# ACE 114.1 — The Red Baron’s Helmet ## Chapter 1 — Back From Afterlife The rain had followed them home. Not aggressively. Night City rain rarely needed aggression. It simply existed everywhere at once, turning streetlight into smeared color and concrete into black glass while traffic hissed through Watson below. Ace stood inside the safehouse door for several seconds after it closed behind them. Mai noticed. Shammy noticed too. Neither said anything. Ace finally looked over one shoulder at the door. “Still Night City.” Mai removed her coat. “Yes.” “Good.” Shammy tilted her head slightly. The air around her carried a faint trace of cool rain and static from outside. “It feels normal.” Ace stared at her. “That sentence has become threatening.” Shammy considered that. “Yes.” Mai hung her coat properly. Ace dropped hers across the back of a chair. Mai looked at it. Ace saw the look without turning. “No.” “I said nothing.” “You were about to.” “I was looking at your coat.” “Judgmentally.” “There are only so many ways to look at a coat you have deliberately placed six centimeters from the hook.” Ace turned. “Deliberately?” Mai raised one eyebrow. Ace looked at the coat. Then at the hook. Then back at Mai. “…I reject the premise.” Shammy moved past both of them toward the kitchen. “I would like coffee.” Ace pointed after her. “See? Useful priorities.” Mai let the coat remain where it was. That alone told Ace more than anything Mai could have said. The safehouse settled around them as they moved farther inside. Normal sounds. Ventilation. The distant hum of electronics. Traffic below. One of Brenda’s small handwritten warning labels still clung crookedly to the edge of a storage cabinet near the kitchen. The actual warning had been crossed out twice and replaced with something about “pending infrastructure,” which meant nobody had believed the first version either. Nothing smelled like canvas. Nothing smelled like castor oil. Nothing sounded like an aircraft engine coughing itself awake in a frozen field. Ace stopped thinking about that immediately. Or tried to. Mai crossed to the kitchen counter and placed her shard beside the coffee machine. Face down. That caught Ace’s attention. Mai usually put devices down with the useful side available. Shammy saw it too. Neither commented. The coffee machine started. Ace leaned against the counter. “So.” Mai looked at her. “So.” “We have a problem.” “We have several.” “The specific one.” Mai’s eyes moved briefly toward the face-down shard. “Yes.” Shammy stood on the other side of the kitchen, tall enough that the overhead light caught faint silver along the edges of her hair. “We know what it looks like.” Ace rubbed one thumb across the side of her index finger. A meaningless little motion. Mai noticed that too. “We know what Rogue showed us,” Mai said. Ace’s gaze sharpened. “That isn’t what she meant.” “No.” Silence. The coffee machine clicked. Nobody filled the pause. That was one of the benefits of living together long enough. Silence did not automatically become a problem requiring management. Shammy looked toward the dark window. Rain moved down the glass in uneven lines. “I remember the wear on the left side.” Ace closed her eyes for half a second. There it was. Not the whole thing. Not the sky. Not fire. Not the impossible weight of unfamiliar controls becoming familiar underneath her hands. Just leather. Brown. Used. Creased in a specific place. Something that had been on a man’s head. Something that, according to every reasonable law available to them, none of them had ever seen. Mai poured coffee into three mugs. Her hands were perfectly steady. “The image Rogue had was not high enough resolution to establish stitching detail.” Ace opened her eyes. “No.” “I know.” Mai handed her a mug. Ace took it. Shammy received hers next. Mai kept the third. For a moment, the three of them stood in the kitchen with coffee between their hands and something from 1918 sitting nowhere in the room except their memories. Ace took a drink. “Okay.” Mai watched her. “Okay what?” “We’re not doing this.” Mai’s expression changed by a fraction. “Define this.” Ace waved one hand vaguely between the three of them. “The staring-at-each-other part where we keep confirming we remember the same thing until one of us decides reality owes us an explanation.” Shammy considered the statement. “That does sound inefficient.” Mai looked at her. Ace immediately pointed. “See?” “I did not disagree.” “You were preparing a structured objection.” “I was preparing coffee.” “You already did that.” Mai took a very deliberate sip. Ace smiled faintly. There. Better. Not solved. Better. Shammy leaned one hip against the counter. “Collector wants the helmet.” Ace nodded. “Yep.” “We do not have the helmet.” “Also yep.” “We do not know where the helmet is.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. That was the useful problem. Something with edges. Something that could be attacked without first deciding whether the universe had recently developed a sense of humor. Mai set her mug down. “We know the item is attributed to Manfred von Richthofen.” Ace winced. “Still sounds ridiculous.” “It is historically specific.” “It is a leather flying helmet.” “Attributed to one of the most famous combat aviators in history.” “Yes. Which means somewhere right now there are probably eighty-seven rich men insisting they own it.” Mai paused. “That is unfortunately plausible.” Shammy looked between them. “Can there be eighty-seven?” “No,” Mai said. Ace drank her coffee. “Depends how good the auction houses are.” Mai gave her a look. Ace shrugged. “Night City taught me economics.” “That is not economics.” “It is if everyone gets paid.” Shammy’s mouth curved slightly. Mai resisted for almost three seconds. Then her own expression softened. The pressure in the kitchen decreased by one invisible notch. Mai reached for her shard. This time she turned it face up. Ace saw the transition happen. Emotion into structure. Uncertainty into a problem with search parameters. Mai’s natural habitat. “What do we actually know?” Mai asked. Ace immediately answered. “Collector wants it.” “Yes.” “Rogue doesn’t know where it is.” “She did not know when she briefed us.” “Same practical result.” Mai nodded once. “Continue.” Ace stared at her. “What, you’re taking minutes now?” “No.” A beat. “Not yet.” Ace pointed at her. “That was a threat.” Shammy sipped coffee. “It sounded like one.” Mai ignored both of them. “The public provenance of objects associated with Richthofen is heavily contaminated.” Ace blinked. “You already started.” “I began looking while Rogue was talking.” “Of course you did.” “There are museum holdings, family provenance claims, military collections, private transfers, reproductions, disputed objects, objects misattributed deliberately, objects misattributed accidentally, and an entire commercial ecosystem built around people wanting to own something a famous dead man touched.” Ace made a face. “Humanity.” “Yes.” “Still disappointing.” “Consistently.” Shammy looked at Mai’s shard. “Is the helmet in a museum?” “I do not know.” “Then we start there.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Ace leaned against the counter harder. “And by ‘we,’ you mean you.” Mai looked up. “I mean I begin there.” “Better.” “I am capable of research without supervision.” “I know. That’s what worries me.” Mai’s eyes narrowed. Ace smiled into her coffee. Shammy’s gaze moved toward Ace. “You would rather be doing something.” Ace pointed at her with the mug. “Do not profile me before coffee number two.” “You are holding coffee number one like it insulted you personally.” “It knows what it did.” Mai was already scrolling. Historical databases. Auction archives. Museum catalogs. Collector registries. Private sale references. The shape of her attention changed as she read. Not implant-deep. Not yet. Just Mai becoming more still while the world around her arranged itself into categories. Ace watched for thirty seconds. Then sixty. Then: “No.” Mai stopped. “What?” “You’re about to disappear into that.” “I am reading.” “You’re reading in the way that turns into seventeen hours and a nutritional intervention.” “I have had coffee.” “That is not food.” “It contains—” “Do not finish that sentence.” Mai looked offended. Shammy nodded solemnly. “Ace is correct.” Mai turned toward her. “About coffee not being food?” “Yes.” Ace smiled. “Victory.” “Do not enjoy it too much.” “Impossible.” Mai looked back down at the search results. The first layer was already ugly. Every famous artifact eventually developed copies. Every famous military artifact developed enthusiasts. Every famous military artifact attached to a legendary pilot developed enthusiasts with money, opinions, private archives, forged documents, family stories, restoration records and enough confidence to make truth expensive. Mai opened three provenance chains. Closed two immediately. Opened another. Ace finished her coffee. Shammy continued drinking more slowly. Five minutes passed. Then Mai said: “No.” Ace looked over. “Found it?” “The opposite.” “Good start.” “One helmet attributed to Richthofen is held publicly. Wrong construction.” Another swipe. “One was sold thirty-one years ago. Provenance collapses before 1938.” Another. “One private collector claims to own an original flight helmet associated with Jagdstaffel 11. The photographs are deliberately poor.” Ace leaned closer. “Why?” “Because expensive people enjoy making other expensive people ask permission.” “That sounds exhausting.” “It usually is.” Shammy moved nearer. Mai enlarged the image. A display case. Dark leather. Bad angle. Reflections across glass. Ace’s body went still before her mind did. Mai killed the image immediately. The screen went dark. Shammy inhaled once. Ace looked at Mai. “Wrong one.” “Yes.” Nobody asked how they knew. That was the problem. They knew. Mai reopened the search interface without the image. Ace pushed away from the counter. “This is going to be fun.” Mai glanced at her. “You have an unusual definition of fun.” “I just watched you identify a century-old fake from one blurry photo because it didn’t match something we saw in a place we weren’t.” “Technically we did see it.” Ace stared. Mai paused. “…I withdraw the wording.” “Thank you.” Shammy looked thoughtful. “The false one felt empty.” Both women turned toward her. Shammy frowned slightly. “Not anomalously.” Ace waited. Shammy searched for better language. “The memory did not move.” Mai nodded slowly. “Yes.” Ace looked between them. “Great. Perfect. We now have an entirely normal search methodology.” Shammy smiled. “Useful.” “Horrifying.” “Also useful.” Ace went to refill her coffee. Mai resumed searching. This time Ace let her. For approximately seven minutes. Then Mai stopped again. Not because she had found the helmet. Because she had reached the point where the problem changed category. She leaned back slightly. “There is too much noise.” Ace poured coffee. “Internet?” “History.” “Same thing with worse user interfaces.” Mai ignored that. “Objects at this level do not remain continuously public. Private transfers disappear. Estate sales are sometimes deliberately obscured. Collectors buy through intermediaries. Authentication records can exist separately from ownership records. Restoration photographs may never enter public archives.” Shammy asked, “Can you follow the money?” Mai’s mouth tightened. “Possibly. If I know which object I am following.” Ace returned with her mug. “And you don’t.” “No.” “Then we need someone who likes diving through garbage until it develops a personality.” Mai looked at her. Ace looked innocent. Mai continued looking. Ace drank coffee. Shammy smiled first. Mai sighed. “Kiro.” “Obviously.” “I was going to call her.” “Of course.” “You were waiting for me to say it.” “Yes.” “That is irritating.” “Also obviously.” Mai touched Kiro’s contact. Stopped. Ace immediately noticed. “Oh, come on.” Mai looked at her. “What?” “You hesitated.” “I did not.” “You absolutely did.” “For less than one second.” “That still counts.” Mai’s gaze flattened. Ace was enjoying herself now. Dangerous. Shammy looked at Mai with quiet curiosity. “Why?” Mai looked betrayed by the existence of two witnesses. “I was considering whether she is awake.” Ace glanced toward the wall display. “It’s afternoon.” “Kiro’s relationship with conventional time remains advisory.” “That is fair.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Mai initiated the call. The connection rang once. Twice. On the third ring, the audio opened without video. There was a crash somewhere on Kiro’s end. Then silence. Then: “Nothing broke.” Mai closed her eyes. Ace immediately turned away because laughter would only encourage the situation. “Kiro.” “Mai.” Another small crash. “This is still not evidence.” “Kiro.” “Okay, that one might have been evidence.” Mai pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need your help.” The noise stopped. Not gradually. Immediately. Kiro’s voice changed too. Not serious exactly. Focused. “What kind?” “Historical object tracing.” A beat. “That is either incredibly boring or catastrophically interesting.” Ace called from the kitchen: “Both.” There was another pause. “Ace?” “Unfortunately.” “Shammy there?” “Yes,” Shammy answered. “Okay. So this is group-catastrophically-interesting.” Mai cut in before Kiro could accelerate. “We are trying to locate a specific artifact currently in private or institutional possession.” “Digital artifact?” “Physical.” “Modern?” “No.” “How not-modern?” “First World War.” Silence. Ace looked at the shard. Mai looked at the shard. Shammy tilted her head. Kiro finally said: “Oh.” Mai waited. “That was not the reaction I expected.” “I was recalibrating.” “For what?” “For you calling me voluntarily to do antique hunting.” Ace smiled. Mai’s expression cooled. “Kiro.” “Sorry. Continue.” “It is a flying helmet attributed to Manfred von Richthofen.” Longer silence. Then: “The Red Baron.” “Yes.” “The actual Red Baron.” “Yes.” “Like red triplane, terrifying casualty statistics, entire century of aviation mythology Red Baron.” Ace muttered, “We have established the branding.” Kiro ignored her. “And somebody has his helmet.” “We believe so.” “You have pictures?” “Yes.” “Provenance?” “Partial.” “Last confirmed sale?” “Unknown.” “Authentication paperwork?” “Fragmentary.” “Serial or maker marks?” “Possibly.” “Current owner?” “Unknown.” “Location?” “Unknown.” Kiro inhaled audibly. Then: “Okay.” Ace heard it instantly. So did Mai. That particular okay. Not reluctance. Interest achieving dangerous internal velocity. Mai’s voice became very controlled. “Kiro.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was about to say this sounds difficult.” “No, you were not.” “…it does sound difficult.” “And?” A pause. Then, with barely contained delight: “It sounds like someone tried to erase a century-old physical object from modern ownership visibility and now you want me to find where it leaked back into the data layer.” Ace leaned toward Shammy. “There she is.” Shammy nodded. Kiro continued faster. “Which means estate structures, insurance, specialist transport, restoration vendors, private-event photography, climate-control service contracts, museum loans, foundation grants, collector-club access lists, maybe customs if it crossed borders recently, tax wrappers if somebody got clever, and if they got really clever then probably family offices because rich people love inventing extra paperwork to hide from other rich people—” “Kiro.” She stopped. Mai waited one second. “Come to the safehouse.” Another pause. Then Kiro’s voice softened just slightly. “You want me there?” Ace immediately looked at Mai. Mai ignored her with heroic effort. “Yes.” The answer was simple. No qualification. No operational distancing. Just yes. Kiro was quiet for another second. “Okay.” Then the speed came back. “I need twenty minutes.” Mai looked toward the rain outside. “You need thirty.” “I can do twenty.” “You cannot cross Japantown to Watson in twenty minutes safely in this weather.” “Define safely.” “No.” Ace laughed. Kiro sighed dramatically through the connection. “Twenty-eight.” “Thirty.” “Twenty-nine.” Mai stared at the shard. Ace whispered, “Take the deal.” Mai gave her a lethal look. “Thirty.” “Fine. Tyranny.” The connection ended. Ace immediately grinned. Mai put the agent down. “Do not.” “I haven’t said anything.” “You are about to.” Shammy looked between them. “She sounded pleased.” Ace pointed. “Thank you.” Mai turned slowly toward Shammy. “You too?” Shammy’s expression remained perfectly calm. “Yes.” Ace took another drink. The safehouse felt different already. Not because anything had been solved. Nothing had. They did not know who owned the helmet. They did not know where it was. They did not know whether the trail would lead to a museum, a vault, a dead collector’s estate, a private military archive, or some billionaire’s climate-controlled basement. They had no target. No map. No door. No retrieval plan. For once, Ace could not solve the problem by putting both hands on the hilts of her swords and moving faster than everyone else. She hated that. A little. But Mai was standing at the counter with the first pieces of an impossible provenance chain open in front of her. Kiro was already on her way. Shammy stood beside the window, watching rain slide across Night City while the room around her settled into the shape of work. Ace looked at Mai’s screen. Rows of names. Auction houses. Catalog numbers. Claims. Photographs. Fragments of history scattered across a century of people insisting they knew where something had been. Somewhere inside all of it was one old leather flying helmet. Ace knew exactly what it looked like. That remained the part she refused to examine too closely. Mai opened a fresh workspace. Not a spreadsheet. Ace checked. Mai caught her checking. “It is a research board.” “Good.” “It will contain structured categories.