ace said quietly, “Mai.” Mai’s hands paused for a fraction. “Yes,” Mai said. Ace wanted to ask something—something direct, something honest, something that would either snap the wall or prove it didn’t exist. Instead, Ace heard herself say, “Don’t let me bite anyone. I’ll get carried away.” Shammy snorted from the doorway, grateful for the deflection. “I’ll bite them first.” Mai’s answer was immediate, correct, and utterly bloodless. “Agreed. No biting.” Ace’s fingers tightened on the cloth she was using to wipe her blade. She forced a smile that nobody could see. “Cool,” she said. “No biting.” And the safe house hummed on—kettle, fridge, heater—while outside the winter night gathered itself like a cloak. The escort was hours away. MC&D was already waiting, somewhere, with their polite smiles and their appointment windows. And inside the safe house, the biggest variable in the room kept arranging equipment with perfect calm… while Ace and Shammy learned, in silence, what it felt like to stand beside someone you loved and not be able to reach her the way you always had.