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “Dangerously close.” “Kiro will destroy the structure within twelve minutes.” Ace considered that. “Acceptable.” Shammy looked away from the window. “The helmet exists somewhere.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Ace glanced at the rain-dark city outside. “Then we find it.” Mai’s fingers paused above the interface. For just an instant, something passed through her expression. Not fear. Not memory exactly. Recognition of the sentence. A thing existed. They would find it. Simple. Practical. Normal. Almost. Then the buzzer from downstairs sounded. Ace looked toward the door. Mai checked the building feed. Kiro stood under the entrance canopy with her hood half up, one bag over her shoulder, rain on her face, and the unmistakable expression of a woman who had spent the entire trip assembling theories faster than traffic could carry her. Ace looked at the time. “Twenty-seven minutes.” Mai closed her eyes. From the intercom, Kiro’s voice arrived immediately. “I want that officially recorded.” Ace hit the door release. “You’re unbearable.” “Correct.” The lock downstairs opened. Mai reorganized the research board once. Then deliberately stopped herself from doing it again. Shammy moved another mug toward the coffee machine. Ace looked at her. “You’re making coffee for Kiro?” “Yes.” “She’ll vibrate through the floor.” “She is going to anyway.” Fair. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Fast. Then slower as Kiro apparently remembered that arriving at a safehouse at full sprint made people with swords react poorly. Ace smiled. Mai saw it. “What?” “Nothing.” “That expression is never nothing.” The knock came. Three quick taps. A pause. Two more. Kiro. Ace walked toward the door. Behind her, Mai’s research board held more questions than answers. Exactly as it should. Ace opened the door. Kiro stepped inside, pushed wet hair back from her face, looked past Ace toward Mai’s screens and said without preamble: “Okay. Show me the dead pilot’s impossible hat.” Ace stared at her. Mai closed her eyes. Shammy handed Kiro coffee. Kiro accepted it automatically. “Thank you.” Then she looked at Ace again. “What?” Ace stepped aside. “Nothing.” A beat. “This is going to be a long month.” Kiro blinked. “We’ve been working for thirty seconds.” “Exactly.” The door closed behind her. Outside, Night City kept raining. Inside, Mai turned the first image around. And the hunt began. --- ## Chapter 2 — Paper Ghosts Kiro lasted eleven seconds before changing Mai’s research board. Ace counted. Not because the result surprised her. Because eleven seconds was longer than expected. Mai had built the board while waiting. It occupied most of one wall now: provenance fragments, auction records, museum catalogs, private-sale references, authentication notes, date ranges, ownership gaps, known fakes, probable fakes, disputed objects and several things Mai had labeled with increasingly precise versions of _unreliable_. It was clean. Ordered. Readable. Mai. Kiro stood in front of it with Shammy’s coffee in one hand. She stared for several seconds. Then: “Okay.” Mai stood beside her. “Yes.” “You made it pretty.” “It is structured.” “Same thing when you do it.” Ace settled deeper into the couch. Shammy sat beside her, one leg folded under herself, watching with the calm expression of someone who already knew exactly what was coming. Kiro raised one hand toward the display. Mai said: “Do not destroy the provenance chain.” Kiro looked at her. “I was going to improve it.” “You were going to destroy the provenance chain.” “Those are not mutually exclusive.” Mai sighed. Ace whispered: “Ten.” Shammy looked toward her. Ace raised one finger. Kiro moved the first record. “Eleven.” Shammy smiled. “You expected nine.” “Eight.” Mai glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing?” “Nothing.” Kiro opened four more records. Ace looked innocent. Mai looked unconvinced. Then Kiro said: “This branch is dead.” Mai turned back immediately. “No. It is incomplete.” “Same practical result.” “No.” Kiro pointed at a seventy-year-old auction entry. “The buyer disappears.” “The buyer’s name disappears.” “Which is usually because the buyer wanted to disappear.” “Or because the auction house protected private ownership.” “Same ecosystem.” “Different inference.” Kiro looked at her. Mai looked back. A beat. Then Kiro nodded. “Fine.” She marked the branch differently. No argument. No defensive explanation. Just correction accepted and folded into motion. Ace watched. Shammy watched Ace watching. “You like this.” Ace glanced sideways. “This is better than holo.” “Yes.” “You knew that already.” “Yes.” Ace looked back toward the board. “So did I.” Kiro was already moving again. One auction house became three. A dead collector became an estate. The estate became a trust. The trust became an insurance wrapper. Mai cut two connections. Kiro created four. Mai restored one she had just removed after Kiro surfaced a secondary filing. Neither explained the rhythm. Neither needed to. Kiro talked fast. Mai answered faster than she did with almost anyone else. Not because Kiro was easier to follow. Because Mai already knew how her mind moved. That was different. Kiro’s reasoning did not travel in straight lines. It jumped. Crossed layers. Grabbed at weak signals. Built temporary bridges over missing information and sometimes discovered that the bridge had been nonsense halfway across. Mai never tried to force it into a straight line. She simply kept the load-bearing parts. And Kiro, just as importantly, never treated Mai’s structure as something to rebel against for sport. She tested it. Bent it. Occasionally kicked one support to see whether it moved. But when Mai said a branch would not hold, Kiro checked why. And if Mai was right, it disappeared. No ceremony. No wounded pride. Work. Shammy took a slow drink. “They are doing the dance version.” Ace smiled. “Yep.” Kiro said without turning: “We can hear you.” Shammy replied calmly: “I know.” Mai’s mouth twitched. Kiro looked over her shoulder. “That sounds threatening when you say it.” “It was not.” “That somehow makes it worse.” Ace pointed at Shammy. “See? Useful.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Mai returned to the board. Kiro returned with her. The parallel was obvious once you knew them. On a dance floor, Mai found the structure inside the beat. Kiro played against it. Not randomly. Never randomly. She pushed timing, stole half-beats, changed direction where another partner would have expected continuation. Mai adjusted. Kiro adjusted to the adjustment. Neither needed to win. The interesting part was what emerged between them. Here the music was dead paperwork. The rhythm was ownership. The floor was a century of bad records. Same women. Same problem. Ace watched Kiro expand a museum database at exactly the moment Mai opened the corresponding insurance archive. Shammy said: “They are faster sitting down.” Ace snorted. “Less spinning.” “I liked the spinning.” “I know.” “So did you.” Ace looked at her. Shammy kept watching the board. Ace gave up. “Yes.” Across the room, Mai said: “This one is wrong.” Kiro did not ask which. Her hand stopped on the exact record Mai meant. “Construction?” “No. Provenance.” Kiro enlarged it. Mai pointed at the authentication date. “The supposed ownership predates the family acquisition by six years.” “Could be private transfer.” “No supporting insurance.” “Could be uninsured.” “Not at that valuation.” Kiro thought for half a second. “Fake.” “Probably.” Kiro deleted it. Ace said: “That was one of the eighty-seven?” Mai looked at her. “Eighty-seven what?” “Rich men who own the Red Baron’s helmet.” Kiro blinked. Then looked at Mai. Mai closed her eyes briefly. “It was an estimate.” Ace nodded solemnly. “A strong estimate.” Kiro grinned. “Can I make a counter?” “No.” “I wasn’t asking you.” Mai turned. “You were looking directly at me.” “Coincidence.” Ace leaned toward Shammy. “She’ll make the counter.” “Yes.” “How long?” Shammy watched Kiro open a side pane. “Already.” Ace looked. A small tally had appeared in one corner. **CLAIMED RICHTHOFEN HELMETS: 4** Ace pointed. “Kiro.” “What?” Mai stared at the counter. Kiro immediately defended herself. “This is research.” “It is a scoreboard.” “Those categories overlap.” Mai looked at Ace. Ace raised both hands. “I support science.” “You support nuisance.” “Also science.” Shammy smiled. Mai did not remove the counter. Ace noticed. Of course she noticed. She also did not comment. Yet. Kiro moved deeper. Public museums first. Obvious auction archives next. Then private exhibition catalogs. Most died quickly. Wrong material. Wrong construction. Wrong period. Bad provenance. Reproduction sold as “associated with.” Personal item owned by another Jagdstaffel pilot but promoted under Richthofen’s name because historical marketing had apparently been shameless for several centuries. Every few minutes Kiro surfaced another candidate. Mai tested it. Sometimes the order reversed. Mai found a provenance thread. Kiro searched modern leakage. One produced structure. The other produced survival traces. Ace and Shammy supplied commentary with no operational value whatsoever. At least initially. “Five,” Kiro announced. Mai did not look up. “False.” “You haven’t seen it.” “The maker did not exist until 1924.” Kiro paused. Deleted it. “Still five historically.” “No.” “The counter represents claims, not validity.” Mai looked toward Ace. Ace shrugged. “She has you there.” “You are not helping.” “I was explicitly not assigned to this phase.” Shammy added: “Neither was I.” Mai stared at both of them. Kiro smiled into her coffee. “Background support.” Ace nodded. “Moral.” Mai’s expression suggested the morality remained under review. Then Kiro’s hand stopped. Not theatrically. Just stopped. Mai noticed instantly. “What?” Kiro pulled an old auction catalog into the center. “Look at the collection, not the item.” Mai leaned slightly closer. Ace stayed where she was. Shammy did too. The catalog was old enough that the scan had inherited several kinds of damage. A European private collection. Military aviation. Documents. Uniform pieces. Personal correspondence. Instruments. Propeller fragments. Photographs. A long list of things someone had spent a lifetime gathering. No helmet. Mai scanned the lot summary. “Nothing.” “Exactly.” Mai looked at Kiro. Kiro pointed lower. Acknowledgments. Objects loaned from private holdings. Material included in exhibition context but not sale. Mai read. Then nodded once. “Better.” Kiro smiled. No triumph. Just that small quick satisfaction Ace had seen many times before when Mai caught exactly what Kiro had thrown. Shammy said quietly: “She likes when Mai sees it.” Ace answered just as quietly: “Mai likes seeing it.” “Yes.” “They’re ridiculous.” “Yes.” Mai said: “Still hearing you.” Ace smiled. “Still know.” Kiro laughed. The collection led nowhere directly. The original owner was dead. His estate had been divided. Some objects entered museums. Some went to auction. Some disappeared into private hands. Others belonged not to him personally but to a preservation trust. Mai pulled the trust structure apart. Kiro followed successor entities. Names changed. Jurisdictions changed. Institutions folded into one another. The trail became less like a road and more like sediment. Paper ghosts. Things existed because old forms said they had existed. Then those forms became references inside other forms. Eventually nobody alive remembered what the first signature had meant. Mai loved this kind of mess. Not visibly. Mai rarely loved anything visibly while working. But Ace knew the signs. The slight forward angle. The way her left hand became very still while the right moved through data. The shorter answers. The occasional disappearance of irritation when the system became interesting enough. Kiro knew them too. Obviously. When Mai reached that state, Kiro stopped filling silence for the sake of filling it. Her speech narrowed. Cleaner. Faster. Useful. Shammy leaned lightly against the back of the couch. “Mai is enjoying herself.” Ace nodded. “Dangerously.” “Kiro too.” “Kiro enjoys anything that might bite her.” “That is unfair.” Ace looked at her. Shammy considered. “Mostly unfair.” “Better.” At the table: “Storage company,” Kiro said. Mai was already opening it. “Dead.” “Parent company.” “Also dead.” “Different name.” Mai found it. Kiro found the jurisdiction. Mai found the successor. Kiro found a contractor. Mai frowned. “Paper conservation.” “Exactly.” “That does not mean the helmet moved through them.” “No.” “Then why?” “Because correspondence moves with provenance.” Mai paused. Checked. The conservator had handled archival material from the same aviation collection. Not the helmet. Documents. Letters. Authentication notes. Photographs. Ace saw Mai’s posture change by a fraction. Kiro did too. “Yep.” Mai said: “Possibly.” “That means yes in Mai.” “No, it means possibly.” Kiro looked at Ace. Ace nodded. “It means yes.” Mai turned slowly. Ace smiled. Shammy took another drink. The conservator’s archive had been sold after the firm closed. Kiro chased the ownership structure. Mai traced the catalog references. They split naturally because they had done this kind of thing before. Not this object. Not this century. But this rhythm. Kiro took live residue. Mai took historical structure. They kept crossing. Not accidentally. Deliberately. Each knew what the other was strongest at and trusted the overlap enough to use it instead of protecting territory. That was what Ace found interesting. Not that they worked well together. Everyone in the room already knew that. The scale was different. This was not Kiro helping Mai with a signal problem. Not Mai grounding Kiro through a difficult dive. Not two women bent over the same screen because the evening had become more intimate than either intended. This was a real operational lane. Their lane. And it worked. Shammy spoke before Ace could. “This is theirs.” Ace turned. Shammy was still looking toward them. “Yes.” Not a revelation. Recognition. There was a difference. Ace settled back. “About time.” Shammy smiled. Kiro looked over. “About time for what?” Ace pointed toward the wall. “This.” Kiro looked at the board. Then at Mai. Mai looked at Ace. Ace continued: “You two getting an actual problem big enough to stop pretending this is just technical flirting.” Kiro inhaled. Mai closed her eyes. Shammy smiled into her mug. Ace felt immediately better. There. Normal. Kiro recovered first. “This is not flirting.” Mai said at the same time: “Do not encourage her.” Ace’s grin widened. Shammy looked between them. “The denial was not synchronized.” Kiro stared at her. Shammy’s expression remained serene. Mai looked betrayed. Ace nearly spilled her coffee. “Okay,” Kiro said. “Hostile work environment.” “Safehouse,” Ace corrected. “Hostile safehouse.” “Accurate.” Mai turned back to the board with the very precise posture she used when refusing to acknowledge that her ears had changed color slightly. Kiro noticed. Ace saw Kiro notice. Shammy saw Ace see Kiro notice. Nobody said anything. For nearly eight seconds. Then Shammy said: “Mai is red.” Mai turned. “Shammy.” “Yes?” Ace lost it. Kiro followed. Mai stared at all three of them. Then, very slowly, looked back at the research board. “This helmet had better be worth something.” Ace wheezed: “Collector.” Mai paused. “Point.” Kiro was still laughing when she opened the next archive. Work continued. The trail moved from Europe into private American holdings decades earlier. Not one clean transfer. Several possibilities. An estate dispersal. A historical trust. Two undocumented private acquisitions. One museum loan that appeared under a lender code instead of a name. That one lasted. Mai stared at it. Kiro stopped laughing. “Good?” “Maybe.” Kiro moved closer. The loan concerned several First World War aviation artifacts from a private collection. No itemized public list. The exhibition itself had been small. Specialist. Mostly restorers, historians, collectors and donors. Mai opened the insurance reference. Kiro opened archived event material. Mai found the lender structure. Kiro found photographs. One photograph showed a display cabinet in the background. Dark leather inside. Ace stood without thinking. Shammy stood too. Mai enlarged it. Kiro cleaned what little could be cleaned. The image remained bad. Old optics. Glass reflection. Poor angle. Ace looked. Waited. Nothing. Beside her, Shammy’s face remained unchanged. Mai watched them both. Ace shook her head. “Not it.” Shammy nodded. “No.” Kiro immediately closed the image. “Okay.” No questions. No fascination. No request for explanation. She knew the rule of this room. If all three of them reacted, pay attention. If all three said no, move. Mai was already doing exactly that. Another photograph. Another case. Wrong. Another. Nothing. Then the archive ended. Kiro leaned back. “Annoying.” Mai reopened the lender code. “Not useless.” “No?” “It places the collection.” “Decades ago.” “Yes.” “Owner could be dead.” “Likely.” “Collection dispersed.” “Possibly.” “Inherited.” “Also possible.” Kiro stared at the lender code. Then smiled. “Follow the people.” Mai nodded. “Follow the preservation.” They moved again. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy looked back. Ace said: “You know what’s annoying?” “Kiro is not destroying Mai’s board.” Ace pointed at her. “Yes.” Shammy’s mouth curved. The board was no longer clean. Not remotely. But it was not destroyed either. Mai had stopped trying to preserve its original architecture. Kiro had stopped throwing data into empty space. Somewhere during the last few hours they had built a third thing. Mai structure. Kiro movement. Shared enough that neither could claim it anymore. Ace looked at the wall. “Disgusting.” Shammy nodded. “Pretty.” “Also that.” At the table, Kiro suddenly said: “Texas.” Mai stopped. Ace stood again. Shammy did not bother sitting back down. Kiro had found a later private aviation-history publication connected to the same collection family. Different article. Different decade. A donor profile. Aircraft restoration funding. Historical preservation. A short mention of privately held Great War material. Nothing explicit. Mai followed the organization. Kiro followed the donor network. The same surname appeared twice. Then a third time. Different generations. Mai opened the family structure. Kiro opened property history. Ace walked closer. “Do we have them?” Mai shook her head. “Not yet.” Kiro nodded. “But we finally have a live branch.” “Meaning?” “Meaning the collection may not have dispersed.” Mai pointed at the family records. “Parts of it may have remained inside the same family network.” “Where?” “Texas.” Ace looked at the map. “That narrows it.” Kiro leaned sideways. “Texas is very large.” “I noticed.” Shammy stepped up beside Ace. “We are closer.” “Yes.” Mai enlarged the family network. Several properties. Several cities. Historical society memberships. Museum-board connections. Private aviation events. Nothing yet proving possession of the helmet. No Houston. No address. Not yet. Exactly where they were supposed to be. Mai reached for her coffee. Found it empty. Kiro reached for hers. Also empty. They looked at the cups. Then at each other. Ace crossed her arms. “Wow.” Mai looked over. “What?” “You stopped for the same reason.” Kiro glanced at Shammy. “Has she been like this the whole time?” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” “Why?” Ace answered: “I’m bored.” Mai looked at the wall full of a century of unresolved provenance. “You have an unusual definition of boredom.” “I have no one to stab.” “That is not a research requirement.” “Exactly.” Kiro smiled. “Food?” Mai checked the time. Her expression changed. Kiro checked too. “Oh.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy was already moving toward the kitchen. “We knew this would happen.” “Yes.” Kiro pointed defensively. “We ate.” Ace stared. “When?” Kiro hesitated. Mai hesitated. Shammy opened the refrigerator. Ace smiled slowly. “Excellent.” Mai sighed. Kiro looked betrayed. “This was going well.” “It still is,” Shammy said. Then she looked at both of them. “You work well together.” No discovery in the statement. No surprise. Just affection. Kiro relaxed slightly. Mai’s expression softened in the familiar way it always did when Shammy said something simple enough to make resistance pointless. “Yes,” Mai said. Kiro glanced at her. “Yeah.” Ace leaned against the counter. “Painfully.” Kiro pointed. “You are not invited to our victory speech.” “You don’t have a victory yet.” “We have Texas.” Ace nodded. “Frame it.” Mai said dryly: “Please do not.” Shammy began putting food on the counter. Kiro returned to the board while waiting. Mai followed immediately. Ace stared at them. “Seriously?” Neither answered. Shammy handed Ace a plate. “They will stop when we make them.” Ace accepted it. “You say that like we’ve done this before.” Shammy looked at her. Ace paused. Then smiled. “Right.” Of course they had. Different nights. Different problems. Same people. Mai and Kiro leaning too close to some impossible mess because both had caught the same rhythm from opposite directions. Ace complaining. Shammy noticing when food became necessary. The Safehouse quietly absorbing one more pattern until it became ordinary. This time the only difference was scale. A Collector job. A century-old trail. An object none of them should remember. And somewhere inside Texas, if Mai and Kiro were right, a collection that had survived long enough to leave fingerprints in the modern world. Not an owner yet. Not a location. But a live trail. Ace watched Mai point at one family branch. Kiro immediately opened three records around it. Shammy set food beside both of them. Neither looked up. Shammy did not mind. She had known exactly where to place the plates. Ace smiled. That, more than anything, said how long all of them had been doing this. Outside, Watson had gone dark behind rain and neon. Inside, paper ghosts kept accumulating across the wall. Mai gave them structure. Kiro gave them movement. And Ace and Shammy, who already knew exactly what that combination looked like, watched it turn into the first real trail of the job. --- ## Chapter 3 — Houston Texas survived until breakfast. Barely. By the time Ace woke properly, it had been reduced from a state to six families, fourteen properties, three aviation foundations, two private airfields, one historical society with an aggressively bad website, and a retired aerospace executive who appeared to own enough First World War memorabilia to equip a very confused infantry company. Ace stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an oversized shirt and the expression of someone who had not agreed to consciousness yet. Mai and Kiro were still at the table. Of course they were. Shammy was already awake. Also of course. She sat near the window with tea, watching pale morning light struggle through Watson cloud cover. Ace stared at Mai. Then Kiro. Then the wall. Then back at Mai. “No.” Mai looked over. “Good morning.” “No.” Kiro raised one hand. “Technically we slept.” Ace narrowed her eyes. Mai said, “We did.” “How much?” Silence. Ace pointed. “That silence has a number.” Shammy took a drink. “Three hours.” Ace looked at her. “Combined?” Kiro laughed. Mai did not. “That would be biologically inefficient.” Ace walked toward the coffee machine. “So four?” “Approximately.” “Each?” “Yes.” Ace stopped. Looked at Mai. Looked at Kiro. “Disturbingly responsible.” Kiro leaned back in her chair. “We had supervision.” Ace glanced toward Shammy. Shammy nodded. “I made them stop.” Ace put one hand over her heart. “Hero.” Mai looked offended. “I had already intended to stop.” Kiro looked at her. Mai looked back. Kiro slowly smiled. Mai sighed. Ace started the coffee machine. “Good. Everyone’s lying normally. What do we have?” Kiro rotated the board. Mai immediately rotated it back three degrees. Ace noticed. Kiro noticed too. Neither commented. Progress apparently had limits. The mess from last night had changed. Not become cleaner. More useful. The Texas branch now dominated the center. Names connected to properties. Properties connected to foundations. Foundations connected to museums. Museum boards connected to donors. Donors connected to private-event photographs. Aviation restoration companies. Insurance firms. Estate lawyers. Transportation specialists. All the boring human infrastructure required to keep very expensive old things from turning into dust. Mai stood. “We have six plausible ownership branches.” Ace accepted her coffee. “Six rich men with helmets.” “Families.” “Six rich families with helmets.” “Potentially.” Kiro pointed toward one branch. “This one is probably dead.” Mai nodded. “Collection dispersed fifteen years ago.” Another. “This one owns German aviation material, but mostly instrumentation.” Another. “Public enough that if they had a Richthofen artifact of this significance, somebody would have published it.” Ace drank. “Three.” “Four,” Mai corrected. Ace frowned. “You killed three.” “One branch split.” “History is cheating.” “Yes.” Kiro spun one record toward Ace. “This one is interesting.” Ace looked. A name. A photograph of an older man standing beside a restored First World War aircraft. Silver hair. Expensive but relatively restrained clothing. The kind of posture that suggested he had never needed to check whether a room would make space for him. Behind him stood part of a hangar. Not a commercial hangar. Too clean. Too curated. Ace looked at the caption. “Houston.” Mai nodded. The name belonged to **Graham Bellamy**. Seventy-one. Private investor. Former aerospace manufacturing executive. Not famous in the way Night City understood fame. No feeds built around him. No personality empire. No political obsession. No public scandal archive large enough to become entertaining. Old money married to newer money and then given several decades to become comfortable. His primary residence sat in one of Houston’s most expensive residential districts. He also owned agricultural land, a private hangar outside the city and enough historical aviation material to have been thanked by museums on three continents. Ace looked closer. “He flies?” Kiro nodded. “Still licensed, apparently.” “At seventy-one?” “Rich people have very good medical care.” Mai said, “And some older people remain competent.” Ace glanced at her. “I didn’t say they don’t.” “You implied surprise.” “I’m surprised when anyone voluntarily gets into an aircraft.” Silence. Ace realized what she had said. Shammy’s eyes moved toward her. Mai’s expression changed slightly. Kiro went still. Ace drank coffee. “No.” Nobody spoke. “Not doing that before breakfast.” Mai nodded once. “Agreed.” Kiro wisely returned to Bellamy. “He is weird.” Ace brightened. “Useful weird or rich weird?” “Collector weird.” Mai immediately shook her head. “No.” Kiro looked at her. “You know what I mean.” “I do. The terminology is still wrong.” Ace pointed toward Mai. “She’s right.” Kiro sighed. “Fine. Slightly odd private collector weird.” “Better.” “What kind?” Shammy asked. Kiro opened another set of photographs. Bellamy at aviation dinners. Bellamy beside restorations. Bellamy giving a small talk to what appeared to be twenty people in a private hangar. Bellamy standing beside a glass case containing flight goggles. Bellamy showing a child how the controls of a restored biplane moved. “He likes talking about it,” Kiro said. Mai nodded. “That is important.” Ace looked at her. “Because?” “He does not hide the existence of the collection.” “Just the interesting parts?” “Possibly.” Kiro pulled up an archived interview. “Listen.” A recording played. Bellamy’s voice was warm. Educated. Slight Texas drawl under a much more international cadence. He was talking about a restored Sopwith Camel. Not boasting. Explaining. The aircraft’s history. The restoration decisions. Which components were original. Which had been reproduced because flying a century-old structural part merely because it was authentic was, in Bellamy’s words, “a fine way to turn conservation into expensive firewood.” Ace smiled. “I like him.” Mai glanced at her. “That may become inconvenient.” “Probably.” The interview continued. Bellamy talked about preservation as responsibility. Not ownership. An artifact had survived everyone who previously touched it. A current owner’s job was to make sure it survived them too. Ace’s smile faded slightly. “Oh.” Kiro nodded. “Yeah.” Shammy looked toward the screen. “He takes care of them.” Mai answered quietly. “Yes.” Nobody said the obvious thing. Not yet. Kiro stopped the recording. Ace stared at Bellamy’s face. “So why him?” Mai opened the actual chain. “Because his grandfather was connected to the trust we found last night.” Kiro expanded it. “Not directly enough to show in the obvious inheritance records.” Mai continued. “His grandfather sat on the board of a historical preservation foundation that acquired material from the European collection.” “Then?” “Some material was transferred into private stewardship when the foundation dissolved.” Ace frowned. “Private stewardship.” Kiro translated. “Rich people taking museum-grade things home legally.” “Thank you.” Mai ignored both. “The recipient entity was controlled by Bellamy’s father.” Ace looked at the chain. “And after he died?” “No public dispersal.” Kiro smiled. “Which gets better.” She opened insurance records. Not full policies. Those were sealed. But references existed. Valuation events. Specialist conservation work. Controlled-environment upgrades. Private security revisions. Ace stared at one date. “These are current.” “Very.” Mai enlarged a service record. “A specialist leather conservator visited Bellamy’s residence three years ago.” Ace looked toward her. “One leather conservator proves nothing.” “No.” Kiro opened another. “Two does better.” A second visit. Different specialist. Historical military leather. Private residence. No object details. Then a third document. A conservation materials invoice. Not enough to identify the piece. But enough to establish that Bellamy preserved very old leather artifacts inside the residential collection. Ace drank more coffee. “Still not a helmet.” Mai nodded. “No.” Kiro smiled. “But this might be.” She brought up a photograph. Recent. Private fundraiser. Not private enough. Someone had posted a harmless image from inside Bellamy’s residence before a public-relations person apparently realized half the background contained objects worth more than most apartments. The post disappeared twenty-six minutes later. The internet had remembered it anyway. Of course. Kiro enlarged the image. A room lined with dark wood and glass. Aircraft models. Framed photographs. A propeller mounted horizontally. Two mannequins in period flight clothing. And behind the group posing for the photograph— A cabinet. Ace stopped moving. Shammy rose from her chair. Mai was already standing. Kiro did nothing to the image. Did not enhance it yet. Did not talk. Ace moved closer. Brown leather. A shape behind glass. Not enough detail. Not enough for proof. But enough. Something hit her behind the ribs. Not physically. Memory without sequence. Cold. Open sky. A man turning his head. Red fabric somewhere behind him. Wind hard enough to bite through everything. Then gone. Ace inhaled. Shammy’s fingers tightened slightly against the back of a chair. Mai stared at the photograph. Her face had emptied into perfect stillness. Kiro looked at all three. “This one.” Not a question. Mai answered first. “Yes.” Shammy nodded. Ace stared another second. “Yeah.” Kiro exhaled. “Okay.” She finally enlarged the image. Pixels broke apart quickly. But the overall construction remained visible. The seam. The ear coverage. The crown. A small irregularity on the left. Ace pointed. “There.” Mai was already looking. “The wear.” Shammy said it at the same time. Kiro went quiet. Not confused. She knew enough by now. Ace lowered her hand. The image returned to being just an old leather helmet behind expensive glass. Nothing about it glowed. Nothing distorted. Nothing moved. The room remained entirely normal. That somehow made it worse. Kiro broke the silence. “So.” Ace looked at her. “We found the hat.” Mai did not object to the terminology. That told Ace everything. Shammy returned slowly to her tea. Ace stayed beside the board. Graham Bellamy smiled from another photograph nearby, one hand resting against the wing of an aircraft he had helped restore. Ace looked at him. “He knows what he has.” Mai nodded. “Almost certainly.” “How almost?” Kiro opened another archived article. “Very almost.” A specialist collector publication. Subscription only. The sort of publication printed for six hundred people worldwide and treated as classified intelligence by five hundred ninety-eight of them. Bellamy had been interviewed about provenance. The public excerpt was dull. The archived subscriber copy was not. Kiro scrolled. Mai read over her shoulder. Ace waited. Then Mai stopped. “There.” The article did not show the helmet. It referenced it. Not directly enough for ordinary search indexing. A paragraph about attribution standards. Bellamy arguing that famous names attracted fraudulent provenance. Then one line about his own collection containing an object “long associated with Rittmeister Manfred von Richthofen,” supported by documentation he considered strong but not sufficient for careless public certainty. Ace leaned in. “That’s him talking about the helmet?” Mai nodded slowly. “Very likely.” Kiro kept reading. Then started smiling. “What?” Kiro looked at Ace. “You’re going to love this.” “That sentence has never improved my day.” “He gets asked to sell it.” Mai’s eyes moved farther down. Ace waited. Kiro read the relevant summary aloud rather than the article itself. “Apparently regularly.” “And?” “Never.” Ace smiled. “Never expensive or never sentimental?” “Never.” Mai took over. “He considers certain objects to be collection anchors. They are not investment assets.” Ace nodded toward the image. “And this is one.” “Yes.” “Offer stupid money?” Kiro laughed softly. “Someone did.” Mai found the reference. “A private buyer apparently made an offer approximately twelve years ago.” “How stupid?” “The article does not give a number.” “Cowards.” Kiro said, “Bellamy answered that the item would remain in his collection for as long as he was capable of caring for it.” Ace stopped smiling. Shammy looked toward Bellamy’s photograph again. “He loves it.” Nobody corrected her. Because that was essentially true. Maybe not the object individually. But the collection. The history. The preservation. Ace rubbed the back of her neck. “Great.” Mai’s voice remained quiet. “Yes.” “Collector wants us to steal a dead pilot’s helmet from a nice old man.” Kiro lifted one finger. “Slightly odd nice old man.” “Critical distinction.” “He has a private cannon.” Ace blinked. “What?” Kiro opened a photograph. There was, in fact, a First World War artillery piece on Bellamy’s property. Ace stared. Mai said: “It is demilitarized.” Ace looked at her. “You already checked.” “Yes.” “Of course.” Shammy asked, “Does he show people the collection?” Kiro nodded. “That’s where it gets useful.” She opened event records. Bellamy hosted small invitation-only tours. Aviation historians. Restorers. Veterans’ groups. Donors. Occasional school or university groups. Not constantly. Not commercially. He simply liked showing people things. Mai added: “He also permits selected researchers to inspect parts of the collection.” Ace looked at the interior photographs. “So we can get inside without breaking in.” Mai considered. “Potentially.” Kiro shook her head. “Not as us.” “Obviously.” “No, I mean not easily as fake aviation historians either.” Ace looked at her. “Why?” “Because he knows aviation historians.” “Annoying competence.” “Exactly.” Mai enlarged the guest records. “He also appears to remember people.” “Very annoying competence.” Shammy’s mouth curved. Ace looked at her. “You’re enjoying this.” “Yes.” “Traitor.” Mai continued. “Social access may still be useful for reconnaissance.” Ace frowned. “Mai.” “Yes?” “You’re already planning the theft.” Mai looked at her. “We established he will not sell.” “We haven’t asked.” “No.” “Should we?” Mai paused. Kiro did too. That mattered. Not because anyone believed asking would work. Because asking was the difference between assuming theft was necessary and knowing it. Shammy said: “Yes.” Ace nodded. Mai looked at the Bellamy interview again. Then: “Yes.” Kiro leaned back. “We need an approach that doesn’t burn us.” “Anonymous intermediary?” Mai shook her head. “A serious offer will trigger scrutiny.” “Collector?” Ace and Shammy looked at her. Kiro raised both hands. “Not contact. I mean framing. Private buyer, unspecified.” Mai thought. “That may be sufficient.” Ace looked at the helmet photograph. “Offer enough that a normal person would at least think.” Kiro grinned. “How much?” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at Ace. Ace said: “Not Collector money.” “Obviously.” Shammy asked, “What is Collector money?” All three looked at her. Shammy waited. Ace said: “We have no idea.” Mai added: “That remains professionally uncomfortable.” Kiro blinked. “He didn’t tell you what this pays?” “No.” “And you accepted?” “Yes.” Kiro stared. Ace smiled. “Welcome to Collector work.” “That is insane.” “Yes.” “You say that like it helps.” “It does eventually.” Mai opened a clean communication route. The inquiry took less than an hour to construct. Not from the Triad. Not from O’Sullivan SAS. No recognizable Night City front. A credible private acquisition representative asking whether Mr. Bellamy would entertain an offer for the Richthofen-attributed flying helmet known to be held in his collection. No price initially. Only interest. Kiro watched the outgoing message disappear. “Now what?” Mai said: “We wait.” Ace sat down. “No.” Mai looked at her. “That is how communication works.” “I reject waiting.” “The recipient must respond.” “We could go there.” “We do not yet have a confirmed address for the collection itself.” Ace looked at Kiro. Kiro pointed at Mai. “She’s right.” “You’re both terrible.” Shammy sat back down beside Ace. “We can eat.” Ace thought. “Acceptable.” They ate. Kiro kept checking the agent. Mai pretended not to. Ace caught both. Shammy caught Ace catching both. Nobody said anything. For twelve minutes. Then the agent chimed. Kiro nearly dropped her fork. Mai had the message open before it finished rendering. Ace stood. “What?” Mai read. Then passed it to Kiro. Kiro read. Her eyebrows rose. Ace waited. “Well?” Kiro looked at her. “Polite.” “That bad?” “Very.” Mai turned the response toward Ace. Bellamy’s office thanked the representative for the inquiry. The helmet was not available for sale. They appreciated the interest. No price requested. No negotiation offered. Ace read it twice. “That’s it?” Mai nodded. “Very clear.” Ace sat again. “Offer stupid money.” Kiro smiled. Mai was already drafting the second inquiry. This time with a number. High enough to be serious. High enough that even Kiro whistled softly. Ace looked at it. “That buys a lot of coffee.” Mai sent it. The reply came nine minutes later. Shorter. Still polite. The item was not for sale. Ace looked at Mai. “Double it.” Mai did. Kiro turned toward her. “You didn’t even argue.” “The purpose is confirmation.” Ace smiled. “See? Science.” Mai sent the third offer. This response took twenty-three minutes. Long enough that Kiro started speculating about lawyers. Long enough that Ace started pacing. Long enough that Shammy made more tea. Then it arrived. Mai opened it. Read. Her expression changed. Not much. Enough. Ace stopped pacing. “What?” Mai turned the screen. This time the reply came from Bellamy himself. Brief. Courteous. Firm. He thanked the buyer for the extraordinarily generous offer. He explained that monetary valuation was irrelevant in this case. The helmet had been entrusted to his family decades ago, had remained under their care, and would not leave his collection through sale. He wished the prospective buyer well. That was all. Kiro let out a low breath. “Okay.” Ace read it again. Shammy stood beside her. “He means it.” “Yes,” Mai said. Ace handed the screen back. “So.” Nobody needed to say it. But Ace did anyway. “We steal it.” The room changed. Not dramatically. No alarm. No moral crisis. Just the moment when research became operation. Mai closed the acquisition channel. Kiro stared at Bellamy’s photograph. “He seems nice.” Ace nodded. “Yep.” “He preserves the collection properly.” “Yep.” “He lets researchers see it.” “Yep.” “He hasn’t done anything to us.” “Also yep.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai looked back. Shammy said quietly: “And we are still taking it.” Ace’s mouth tightened. “Collector wants it.” That was not justification. She knew it. Everyone knew it. Mai spoke next. “We accepted the contract.” Also not justification. Just fact. Kiro leaned back. “Okay.” Ace looked at her. “You can say it’s shitty.” Kiro met her eyes. “It’s shitty.” “Good.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Mai did too. No one softened it. No one invented a reason Bellamy secretly deserved it. No hidden corruption. No convenient villainy. They were going to steal something precious from a man who had spent years protecting it. Night City had given them morally cleaner jobs with much higher body counts. That did not make this one clean. Mai broke the silence. “If we do this, nothing else in that collection is touched.” Ace answered immediately. “Obviously.” “No unnecessary damage.” “Yes.” “No harm to Bellamy or his staff.” “Unless somebody forces the issue.” Mai looked at her. Ace held up one hand. “I know.” Shammy said: “We leave everything else as we found it.” Kiro looked toward the photograph of Bellamy showing a child an aircraft cockpit. Then nodded. “Okay.” Mai reopened the residence records. “Then we need to know exactly where the helmet is kept.” Kiro’s attention snapped back into work. There it was. Not emotional erasure. Transition. The moral fact remained. The job still existed. Ace sat beside Shammy again. “Round two.” Kiro grinned faintly. “Now I get to stalk a billionaire’s house.” “Multi-millionaire,” Mai corrected. Kiro looked at her. “Distinction without emotional value.” “Substantial legal distinction.” “Of course you know.” “I looked.” Ace smiled. Normal again. Mostly. The target property was easier to identify once they knew exactly who they were looking at. Bellamy owned multiple residences. Only one matched the interior photographs. Houston. A large private property buried behind landscaping, walls and enough distance from the road to make casual observation nearly useless. Not enormous by corpo-compound standards. Enormous by sane-person standards. Kiro brought up satellite mapping. Mai added property plans. Older plans first. Then renovations. Permit history. Utility upgrades. Security contractors. Ace moved closer. “That’s a house?” Kiro nodded. “Technically.” “There are buildings smaller than that with their own mayor.” Mai pointed toward the western side. “Original residence.” Then another section. “Collection wing.” Ace looked. “Added later?” “Yes.” Kiro enlarged construction photographs. The collection wing had been built to preservation standards. Independent environmental control. Fire suppression. Reinforced glazing. Controlled access. Ace stared. “And security.” Kiro smiled without humor. “Oh, yes.” Layers appeared. Perimeter. Cameras. Motion detection. Smart barriers. Security staff. Internal access controls. Dedicated monitoring. Redundant communications. Private response contract. Ace whistled softly. “Nice old man has paranoia.” Mai shook her head. “He has several hundred million eddies worth of portable historical material.” “Fair.” Kiro kept digging. Security vendor contracts were partially sealed. Maintenance records were not. Updates. Sensor replacements. Network modernization. Physical security audits. More upgrades. Ace looked at Kiro. “Can you get through it?” Kiro did not answer immediately. Good sign. Her eyes moved across the architecture. Mai watched too. Different focus now. Not provenance. Systems. Kiro zoomed into the building-control topology. Most of it was properly segmented. Residence network. Environmental systems. Guest access. Maintenance. Security. Redundancies. No obvious stupidity. Kiro frowned. “Someone competent built this.” Ace sighed. “Rude.” Mai pointed. “Old sections.” “I see them.” The collection wing had been upgraded several times. Different generations of automation layered over one another. Still clean. Mostly. Kiro opened environmental-control records. Then lighting. Then building-management interfaces. Then— She stopped. Mai noticed immediately. “Something?” Kiro did not answer. She enlarged one maintenance diagram. Ace leaned forward. It meant nothing to her. Boxes. Lines. Labels. A boring little device attached to environmental monitoring inside the collection wing. Nothing tactical-looking. No alarms. No cameras. Just a building-control endpoint. Kiro zoomed again. Mai leaned closer. Then her eyebrows rose. Ace saw it. “There?” Kiro smiled slowly. “Maybe.” “What is it?” “Environmental monitoring bridge.” Ace waited. Kiro looked at her. “That face means nothing to you.” “Correct.” “It talks to temperature, humidity, air handling. Boring building stuff.” “Brenda would punch you.” “Brenda isn’t here.” Shammy said: “She would know.” “Yes.” Kiro pointed at the diagram. “This thing should only be visible inside the building-management network.” Mai tapped another connection. “But it is not.” Kiro’s smile widened. “No.” Ace looked between them. “English.” Mai answered. “For some reason, during a later security upgrade, the device was also given connectivity into the security network.” Ace stared at the little box. “That?” “Yes.” “That stupid thing?” Kiro looked delighted. “That stupid thing.” “Why?” Kiro shrugged. “Convenience. Monitoring integration. Contractor laziness. Someone wanted environmental alerts visible on the same console. Someone reused a network interface they shouldn’t have. Pick your favorite human failure.” Mai was already reading the configuration history. “It has existed for years.” “Which means nobody noticed or nobody cared.” Ace looked at the expensive security architecture. Then at the tiny environmental endpoint sitting awkwardly between networks. “So you can own the whole system through it.” Kiro’s expression changed immediately. “No.” Good. Ace nodded. “Okay.” “I might be able to see through it.” “How much?” “Not sure yet.” “Control?” “Some.” “How much?” “Not sure yet.” Mai said: “It is not a master key.” Kiro nodded. “It’s a crack.” Ace smiled. “Cracks are useful.” Kiro started pulling everything she could find about the device. Firmware. Maintenance history. Access permissions. Logging behavior. What it could see. What could see it. The enthusiasm returned. But tighter now. Operational. Mai moved with her. Same familiar rhythm. Different problem. Shammy watched them for a while. Then looked toward Ace. Ace was already smiling. Shammy smiled too. “Again.” “Yep.” At the table, Mai said: “If it gives us visibility into internal security state—” “Then I can watch doors and sensor zones.” “If.” “If.” “And cameras?” “Maybe metadata. Probably not feeds without touching something noisier.” “Do not touch something noisier.” Kiro looked wounded. “You remove all joy from my profession.” Mai ignored that. “Can you alter anything?” “Possibly short interruptions. Depends how stupid the trust relationships are.” “Short is enough.” Ace spoke from behind them. “You two are doing the thing again.” Neither turned. Mai said: “We are working.” Kiro added: “Professionally.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy said: “Very professionally.” Kiro finally looked over. “Thank you.” Shammy’s expression remained serene. “You are leaning against Mai.” Kiro looked down. She was. Mai looked down too. Neither moved. Ace covered her mouth. Kiro stared at Shammy. “That was tactical leaning.” Mai closed her eyes. Ace lost the fight. Her laughter filled the kitchen. Kiro pointed accusingly. “You’re both terrible.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Mai reopened her eyes. “This is why operational planning normally has doors.” Ace wiped at one eye. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. Shared safehouse. Shared suffering.” Mai looked like she wanted to object to at least three parts of that sentence. Then the door buzzer sounded. Everyone stopped. Ace looked toward the entry. Kiro glanced at the time. Shammy smiled. Mai sighed. Ace’s grin came back. “Reyes.” Mai looked at her. “How do you know?” Ace was already walking toward the door. “Because I told her to come.” Mai stared. “When?” “While you two were flirting with HVAC.” Kiro shouted: “TACTICAL LEANING.” Ace opened the door. Reyes stood outside in dark street clothes, one eyebrow already raised because she had clearly heard the last part through the door. She looked at Ace. Then past her. At Kiro. At Mai. At the wall-sized security diagram. Then back at Ace. “I’m going to regret asking.” Ace stepped aside. “Probably.” Reyes entered. Shammy greeted her with an easy smile. Mai gestured toward the table. Kiro rotated the Houston property into view. Reyes’s attention changed instantly. Work. Ace closed the door behind her. The finding phase was over. They had the owner. They had the city. They had the house. They had the room. They had a security system designed by professionals. And inside that system, they had one small, stupid mistake. Reyes stopped in front of the map. “What are we stealing?” Ace looked at the photograph of Graham Bellamy. Then at the brown leather helmet sitting behind glass in another image. “The Red Baron’s hat.” Reyes stared at her. Ace smiled. “Kiro started it.” Kiro immediately protested. “I said impossible hat.” “Different legal category.” Mai closed her eyes. Shammy laughed softly. Reyes looked around the room once. Then back at the target. “Okay.” Her expression sharpened. “Show me the security.” And just like that, the hunt became a job. --- ## Chapter 4 — Five Around the Table Reyes studied the house for twelve seconds before asking the first useful question. “How many guards?” Kiro stopped halfway through enlarging the network diagram. Mai looked toward Reyes. Ace smiled. There. That was why she was here. “Depends on the time,” Mai said. “How much?” “Confirmed minimum of four on property overnight. Likely six during events. Potentially additional contract response nearby.” Reyes nodded once. “Four doing what?” Kiro opened her mouth. Reyes held up one finger. “Not systems. People.” Kiro closed her mouth again. Not offended. Interested. Mai shifted the display. “Two external patrol positions. One primary interior security position. One monitoring position.” “Positions or people?” Mai paused. Reyes waited. Kiro looked at Mai. Ace leaned against the counter. Shammy stood near the far end of the table, quiet and attentive. Mai corrected herself. “Positions.” “Good.” Reyes stepped closer. “Because people move.” She touched the edge of the property map. “Especially bored people.” Ace nodded. “Bored people are dangerous.” “Bored guards are worse.” Kiro frowned. “Why?” “Because good security tells them what to do.” Reyes traced one patrol loop. “Too much routine and they start inventing things.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai was already adjusting the model. Reyes continued. “One guy takes a longer smoke break. One checks the kitchen because he likes somebody working nights. One does an extra walk because he’s awake and hates sitting still. Somebody gets a call from home. Somebody uses a bathroom on the wrong floor.” Kiro leaned back slightly. “Humans ruin everything.” “Correct.” Mai said, “They also create opportunities.” Reyes looked at her. “Also correct.” Ace folded her arms. “Great. We’re stealing from a nice old man guarded by unpredictable mammals.” Shammy said: “Humans.” Ace looked at her. “That was the polite version.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Reyes looked toward Bellamy’s photograph. “Nice?” Kiro answered first. “Unfortunately.” Reyes glanced at Ace. Ace shrugged. “He takes care of the collection. Likes showing it to people. Won’t sell the helmet.” “Any reason we’re not just offering more?” “We did.” “How much?” Kiro named the last offer. Reyes’s eyebrows went up. Ace enjoyed that. “He said no.” Reyes looked at Bellamy again. “Okay.” No moral speech. No dramatic pause. Just recalibration. “And we’re taking it anyway.” “Yes,” Mai said. Reyes nodded slowly. “Then we do it clean.” Ace pushed off the counter. “That was the conclusion.” “No dead guards.” “Also the conclusion.” “No broken old man.” Ace’s expression flattened. “Obviously.” Reyes met her eyes. Not challenging. Checking. Ace held the look. Then Reyes nodded once. Good. Mai moved the house plan into the center. “Bellamy’s collection wing occupies the western extension. The helmet appears to be here.” A room highlighted. Reyes looked at distance. Entrances. Hallways. Windows. Staircases. Then: “Too direct.” Ace sighed. “We haven’t even picked a route.” “You were going to.” Ace stared. Reyes stared back. Kiro made a tiny choking sound. Shammy looked away with suspicious timing. Mai, traitor that she was, said: “She probably was.” Ace turned. “Whose side are you on?” Mai looked genuinely confused. “The side where we retrieve the helmet.” “Emotionally hostile answer.” Kiro whispered: “She does those.” Mai ignored her. Reyes enlarged the ground floor. “The collection wing has three obvious approaches.” “Service corridor,” Mai said. “Main interior corridor.” Kiro added: “Exterior garden access.” Ace pointed. “Garden.” Reyes immediately shook her head. “Worst one.” Ace frowned. “Why?” “Because you like it.” Ace stared. Kiro laughed outright. Reyes continued before Ace could retaliate. “Open ground. Exterior cameras. Patrol visibility. Landscaping gives cover until it doesn’t, and then you’re trapped between a wall and a building with nowhere to redirect.” Ace looked at the map again. “…fine.” Reyes nodded. “Good.” Ace pointed at her. “Do not enjoy that.” “I’m enjoying it.” “Noted.” Shammy moved closer to the table. “The service corridor feels crowded.” Everyone looked at her. Not because the observation was strange. Because Shammy rarely used words like _feels_ carelessly when work was involved. Mai asked: “From the plans?” Shammy nodded. “Not anomalously.” Ace smiled faintly. “Good disclaimer.” Shammy continued. “Too many reasons for people to use it.” Reyes looked again. Kitchen. Staff access. Maintenance. Storage. Deliveries. She nodded. “Yeah.” Kiro said: “But at night?” “Still staff.” “Bellamy doesn’t have twenty-four-hour domestic staff.” “No.” Reyes pointed. “But security will know the service route is the quiet route.” Ace saw it. “So it gets checked.” “Exactly.” Mai adjusted the route probabilities. That left the main interior corridor. Which sounded ridiculous. Kiro said so. “We’re going through the middle of the house?” Reyes leaned one hand on the table. “Maybe.” Ace smiled. “Now I like her plan.” “You liked the garden.” “I contain multitudes.” Mai looked at her. Ace shrugged. “Short multitudes.” Shammy smiled. Reyes ignored the detour. “The middle of a well-secured house can be safer than the edges.” Kiro frowned. “Explain.” “Edges are where security expects entry.” Reyes pointed to the perimeter. “Windows. Exterior doors. Service access. Utility points. Roofline. Everything touching outside gets watched because that’s where strangers come from.” Her finger moved inward. “Once somebody is inside, security assumes doors and zones tell them where that person can go.” Kiro’s attention sharpened. Mai’s too. Reyes continued. “You don’t beat the security by hiding from all of it.” She looked toward Kiro. “You make it believe the building is behaving normally.” Kiro smiled slowly. “That I can work with.” Mai pointed toward the environmental bridge. “This is the only confirmed technical weakness.” Reyes looked. “The stupid box.” Ace nodded. “We named it.” Mai said: “We did not.” “We did internally.” “No.” Kiro leaned toward Reyes. “It’s the stupid box.” Reyes nodded. “Good.” Mai closed her eyes for one second. Shammy looked pleased. Kiro pulled the network structure forward. “The device itself is boring. Environmental monitoring. It should only talk to building management.” “But?” Reyes asked. “But somebody wanted environmental alerts visible on a unified security console. So at some point, somebody gave it access it shouldn’t have.” “How much?” “Not enough.” Ace groaned. Kiro pointed at her. “That is good.” “How is not enough good?” “Because if it had full access, somebody would have noticed years ago.” Mai nodded. “The weakness survives because it is limited.” Kiro enlarged the relationship map. “I can probably use it to see some security state. Door status. Zone transitions. Maybe motion flags. Maybe camera health.” “Feeds?” Reyes asked. “Probably no.” “Can you turn anything off?” Kiro tilted her hand. “Maybe briefly.” “Briefly meaning?” “Seconds. Maybe longer if the implementation is really bad.” Reyes shook her head. “Plan for seconds.” Kiro smiled. “I like you.” Ace immediately said: “Careful.” Reyes looked at her. Ace looked innocent. Nobody believed it. Mai continued. “We do not use the bridge until the team is already close enough to exploit whatever access Kiro can create.” “Why?” Shammy asked. “Logging.” Kiro nodded. “If I poke it from Night City now, best case nothing happens. Worst case somebody notices a weird access pattern and fixes our only hole before we arrive.” Ace grimaced. “So we only get one real test.” “Preferably one.” “Comforting.” “It should not be.” “Good.” Reyes folded her arms. “Who is going inside?” Ace answered immediately. “Me.” Reyes waited. Ace pointed to Shammy. “Her.” Shammy nodded. Then Ace pointed at Reyes. “And you.” Reyes did not react visibly. Only her eyes changed slightly. “Why me?” Ace stared at her. “Because this whole conversation just happened.” Kiro looked amused. Mai did not. She answered seriously. “Because once the plan encounters human variance, you are better positioned than any of us to read it in real time.” Reyes looked at Mai. Then at the map. “What about you?” Mai tapped the whole structure. “I remain outside the physical entry.” Ace said: “Command.” Mai gave her a look. “Coordination.” “Command with better branding.” Kiro grinned. Mai ignored that. “I need the whole picture. Kiro will be occupied with the network interface. Someone has to track timing, support, local response patterns, and the operation as a whole.” Reyes looked toward Kiro. “And you’re remote.” Kiro nodded. “Close remote.” “How close?” “Not sitting in Night City.” Mai answered before Kiro could suggest something adventurous. “Separate location with stable access and extraction capability.” Kiro looked disappointed. “I was going to say van.” “No.” “Why does everyone hate vans?” Ace raised one hand. “I don’t.” Mai looked at her. Ace lowered it. “Apparently I do.” Shammy asked: “What do I do?” Nobody answered too quickly. Good. Shammy was not atmospheric equipment. Mai looked at the house. “Inside, you carry environmental awareness.” Shammy waited. Mai clarified. “Not anomaly detection.” “I know.” “You notice pressure changes. Sound. Movement. Air. The things a diagram does not contain.” Reyes nodded. “And you’re tall enough to see over Ace.” Ace turned. “Unnecessary.” Shammy considered. “True.” “Betrayal.” “Yes.” Kiro smiled. Ace pointed at her. “You’re next.” “I’m not physically there.” “I can wait.” Mai interrupted before the conversation achieved structural collapse. “Ace is point.” Ace looked satisfied. “Obviously.” “Do not.” Ace shut her mouth. Mai continued. “Reyes handles route adaptation and guard movement.” Reyes nodded. “Shammy carries environmental read and the physical third axis.” Shammy nodded. “Kiro handles technical visibility and whatever limited disruption the bridge permits.” Kiro saluted with two fingers. Mai looked at her. Kiro lowered them. “And I maintain the operation picture.” Ace looked around the table. “There.” Kiro leaned back. “What?” “Job.” Reyes looked at her. “We’re not done.” “We know who does what.” “That is not a plan.” “It’s most of one.” Reyes shook her head. “This is why Mai exists.” Ace looked offended. Mai said: “Yes.” Ace turned toward her. “Again: whose side?” “The helmet.” Shammy said softly: “The helmet does not have a side.” Everyone paused. Ace looked at her. Shammy thought. “Probably.” Kiro slowly moved one step away from the display showing the helmet. “Thank you for adding that.” Ace smiled. “Collector jobs.” Reyes looked between them. “You all keep saying that like it explains things.” “It will not,” Mai said. “Ever?” “No.” “Great.” Kiro enlarged the collection room. “Okay. Actual mechanics.” The helmet sat in a locked display cabinet. At least according to the most recent images. The collection wing itself separated from the residential side through controlled doors. Fire compartmentation. Environmental seals. Security zones. Nothing impossible. Nothing careless. Reyes traced the likely night patrol. “Do we know where Bellamy sleeps?” Mai pointed toward the second floor. “Residential east side.” “Good.” Ace looked at her. “Why good?” “Because we do not want him anywhere near us.” Ace nodded. “Fair.” “Family?” “Lives alone,” Kiro said. “Staff mostly daytime. Night security separate.” “Pets?” Kiro stopped. Mai stopped. Ace stared at Reyes. Reyes stared back. “What?” Ace looked at Mai. “Did we check pets?” Mai looked almost offended. Then slightly less offended. “No.” Kiro was already searching. Ace smiled slowly. “Oh, this is wonderful.” Mai said: “Do not.” “You forgot a variable.” “It is being corrected.” “A living variable.” “Ace.” “Potentially fluffy.” “Ace.” Kiro raised one hand. “Dog.” Silence. Reyes nodded. “What kind?” Kiro checked. “Old Labrador.” Ace’s entire expression changed. “No.” Mai looked at her. “What?” “We are not traumatizing an old dog.” Reyes rubbed one hand over her face. Kiro laughed quietly. Shammy smiled. Mai said: “That was not part of the plan.” “It is now a rule.” Reyes pointed at Ace. “She’s right.” Ace looked smug. Mai sighed. “Fine. No distress to Bellamy’s dog.” Ace nodded. “Critical operational constraint.” Kiro found photographs. The dog was yellow. Old. Happy. Frequently visible near Bellamy in garden pictures. Ace stared at it. “This job has become morally indefensible.” Reyes looked at the helmet. “Because of the dog?” “The old man was already bad.” “Good priorities.” Shammy leaned closer to the photograph. “What is its name?” Mai looked at her. Shammy looked back. Mai sighed. Kiro searched. “Arthur.” Ace closed her eyes. “Of course.” Reyes smiled. “Why of course?” “He looks like Arthur.” “He’s a Labrador.” “Exactly.” Mai pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are not adding the dog to the mission board.” Kiro had already added: **ARTHUR — NONCOMBATANT** Mai stared. Ace looked delighted. Shammy said: “Correct.” Reyes nodded solemnly. Mai looked around the table. “No one in this room respects me.” Kiro immediately leaned over and kissed her temple. “I respect you.” Mai’s expression softened automatically. Ace pointed. “Compromised.” Mai looked at her. Ace smiled. The warmth lasted only a second. Then Reyes returned to the map. “Patrol timing.” Work again. Mai brought up what they had. Sparse but useful. Security staff shift records. Arrival and departure timestamps. Vehicle access. A handful of private-event recordings showing uniforms and positions. Kiro had reconstructed partial patterns from cameras outside the property and mundane commercial data nobody had intended as surveillance. Reyes watched all of it. Once. Then again. She stopped the third playback. “That one.” A guard crossed the main hall. “Which one?” Ace asked. “Him.” “He’s walking.” “He’s looking.” Ace waited. Reyes rewound. The guard crossed again. Paused near a doorway. Looked into a room. Continued. Reyes switched to another event. Same man. Different clothes. Same pattern. Then another. “Supervisor,” Reyes said. Kiro checked personnel records. “Yep.” Mai asked: “What matters?” “He does not trust stationary coverage.” Reyes tapped the screen. “He checks.” “Randomly?” “No.” “Pattern?” “Not schedule. Habit.” Ace understood before Kiro did. “He walks when he gets bored.” Reyes nodded. “Or when he thinks people are getting comfortable.” Kiro frowned. “That makes him unpredictable.” “No.” Reyes shook her head. “It makes him human.” She looked at the house plan again. “Different problem.” Mai asked: “Can you model it?” “Not precisely.” Mai accepted that immediately. No attempt to force certainty. Reyes continued. “But I can watch for the change.” Ace looked at her. “In real time.” “Yes.” “Which means you’re not behind me.” Reyes looked at Ace. “No.” “Where?” “Somewhere I can see enough to tell you when the shape changes.” Ace considered. Shammy said: “Middle.” Reyes looked at her. Shammy pointed between Ace and the probable exit routes. “Not first. Not last.” Reyes nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Ace accepted it. “Fine.” Mai recorded it. No argument. That was another thing this group had learned somewhere along the way. Ownership did not require hierarchy. Ace did not need every good decision to be hers. Mai did not need every structure to originate with Mai. Kiro did not need every system to become hackable. Shammy did not need every uncertainty to become atmospheric. Reyes did not need a title. They needed the helmet. And preferably Arthur’s evening to remain uneventful. Mai zoomed out. “Entry.” Reyes looked toward Ace. “Now you can have the garden.” Ace blinked. “Really?” “No.” Ace stared. Reyes smiled. Kiro laughed. Shammy’s shoulders moved with a quiet laugh of her own. Mai waited. Ace pointed at Reyes. “I will remember that.” “I know.” “Long memory.” “Very short legs.” The room went silent. Kiro covered her mouth. Shammy looked toward the ceiling. Mai turned away. Ace stared at Reyes with perfect stillness. Reyes held the look for approximately two seconds. Then: “Worth it.” Ace’s Shadow Aura shifted almost imperceptibly along the floor. Not threatening. Domestic. The shadow beneath Reyes’s chair stretched one centimeter toward Ace. Reyes looked down. Then back up. “Cheap.” Ace smiled. “Effective.” Mai cleared her throat. “Entry.” Everyone returned to work. Mostly. The best approach turned out to be offensively mundane. Not roof. Not tunnel. Not garden wall. A secondary residential entrance connected to a corridor that crossed toward the central hall. The door itself was well protected. But its protection depended heavily on the same security state Kiro might be able to observe through the environmental bridge. They would not unlock it remotely. Too noisy. Too much trust required. Ace would handle the physical access once Kiro confirmed the surrounding zones were stable. No broken lock. No visible damage. Then inside. Reyes pointed at a camera intersection. “Problem.” Kiro nodded. “I see it.” “Can you kill it?” “Maybe.” “No maybe.” “Then no.” Reyes smiled. “Good answer.” Mai asked: “Alternative?” Shammy looked at the corridor geometry. “The camera sees people.” Ace waited. Shammy continued. “It does not see the whole wall.” Kiro enlarged the field of view. Reyes stared. Then smiled. “Blind corner.” Small. Barely enough. Ace looked at the wall. “At my height?” Reyes looked down at her. Ace pointed immediately. “Do not.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. Kiro measured. “For Ace, easy.” Ace looked smug. “For Shammy, terrible.” Shammy nodded. “I am large.” Ace smiled. “Finally useful.” Shammy looked at her. Ace stopped smiling. “Affectionately.” “Yes.” Mai looked at the structure. “So Ace passes first. Reyes follows. Shammy waits for Kiro’s interruption.” Kiro nodded. “If I can force a brief camera health reset, maybe three to five seconds.” Reyes looked at Shammy. “Enough?” Shammy considered distance. “Yes.” “Good.” Mai locked the sequence. A plan was emerging. Not elegant. Not cinematic. A series of small advantages. A badly integrated device. A camera blind corner. A physical access point Ace could exploit. A patrol pattern Reyes could read. A few seconds Kiro might steal. Shammy noticing the room itself. Mai holding all the timings together. Nothing individually impressive enough to sell as legend. Together, enough. Ace liked plans like that. They felt honest. No miracle. No genius button. Just people covering one another’s weak angles. Reyes leaned back from the table. “How long inside?” Mai answered: “Best case, nine minutes from entry to exit.” Reyes shook her head. “Plan for fifteen.” Kiro said: “Security exposure rises hard after twelve.” “Then we’re out by twelve.” Mai looked at both. “Ten.” Reyes looked at Mai. Kiro looked at Mai. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy waited. Mai said: “Ten minutes is the operational target. Twelve is abort pressure. Fifteen is unacceptable.” Reyes considered. Then nodded. “Works.” Kiro did too. Ace smiled. “Command.” Mai did not even look at her. “Coordination.” “Still branding.” Reyes pushed away from the table. “When do we go?” Mai brought up travel and local conditions. “Not tonight.” Ace groaned. Kiro laughed. Mai continued. “We need local reconnaissance first.” Reyes nodded. “Absolutely.” Ace looked betrayed. “You too?” “I would like to know whether the guards on the screen are still the guards at the house.” “Reasonable. Hate it.” “We also need to confirm Arthur.” Ace stopped. “Fine.” Mai looked at her. Ace crossed her arms. “Operational priority.” Shammy nodded solemnly. “Yes.” Kiro added a second line under Arthur: **STATUS TO BE VERIFIED** Mai stared at it. Then, for reasons nobody commented on, allowed it to remain. The table finally went quiet. Not because work was finished. Because the shape was complete enough to see. Mai stood at one side. Kiro beside her. Ace opposite them. Reyes near the corner of the table, one hand resting beside the patrol map. Shammy between spaces as usual, tall and calm and somehow making five people around a tactical display feel less like a briefing room and more like home doing something dangerous. Ace looked around. This was new. Not the people. Not the trust. Not even the combinations. Those had existed for a long time. The new thing was the job fitting them all at once. Nobody had been invited as backup. Nobody was tagging along. Nobody had been added because five sounded safer than three. Mai and Kiro had found the target. Now all five of them were shaping how to take it. And when the time came, three of them would walk into Bellamy’s house because those were the three the problem needed. Ace looked at Reyes. “You good?” Reyes met her eyes. “Yes.” At Shammy. Shammy smiled. “Yes.” Kiro raised her hand. “Nobody asked me.” Ace looked at her. “You’re good?” “Extremely.” Mai said: “That is the concerning answer.” Kiro leaned against her shoulder. “You like it.” Mai glanced sideways. “Yes.” Simple. No hesitation. Ace smiled. Reyes noticed. Of course she did. “You’re doing the thing.” Ace frowned. “What thing?” “Looking pleased and pretending you aren’t.” Ace pointed toward the map. “Work.” “Sure.” Shammy said: “She is pleased.” Ace looked at her. “Et tu.” Shammy considered. “Yes.” Kiro laughed. Mai gathered the relevant files into a clean operational package. Not too clean. Kiro had left fingerprints all through it. Reyes had changed several assumptions. Shammy had killed one route nobody else had distrusted enough. Ace had turned the whole thing toward the simplest physical objective. It no longer belonged to any one of them. That was probably the point. Mai closed the display. The room dimmed back into ordinary Safehouse light. Five people remained around the table. Coffee cups. Food remnants. A yellow Labrador labeled as a noncombatant. And a plan to steal one of the most famous pieces of aviation history in the world from a man who absolutely did not deserve to have it stolen. Reyes picked up her jacket. “Houston.” Ace nodded. “Houston.” Kiro smiled. “Rich old man.” Mai sighed. “Please do not make that the operation name.” Shammy looked toward the darkened display. “Arthur.” Ace immediately brightened. “Operation Arthur.” Mai stared at her. “No.” Reyes opened the door. “Too late.” Kiro was already typing it. Mai closed her eyes. Ace grinned. The first proper five-person job had a plan. Unfortunately, it also had a name. --- ## Chapter 5 — The Collection Houston was too clean. Ace distrusted it immediately. Not the entire city. That would have been unreasonable. Probably. But Bellamy’s neighborhood definitely had a problem. Everything looked expensive enough to have been approved by several committees and then polished until human error became socially embarrassing. Wide roads. Old trees. Deep setbacks. Walls that tried very hard not to look like walls. Houses with architecture designed to imply that money had existed here long enough to become tasteful. Ace sat in the back of the rented vehicle and stared through lightly polarized glass at the passing properties. “I hate this.” Reyes glanced at her from the front passenger seat. “You hate neighborhoods now?” “I hate neighborhoods that look like nobody has ever parked badly.” Shammy sat beside Ace, watching the trees. “They are very straight.” Ace looked at her. “The trees?” “Yes.” “That’s worse.” Reyes smiled faintly. “Good. Stay suspicious of landscaping.” Mai’s voice came through the comms. “Please do not antagonize the landscaping.” Ace touched the earpiece. “No promises.” Kiro immediately added: “I can probably hack a sprinkler.” Mai said: “No.” Reyes looked out the window. “Please don’t.” Kiro sounded offended. “I was offering capability.” “You were offering wet shoes.” “Same ecosystem.” Mai sighed. Ace smiled. Some things traveled well. The vehicle turned. Bellamy’s street appeared ahead. Nobody announced it. They all knew. Mai had drilled the geometry into them before departure. Not because Ace or Shammy needed maps repeated. Because this was Mai. The route mattered. The alternatives mattered. Where not to look mattered. Where to stop mattered. How long a stationary vehicle became interesting mattered. They did not approach the residence directly. That would have been stupid. Instead they passed once. Normal speed. Nothing dramatic. Ace looked without staring. Reyes did the same. Shammy watched the house less than the space around it. Bellamy’s residence sat behind landscaping dense enough to create privacy without appearing defensive. Stone wall. Dark metal gate. Trees. Long drive. Only glimpses of the house itself. The collection wing was invisible from the street. The security was not. Not if you knew where to look. Ace saw cameras. Reyes saw people. That difference became obvious immediately. “Two outside,” Reyes said quietly. Mai answered: “Confirmed.” “Not the same two from the last public event.” Kiro said: “Checking.” Reyes kept watching. One guard near the gatehouse. One moving along a path behind the inner wall. Neither looked bored. Neither looked particularly tense either. Professional neutral. Reyes tracked the second man until the vehicle carried them past. “Shift change?” Kiro answered after a few seconds. “Vehicle logs suggest yes. New team rotated in three days ago.” “Good.” Ace looked forward. “Good?” “Better than stale data.” Shammy said: “Different people. Same shape.” Reyes glanced back. “Exactly.” Ace frowned slightly. Shammy looked toward her. “The house still feels organized around expectation.” Ace understood. Not anomaly. Structure. People knew where they were supposed to be. Systems reinforced that expectation. Routine made the whole place feel self-consistent. Which meant entering it required becoming part of that consistency long enough not to be rejected. Reyes looked forward again. “Second pass in twenty.” Mai said: “Agreed.” Ace leaned back. “Twenty?” “Yes.” “That’s years.” Reyes looked toward the side mirror. “You can survive.” “Cruel.” Kiro came through comms. “There’s coffee two blocks east.” Ace sat up. “Why was that not in the mission package?” Mai answered: “Because this is reconnaissance.” “Exactly.” Shammy looked at Ace. “You already had coffee.” Ace stared. “Do not become Mai.” Mai said: “I heard that.” “Good.” The rented vehicle continued. Nothing followed them. No security response. No attention. That was what good surveillance looked like. Boring. Ace hated boring. Reyes loved it. Not emotionally. Professionally. Boring meant the target was not reacting. Boring meant nobody had noticed anything worth noticing. Boring meant they were still outside the system. Good. They parked near the coffee shop. Not directly outside. Reyes chose a spot with a clear view toward two approach roads and no obvious residential camera aimed at the vehicle. Ace noticed that. Of course. Reyes noticed Ace noticing. “Habit.” “Good habit.” “Kept me alive.” Ace nodded. No joke needed. They got coffee. Shammy took tea. Reyes took something black enough that Ace approved on principle. Then they sat outside under a shaded awning and behaved like three people with nowhere important to be. Which was harder than infiltration. Ace lasted four minutes before touching her comm. “Anything?” Kiro answered immediately. “Several things.” Mai said: “None of them require your movement yet.” Ace looked toward Reyes. Reyes drank coffee. Ace looked toward Shammy. Shammy drank tea. Ace frowned. “I’m surrounded.” “Yes,” Shammy said. Reyes smiled. “Stay surrounded.” Ace muttered something rude and returned to watching traffic. That was useful too. Bellamy’s residence did not exist in isolation. Deliveries came. Maintenance came. Domestic staff came. Security vehicles came and went. Neighbors drove past. Ride services appeared. Dog walkers. Landscaping crews. People whose jobs required invisibility because rich neighborhoods functioned only if hundreds of workers could enter them without becoming part of the visual story. Reyes watched all of it. Not one event. Patterns. A private security SUV passed twice. Different direction each time. Reyes checked the time. “Response contractor?” Kiro said: “Likely.” “Based nearby?” “Eleven minutes under normal traffic.” Reyes shook her head. “Call it seven.” Ace looked at her. “Why?” “Emergency driving.” Mai said: “Agreed.” Reyes continued. “And six if they stage somebody closer during high-value events.” Kiro made a sound. “I hate when humans improve my estimates.” “Get used to it.” Ace smiled. “I like this partnership.” Reyes looked back. “You like anything that makes Kiro complain.” “Correct.” Kiro said: “I am being cyberbullied.” Mai replied: “You are being corrected.” “That is worse.” Shammy smiled. The second pass happened twenty-three minutes later. Different route. Different angle. This time Reyes drove. Ace sat in front. Shammy behind them. The approach revealed more of the western side. Not enough to see the collection wing fully. But enough for Reyes. She slowed once. Not dramatically. Traffic ahead did it for her. Convenient. A service vehicle waited at a side access point. Bellamy’s staff entrance. Reyes watched the exchange. Guard. Driver. Credential. Gate. Duration. The driver did something wrong. Tiny. Presented the credential too early. The guard made him do it again. Reyes smiled. Ace saw. “What?” “Training.” “How good?” “Good enough.” “That answer annoys me.” “It should.” The service vehicle entered. Gate closed. Reyes continued driving. Mai asked: “What did you see?” “Gate procedure is real.” Kiro said: “We knew that.” “No. You knew the system demanded one.” Reyes turned onto another road. “I just saw a guard enforce it.” Small silence. Mai said: “Difference noted.” Ace looked sideways. Reyes continued. “That means they don’t just trust automation. At least not all of them.” Kiro asked: “Bad for us?” “More complicated for us.” “Same thing.” “No.” Mai said: “Reyes is right.” Kiro sighed. “This job has too many adults.” Ace smiled. “Terrible.” The third observation point came from a walking route. That was Reyes’s idea. Vehicle reconnaissance gave geometry. Walking gave behavior. They left the car several blocks away and approached the edge of the neighborhood on foot. Not tactical clothes. Not visibly tactical anything. Ace had complained. Then Mai reminded her that walking around a luxury neighborhood in combat gear was generally considered noticeable. Ace had accepted this with poor grace. Reyes wore casual dark clothes. Shammy had been forced into something neutral enough not to make her look like a storm deity on vacation. Ace wore a loose jacket over a fitted shirt and jeans. No visible blades. She hated that too. The katanas were nearby. Just not on her. That difference mattered emotionally more than tactically. Reyes noticed. “You’ll live.” Ace looked up. “Everyone keeps saying that.” “Because you keep checking where your swords aren’t.” “I like knowing where they are.” “So do I.” “Then stop judging.” “I’m not.” Ace stared. Reyes smiled. Shammy walked between them. “You are both enjoying this.” Ace and Reyes answered at once: “No.” Shammy smiled. Neither woman commented. They reached a section of sidewalk where the residence was partially visible across another property. No direct loitering. No staring. Reyes slowed only enough to tie a shoe. Ace noticed the excuse. Again, good. Shammy looked toward Bellamy’s house without turning her head much. Birds. Trees. A distant mechanical hum. Cooling systems, probably. Maybe pool equipment. Maybe collection environmental control. Shammy listened. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes was watching the gatehouse through a reflection in a parked car window. Ace smiled faintly. Different methods. Same target. A security guard emerged from the side of the property. Walked toward the gate. Talked briefly to the gatehouse guard. Then turned back. Reyes tracked him. “Same patrol guy as before.” Mai asked: “Confirmed?” Kiro answered: “Facial match yes.” Reyes watched. “He’s too consistent.” Ace frowned. “You said consistency was good.” “For them.” “Oh.” Reyes continued. “He’s route-driven. Not curiosity-driven.” “Meaning?” “He walks where he’s told.” “Useful.” “Yes.” The man disappeared behind foliage. Reyes waited. Counted silently. He reappeared where expected. “Very useful.” Mai updated something off-site. Reyes could hear the faint interface tone through comms. Shammy said: “There is another one.” Reyes did not move. “Where?” “Inside.” Ace glanced at her. Shammy closed her eyes briefly. “Not seeing. Hearing.” A door. Far away. Muted. Then footfalls carried faintly through an open section of architecture. Shammy tilted her head. “Upper level.” Reyes listened. Caught nothing. But she trusted Shammy. “Staff?” Kiro checked live indirect data. “Could be security. Domestic staff count should be low right now.” Reyes looked at the house. “Mark it.” Mai answered: “Marked.” They kept walking. No reaction. No alarms. Nothing cinematic. Perfect. Twenty minutes later they were in a rented apartment several districts away. Not a safehouse. Not exactly. Just expensive enough to be anonymous. Temporary. Clean. Neutral. A place nobody would remember after checkout. Mai occupied one wall through screens and remote projection from Night City. Kiro appeared beside her on another feed, surrounded by equipment and half-empty cups. Ace sat on the floor. Shammy leaned against a wall. Reyes stood in the center looking at the reconstructed property map. “Again.” Kiro played the patrol observations. Reyes watched. Once. Twice. Paused. “Outside team is disciplined.” Mai nodded. “Agreed.” “Interior unknown.” Kiro said: “We have partial access logs.” “Logs are not people.” “I know.” Reyes looked at her. Kiro smiled. “Learning.” “Good.” Ace leaned back against the couch. “Can we steal it now?” “No,” four voices said. Ace stared. Shammy smiled. Ace pointed around the room. “Organized oppression.” Mai ignored her. Reyes rewound another clip. The service entrance. Credential mistake. Guard correction. Again. Reyes paused on the guard’s face. “This one matters.” Mai said: “Gatehouse?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because he cares about procedure.” Kiro nodded. “Bad.” “Predictable.” “Good?” “Sometimes.” Ace said: “Pick a side.” Reyes ignored her. “If we ever cross near him, we do not improvise social cover.” Mai said: “Agreed.” “Other guard?” Reyes changed clip. The patrol man. “Follows route.” “Reliable?” “Until something changes.” Kiro said: “That’s literally everyone.” Reyes looked at her. “Exactly.” Kiro stopped smiling. “Oh.” Reyes enlarged the interior plan. “That’s the real problem with houses like this.” Ace sat forward. “Finally.” “They’re secure because everything has a place.” Reyes pointed. “Doors know their state. Cameras know their zones. Guards know their routes. Staff know where they belong.” Her finger moved through the hallways. “If one thing changes, the system notices.” Shammy said: “Unless the change creates another expected shape.” Reyes looked at her. Then smiled. “Yes.” Kiro leaned closer to her display. Mai did too. Reyes moved one patrol route. Not random. Shifted. “If a guard leaves one position, another space becomes empty.” Kiro said: “Obviously.” “No.” Reyes pointed. “Not just physically empty.” She moved another marker. “The surveillance expectation changes.” Mai’s attention sharpened. Reyes continued. “If one guard makes an extra check inside, he stops watching somewhere else.” Ace smiled. “Hole moves.” Reyes looked at her. “Exactly.” Shammy nodded. “The hole moves.” Kiro was already updating the model. Mai said: “That affects exfil.” “More than entry.” Reyes looked toward the collection wing. “Entry is controlled. Everyone follows plan.” Ace groaned. Reyes ignored it. “Exit happens after we’ve already changed the environment.” Mai said: “Even if nobody knows.” “Yes.” Ace understood. The helmet disappears. Cabinet opens. Movement happens. People shift. Maybe not because of them. Maybe coincidence. But the house after entry was not the same house as before. Not because of anomaly. Because operations changed the number of possible mistakes. Kiro brought up the stupid box. “Then this is more valuable on exit than entry.” Reyes nodded. “If it gives us state.” Mai added: “Not control.” “State is enough if we can read the people.” Ace looked toward Reyes. “You.” “Yes.” “Meaning you do not lead out.” “No.” Ace frowned. She did not like that. Reyes noticed immediately. “You want me in front?” “I want the person who sees the route first in front.” “I won’t see it first if I’m looking at the same hallway you are.” Ace held her gaze. Reyes tapped the map. “I need angle.” Shammy said: “Middle.” Reyes nodded. “Still middle.” Ace exhaled. “Fine.” No argument. That mattered. Mai noticed. Did not comment. Kiro did. “Growth.” Ace pointed toward the screen. “Die remotely.” Kiro laughed. Shammy smiled. Reyes kept working. The next two hours were slow. Beautifully slow. No action. No pretending reconnaissance needed explosions. They built patterns. Who arrived. Who left. Which security vehicle lingered. Which staff entrance was used at what hour. Which patrol man changed pace after food delivery. Where a gardener entered. How long the gate remained open. Which side of the property had less pedestrian visibility but more camera overlap. Every small fact sharpened something. Ace contributed when physical movement mattered. Shammy contributed when sound and spatial pressure mattered. Mai integrated. Kiro verified. Reyes interpreted. At one point Kiro brought up a projected camera coverage map. Reyes stared. Then shook her head. “Wrong.” Kiro looked offended. “It’s mathematically correct.” “Then reality is rude.” Ace smiled. “What?” Reyes pointed to a tree. Kiro stared. “It’s a tree.” “Yes.” “Congratulations.” “Seasonal growth.” Kiro zoomed. The branch canopy partially blocked one camera’s real-world view from one angle. Kiro went quiet. Mai said: “Interesting.” Kiro frowned. “I hate plants.” Ace smiled. “The landscaping has joined our side.” Mai said: “Do not anthropomorphize the landscaping.” Shammy looked toward Ace. “The tree is helping.” Ace pointed. “See?” Mai closed her eyes. Reyes smiled and moved on. Another camera looked good on paper. Too good. Reyes asked: “Where is it mounted?” Kiro opened installation imagery. High corner. Reyes frowned. “That reflection line?” Kiro enlarged. Glass across the courtyard. At certain times, morning sun would wash the field. Kiro stared. “Temporary glare.” “Exactly.” Mai checked timing. “Not useful for our planned window.” Reyes nodded. “Then ignore it.” No forcing. No building a plan around pretty flaws. That was another thing Ace liked about Reyes. She did not fall in love with vulnerabilities. If a weakness did not help, it was not a weakness. Hours passed. By late afternoon, they had learned something important. Bellamy’s security was good. Not corporate military. Not Fortress Arasaka. But serious. Layered. Maintained. Professional. No glaring stupidity except the network bridge. No lazy guards. No conveniently broken cameras. No magical blind spot stretching from street to collection room. Ace looked at the final model. “So.” Reyes leaned against the table. “So.” “This sucks.” “Yes.” “Still possible.” “Yes.” “How?” Reyes smiled. “Because good security is still used by people.” Kiro said: “And because somebody wired a climate box into the wrong network.” Mai added: “Which we have not yet proven exploitable.” Kiro sighed. “You’re no fun.” “I am accurate.” Reyes looked at the timeline. “Tonight we watch one more shift.” Ace groaned. Shammy looked amused. Mai agreed immediately. Ace pointed at all of them. “You are making reconnaissance into a lifestyle.” Reyes said: “It’s keeping you alive.” Ace stopped. Then shrugged. “Fine.” Evening changed the neighborhood. Not dramatically. Lighting came on. Garden illumination. Gatehouse glow. Windows. Security movement became more visible because the environment darkened around it. They observed from another location. Farther this time. Optics. No direct approach. Reyes watched the same patrol man. Same route. Same pace. Then a second guard appeared inside through one window. Crossed the main hall. Stopped. Looked toward the collection wing. Continued. Reyes leaned forward. “There.” Mai asked: “What?” “He checks interior.” Kiro said: “We knew someone did.” “No.” Reyes watched again. “He checks when exterior patrol reaches the north corner.” Ace looked at the map. “Why?” Reyes rewound. Again. Exterior patrol moved north. Interior guard crossed hall. Overlap. Then separation. Reyes smiled faintly. “They cover each other.” Mai said: “Informally?” “Maybe.” Kiro checked logs. “No scheduled relationship.” Reyes nodded. “Then habit.” Ace looked at her. “Bad?” “Useful.” She explained. One man’s movement triggered another man’s confidence. Not electronically. Socially. If the outer guard was where expected, the inner guard felt safe making a brief interior check. If the inner guard checked, another zone went unattended. Not unmonitored. But physically unattended. Ace saw the route emerge. “So that’s our gap.” Reyes shook her head. “No.” Ace sighed. “Why do you hate joy?” “Because that’s tonight’s gap.” Ace stopped. Reyes pointed at the screen. “This is one shift. Maybe one relationship between two men.” Mai said: “We need recurrence.” “Yes.” Kiro sighed. “More watching.” “Yes.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy smiled. “You will survive.” Ace stared. “You’re all using that against me now.” “Yes.” Three more hours. Different behaviors. Same basic rhythm. Then something changed. Not dangerous. Just informative. The interior guard did not make the check. Exterior patrol still reached the north corner. Nothing happened. Reyes noticed. “Why not?” Kiro searched. No alert. No call. No obvious event. Shammy listened. Then: “Television.” Everyone looked at her. Shammy pointed vaguely toward the residence. “Someone is watching something loudly inside.” Ace blinked. Reyes smiled. “Guard?” Kiro checked employee break-room location. Possible. Mai said: “That means the pattern is voluntary.” Reyes nodded. “Exactly.” Not procedure. Habit. Breakable. Human. Useful only if observed live. The final piece landed. Reyes sat back. “Okay.” Ace looked at her. “That was different.” “Yes.” “Good different?” “Yes.” Kiro immediately leaned forward. “What?” Reyes pointed at the map. “We stop trying to predict every patrol.” Mai said nothing. Reyes continued. “We build the route around stable architecture.” Doors. Corners. Zones. Camera geometry. Then: “And I watch the humans.” Ace smiled slowly. “There it is.” Reyes nodded. “The plan works if nothing changes.” Kiro said: “That is a terrible plan.” “Yes.” Reyes smiled. “So we assume something changes.” Shammy’s expression warmed. Mai’s too. Ace leaned forward. “Meaning?” “Meaning we do not build one exit.” Reyes drew two. Then a third partial route. Not equally good. Not equally fast. But real. “We build options.” Mai began adjusting timing. Kiro shifted sensor visibility. Shammy looked through each route spatially. Ace measured movement. There. Now it was not a heist fantasy. It was an operation. One route preferred. One fallback. One ugly option if everything drifted wrong. No gunfight planned. No heroic breach. No killing. No damage beyond what the theft itself required. Reyes looked at all three routes. “Entry remains the same.” Mai nodded. “Agreed.” “Collection room same.” “Yes.” “Exit depends on what the guards actually do.” Ace looked at Reyes. “And you call it.” “Yes.” Simple. Locked. Kiro said: “I hate giving humans that much authority.” Mai replied: “You are human.” “Debatable.” Shammy said: “Mostly.” Ace laughed. Reyes looked toward the property through the distant optics. Bellamy’s house glowed warmly behind trees. Not sinister. Not threatening. A home. Somewhere inside, a seventy-one-year-old man probably sat with his old dog while a climate-controlled room preserved a century of aviation history. And five people were designing the cleanest possible way to steal one piece of it. Ace’s smile faded. Reyes noticed. Again. “He still doesn’t deserve it.” Ace looked at her. “No.” “Good.” Ace frowned. “Good?” Reyes looked back toward the house. “Means we remember what this is.” Shammy nodded. Mai’s voice came through quietly. “Yes.” Kiro said nothing. For once. The silence lasted just long enough. Then Ace exhaled. “Still taking it.” Reyes nodded. “Still taking it.” No absolution. No villain invented to make the choice easier. Just the job. That was probably why the quiet settled instead of turning heavy. Reyes closed the patrol model. “Tomorrow we test Kiro’s hole.” Kiro brightened immediately. “My hole.” Mai said: “Please never call it that again.” Ace covered her face. Shammy smiled. Reyes looked at the ceiling. Kiro laughed so hard she lost audio for two seconds. When the channel stabilized, Mai sounded deeply tired. “This is an operation.” Ace lowered her hand. “Five-person operation.” Mai looked toward her through the projection. Ace smiled. Reyes shook her head. Shammy’s shoulders moved with quiet laughter. The house remained where it was. The guards kept walking. The cameras kept watching. The old dog presumably continued having the least complicated evening of anyone involved. And for the first time since arriving in Houston, Reyes looked at the plan and believed they could get everyone back out again. That was enough. For tonight. --- ## Chapter 6 — Through the Gap The stupid box worked. Barely. Which, according to Kiro, made it perfect. Ace disagreed. Quietly. Mostly because they were crouched behind a low stone wall three properties away from Bellamy’s residence at two fourteen in the morning, and loudly disagreeing with the netrunner currently responsible for keeping several security systems from becoming interested in them seemed professionally unwise. Kiro’s voice came through the comm. “I have state.” Mai answered immediately. “Define.” “Environmental bridge is live. No alerts. No active security fault. I can see door-state traffic, some zone transitions and health reporting.” “Cameras?” “Status only.” “Motion?” “Partial.” “Can you affect anything?” Pause. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes looked back. Shammy remained still beside them, listening to the night. Kiro returned. “Yes.” Mai’s tone changed. “How much?” “Not much.” Ace touched her earpiece. “Story of my life.” Reyes looked down at her. Ace pointed one finger without looking. “Do not.” Reyes’s mouth twitched. Kiro continued. “I can induce what should look like a local device resync.” “How long?” Mai asked. “Four seconds reliably.” “Maximum?” “Maybe six.” “Do not use maximum.” “Yes, Mom.” Mai’s silence lasted half a second. Kiro corrected herself. “Yes, Mai.” Ace smiled. Reyes whispered: “Coward.” Kiro heard. “I am remote and therefore brave.” Mai cut through before the conversation bred offspring. “Positions.” Reyes checked the time. “Exterior patrol south side. Gatehouse occupied. No movement west garden.” Kiro said: “Confirmed.” Shammy tilted her head. “Interior.” Everyone stopped. Mai asked: “Where?” Shammy listened. Not magic. Not weather. Just a house at night. Cooling systems. Distant traffic. The soft mechanical life of expensive architecture. Then footsteps. Muted through glass and walls. “Central hall. Moving east.” Reyes checked the partial zone data. “Kiro?” “Got a door-state transition.” “Same?” “Likely.” Reyes watched the dark property through compact optics. “Wait.” Ace hated that word. Which was why nobody let her define timing. They waited. The patrol moved. The interior guard disappeared deeper into the east side. Reyes counted. Once. Twice. Then: “Go.” Ace moved. No hesitation. No visible rush. That was the trick. Rushing looked like rushing even when nobody saw you. She crossed the first stretch low and fast, using landscaping and shadow where they actually existed rather than where a tactical map had promised them. Reyes followed. Shammy came last. Tall. Quiet. Much harder to hide than Ace and moving with enough precision to make the difference almost irrelevant. The secondary residential entrance waited ahead. Protected. Watched. Not impossible. Ace reached it first. Kiro whispered: “Zone stable.” Ace touched the access housing. No brute force. No dramatic tool. The physical work had been planned around leaving as little evidence as possible. A specialist bypass. Pressure. Timing. Mai’s count in her ear. “Twenty seconds.” Ace worked. The mechanism resisted. Good hardware. Not paranoid. Competent. Ace adjusted. Reyes watched behind them. Shammy listened inward. “Kiro?” “Still clean.” “Fifteen,” Mai said. Ace felt the lock give. Small. Mechanical. Real. “Open.” Reyes moved beside her. “Wait.” Ace froze. She did not like that either. Reyes had heard something. Not through comms. Footsteps. Not close. But wrong. Shammy’s head turned. “Outside.” Reyes looked toward the garden line. The external patrol had come around earlier than expected. Not alarmed. Not searching. Simply early. Ace whispered: “Route?” Reyes watched. Measured. The man was not approaching the door. But his path would give him a view of the corridor outside it if they moved now. “Hold.” Ace’s hand remained on the door. The lock was open. That made everything worse. An openable door was not the same as a safe door. Kiro whispered: “I can trigger the resync.” Reyes answered instantly: “No.” Kiro stopped. Mai said nothing. Reyes watched the guard. One step. Two. Then the man slowed. Not because of them. He looked down at something in his hand. Message. Feed. Call. Whatever. The route broke. Reyes smiled faintly. “Now.” Ace opened the door. Three bodies passed through. The door closed. Ace reset the mechanism. No click louder than necessary. No alert. No camera failure. No cinematic blackout. The house simply accepted the fact that a door had opened and closed. For now. Ace stood inside Bellamy’s residence. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Wood. Old fabric. Conditioned air. Coffee, faintly. Not recent. Maybe from earlier. Something waxed or polished. Nothing sterile. Nothing corporate. A home. Damn. Shammy stepped in behind her. Reyes closed position between them. Kiro whispered: “Still green.” Ace looked at the corridor. Dark. Warm low lighting. Real paintings. Not generic expensive abstract work chosen by an interior system. A framed photograph showed Bellamy younger, standing beside an aircraft engine covered in grease. Another showed him with several other men beside a restored biplane. One of the men was holding a beer. Bellamy was laughing. Ace kept moving. That was inconvenient. She preferred targets with worse taste in photographs. Mai’s voice: “First junction. Thirty meters.” Ace knew. Still useful to hear. She moved. Reyes followed five meters back. Shammy another four. Spacing. Not because they distrusted each other. Because one mistake should not catch all three. At the first junction Ace stopped. Kiro said: “Camera status active.” Reyes whispered: “Field?” Kiro brought up the known geometry. “Blind corner exists. Same as recon.” Ace leaned carefully enough to see the edge. Camera. Wall. Decorative cabinet. The blind area remained. Small. Her size made it easy. For once, being 145 centimeters tall was not merely useful for terrifying taller people. She moved through. Reyes followed. No problem. Then Shammy. Too tall. Kiro whispered: “Ready.” Reyes checked both approaches. “Now.” Kiro triggered the resync. Nothing dramatic happened. No lights. No visible camera movement. Just a small indicator in Kiro’s network state. “Four.” Shammy moved. “Three.” Across. “Two.” Clear. “One.” Camera returned to normal. Kiro exhaled. “Clean.” Ace looked back at Shammy. Shammy nodded once. Simple. No celebration. The corridor opened toward a larger interior space. Bellamy’s house became more personal there. Books. Not decorative shelves. Used ones. Stacks. A side table with reading glasses. A half-finished puzzle on a low table. Ace stared at it for half a second. Reyes whispered: “Focus.” Ace looked up. “I am focused.” “You’re judging his puzzle.” “It’s aviation.” Reyes looked. It was. A painted image of early aircraft over countryside. Ace frowned. “This man is making this difficult.” Shammy said quietly: “He likes planes.” “Yes.” Mai’s voice softened by a fraction. “Keep moving.” They did. The route toward the collection wing passed a sitting room. No movement. No dog. Good. Arthur’s absence had been confirmed earlier: the old Labrador slept in Bellamy’s bedroom most nights. Ace remained deeply invested in keeping that uninterrupted. The next controlled door was harder. Not physically. Electronically. Kiro could see the state but not open it. Ace reached the panel. Kiro whispered: “Security lock. Local credential and physical latch.” Ace looked at it. “So rude.” Mai said: “Planned.” “I can still object.” “No.” Reyes took position behind her. Shammy turned slightly toward the central hall. Ace began. This one required more time. Thirty seconds if perfect. More if not. Mai counted only when useful. Kiro fed door-state changes. Reyes watched people. Shammy listened. The whole operation narrowed into one corridor. Kiro: “Interior guard changed zone.” Reyes: “Direction?” “Unknown.” Shammy: “Closer.” Ace’s hands kept moving. Reyes asked: “How close?” Shammy listened. “Central hall.” Mai said: “Ace.” “Working.” “Twenty seconds.” “I know.” Reyes looked toward the hall. Footsteps. Clearer now. Not hurried. No alarm. Just a man walking inside a house. Exactly the problem Reyes had described. A professional security guard deciding to look at something because that was his job. Ace worked faster. Not sloppier. Faster. Kiro whispered: “Door-state changed east side.” Reyes ignored the network. Listened. The guard stopped. Ace’s tool shifted. The latch almost caught. Didn’t. Ace reset pressure. Reyes whispered: “Ten.” Mai said nothing. One voice was enough. Ace breathed out. Mechanism gave. “Open.” Reyes did not say go. Ace waited. The guard began walking again. Toward them. Shammy turned her head. “Coming.” Ace stared at Reyes. Reyes stared toward the hall. Distance. Timing. No fallback yet. Not enough room to cross unseen before the guard reached the junction. Kiro whispered: “I can resync the camera.” Reyes shook her head even though Kiro could not see. “Doesn’t solve the guard.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. She could solve the guard. Fast. Quietly enough. Probably. Reyes saw the thought. “No.” Ace looked at her. Reyes held the look. No violence unless forced. Ace exhaled through her nose. Fine. Shammy looked toward a side room. “Door.” Reyes checked. Study. Unoccupied according to latest data. “Inside.” Ace opened it. Three people disappeared into darkness. Reyes pulled the door nearly closed. Not fully. A crack. Enough to see. The guard appeared. Middle-aged. Broad. Alert. Not nervous. No weapon in hand. He passed the junction. Stopped. Ace felt her whole body tighten. The Shadow Aura pulled close around her instead of expanding. Good. Home-trained predator. Stay small. The guard looked toward the controlled door. The one Ace had just opened. Closed now. Normal. He looked at it for three seconds. Ace hated every one. Then he turned. Walked toward the sitting room. Reyes did not move. Nobody breathed louder than necessary. The guard stopped again. Ace could see only part of him through the narrow door gap. He bent slightly. Picked something up. A magazine. Returned it to a table. Then continued. Footsteps faded. Shammy whispered: “He is gone.” Reyes waited another five seconds. Then: “Move.” They exited the study. Ace looked at the magazine. Aviation history. Of course. She hated this house. Mai said: “Time impact: ninety seconds.” Ace replied: “Still inside tolerance.” “Yes.” Kiro said: “That was extremely rude of him.” Reyes smiled faintly. “He lives here professionally.” Ace looked at her. “That sentence is terrible.” “Accurate.” They continued. The collection wing changed the house before they even entered it. Not atmosphere. Construction. Walls became thicker. Doors more controlled. Environmental systems more audible. Humidity stabilization. Air filtration. Fire control. Every element spoke of preservation rather than luxury. That mattered. Ace did not want it to. The final access corridor had framed photographs instead of paintings. Aircraft. Pilots. Restoration work. Bellamy standing beside people Ace did not recognize. Engine components. A propeller being repaired. A young Bellamy beside an older man who had to be his father. Mai said quietly: “Collection door ahead.” Ace saw it. Dark wood framed around modern access hardware. Old style wrapped around new security. Bellamy had clearly spent money preserving the feel of the house instead of turning the collection into a vault. That made him either sentimental or very good at architecture. Probably both. Reyes checked the time. “Seven minutes from entry.” Mai said: “Within target.” Kiro: “Zone state stable.” Shammy: “Quiet.” Ace reached the door. This was the hardest point. Kiro could see enough to help. Not enough to solve. “Access panel is visible,” Kiro whispered. Ace opened the cover. “Two systems.” Mai said: “Correct.” “One older.” “Physical access controller.” “One newer.” “Security overlay.” Ace sighed. “People should stop upgrading things.” Kiro answered: “That is literally how I make money.” “Then apologize.” “No.” Ace worked. This took longer. The older system could be persuaded. The newer one needed to believe the older system had made the decision. Kiro watched state changes. Mai watched time. Reyes watched the house. Shammy listened. Ace moved between all of them. Not alone. Never alone anymore. Kiro whispered: “Hold.” Ace froze. “What?” “I saw a challenge.” Mai immediately: “Abort?” “No. Wait.” Ace waited. The access controller sent a status query. The stupid box saw it. Kiro saw the stupid box see it. For a moment, an entire absurd operation involving a century-old helmet depended on whether a climate-control endpoint could be persuaded not to make a security system curious. Kiro whispered: “Come on.” Ace smiled despite herself. Mai said: “Kiro.” “I know.” Three seconds. Four. Then: “Passed.” Ace resumed. The lock released. Very quietly. Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes checked both directions. Then nodded. Ace opened the collection door. Cooler air touched her face. Controlled. Dry enough to preserve paper. Humid enough to preserve leather. The room beyond was dark except for low conservation lighting. Ace entered. Stopped. Not because of danger. Because Bellamy’s collection was beautiful. No other word fit. Not ostentatious. Not trophy-room obscene. Curated. Aircraft instruments arranged with provenance notes. Photographs beside the machines or pilots they belonged to. Uniform pieces displayed with context. Maps. Letters. A propeller section showing repairs instead of hiding them. Glass cases holding objects that looked small until you understood they had survived more than a century. Shammy entered behind Reyes. Her face changed. Softer. “This is loved.” Ace closed her eyes for half a second. “Yep.” Mai saw through their body feeds. Her voice came quietly. “He documented restoration work.” Kiro said nothing. That silence was loud. They moved deeper. A case held flight goggles beside a photograph of the pilot who had worn them. Another preserved a damaged altimeter. Not because it looked impressive. Because it had been recovered from a crash and later identified. Bellamy had included the identification history. Names. Dates. Uncertainty where uncertainty existed. He had not cleaned history into certainty. Ace respected that too. Very inconvenient. Reyes stood near the entrance watching the corridor through the narrow opening. “Three minutes.” Ace looked toward the rear section. They had the room location. Not exact case. Not yet. Shammy moved left. Ace right. No touching. No unnecessary movement. Kiro whispered: “Motion state is quiet.” Mai: “Keep it that way.” Ace passed a display of German aviation memorabilia. Medals. Photographs. A fragment of painted aircraft skin. Red. Ace stopped. Memory stabbed once. Fabric. Sky. Machine-gun vibration. Gone. She swallowed. Shammy noticed from across the room. Mai saw the pause. No one asked. Ace moved. Then Shammy stopped. Completely. Ace followed her gaze. Rear wall. Single glass case. Dark leather. Ace’s body knew before the rest of her did. Not anomaly. Recognition. The helmet sat beneath soft light. Old. Creased. Almost unimpressive compared to the history built around it. Brown leather. Ear flaps. Stitching. Wear along the left side. Exactly wrong. Exactly familiar. Ace did not move. Shammy stood beside her. Through comms, Mai’s breathing changed once. Very slightly. Kiro stayed silent. Reyes looked over her shoulder. Saw Ace. Saw Shammy. Then the helmet. “That it?” Ace answered quietly. “Yes.” Shammy: “Yes.” Mai, from Night City: “Yes.” Reyes looked at the object. Then back toward the corridor. No question. No interruption. Good. Ace stepped closer. The case had a small plaque. **Attributed to Rittmeister Manfred von Richthofen German, c. 1917–1918 Provenance under continuing review** Ace stared at the last line. Bellamy had not even lied to himself. He had not turned attribution into certainty just because certainty made the object more valuable. Shammy read it too. “He was careful.” Ace nodded. “Yeah.” Mai said quietly: “We still take it.” Ace looked at the helmet. Nothing moved. No distortion. No sound. No impossible pressure. Just leather. The same kind of leather they remembered under a sky that should never have existed. Ace breathed out. “Yeah.” Reyes whispered sharply: “Movement.” Everything changed. Ace turned. Reyes had already shifted position. “Interior guard.” Kiro checked. “I have zone transition.” “Where?” “Central hall. Westbound.” Mai: “Time.” Reyes: “Two minutes to collection corridor if he keeps current pace.” Ace looked at the case. Then at Reyes. “Enough?” Reyes looked at the case lock. Then at Ace. “Make it enough.” Ace smiled. Small. Predatory. Focused. She knelt by the display. Behind her, Shammy moved to the corridor. Reyes took the middle. Kiro watched the network. Mai watched everything. And for the first time that night, the helmet was no longer a mystery waiting somewhere inside Houston. It was directly in front of them. Now they only had to steal it. --- ## Chapter 7 — The Helmet The display case was better built than Ace wanted. Naturally. Bellamy had spent decades collecting things people lied about, stole, forged, damaged, misidentified and occasionally destroyed through enthusiasm alone. He had learned the obvious lesson. The lock was not decorative. Ace worked anyway. Reyes watched the corridor. Shammy watched Ace. Kiro watched the network. Mai watched all of them. “Guard still moving west,” Kiro said. Reyes asked: “Speed?” “Normal.” “Door transitions?” “One.” Mai’s voice remained level. “Estimated arrival?” Reyes answered before Kiro. “Ninety seconds if he keeps coming.” Ace did not look up. “Plenty.” “No,” Reyes said. Ace smiled faintly. “Motivational.” “Accurate.” The case lock used two mechanisms. One modern. One old. That annoyed Ace almost personally. Old collectors loved redundancy. Modern security loved telemetry. Bellamy apparently loved both. Ace adjusted the tool. The outer lock shifted. Not enough. She changed angle. The inner catch resisted. Shammy looked toward the helmet. Not at Ace’s hands. At the thing itself. Brown leather. Soft conservation light. Nothing moved. Nothing hummed. Nothing waited. No wrongness. No pressure. No heat. No cold. Just an old pilot’s helmet behind glass. And memory. That was enough. Shammy’s fingers tightened once. Ace noticed without looking. Mai did too. Her voice came quietly through comms. “Shammy.” “I’m fine.” No hesitation. Mai accepted it. No interrogation. No pause in the job. Ace liked that. Kiro whispered: “Guard stopped.” Reyes stiffened. “Where?” “West interior junction.” “Reason?” “No idea.” Shammy tilted her head. “He is listening to something.” Reyes waited. The guard remained stationary. Ace kept working. Mai said: “Forty-five seconds before we revise.” Ace muttered: “I revise badly.” “That is why I do it.” Ace’s mouth twitched. The lock shifted again. A small internal click. Ace stopped. Not victory. Confirmation. She changed pressure and felt the second mechanism release. “Open.” Shammy moved closer. Reyes remained at the corridor. “Thirty seconds.” Ace lifted the glass. Slowly. No scrape. No vibration beyond what Kiro already expected from the case state. Kiro said: “I see the cabinet transition.” “Alert?” “None.” Mai: “Continue.” Ace reached in. Stopped. Her hand hovered over the helmet. Just for a second. Not fear. Not superstition. Recognition had weight even when the object did not. Shammy stood beside her. Mai’s breathing remained quiet in Ace’s ear. Ace looked at the worn leather. The left side crease. The stitching. The shape around the ears. The front edge where the leather had darkened with age. All of it. The same. Impossible. Ace touched it. Leather. Cool. Dry. Firm where age had stiffened it. Nothing else. No flash of light. No pulse. No sound. No invisible hand closing around her wrist. Just contact. And memory hit anyway. Hard. Wind. Not metaphor. Wind so cold it hurt her teeth. The vibration of an engine through a wooden frame. Oil. Canvas. A sky too wide to survive in. A red aircraft crossing sunlight. Mai’s burning Camel disappearing into cloud. Shammy’s burning Camel dropping beneath smoke. Then Ace alone. Climbing. Turning. Red ahead of her. No beginning. No new detail. No revelation. Only what had already happened returning all at once because her fingers were resting on something that had been there. Or something identical to what had been there. Reality remained politely undecided. Ace’s hand tightened. Shammy touched the side of the case. Not the helmet. Her own breath caught once. Her eyes unfocused. Ace saw it. Mai’s voice came through almost immediately. “Shammy?” Shammy answered softly: “I remember falling.” Ace swallowed. “Yeah.” Mai said nothing. That silence carried more than words would have. Ace lifted the helmet. Carefully. The weight was almost insulting. So little. Leather and lining and age. A thing that had sat on a shelf. A thing museums would insure. A thing collectors would argue over. A thing that had somehow become attached to a sky none of them could explain. Reyes glanced back. Saw Ace holding it. Saw Shammy. Her expression sharpened. “You three okay?” Ace looked toward her. “Define.” Reyes’s mouth tightened. “Functional.” “Yes.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Mai said: “Yes.” Kiro stayed silent for once. Ace appreciated it. She lowered the helmet into the transport case they had brought specifically for it. Not containment. Protection. Acid-free support. Humidity buffering. Impact control. Bellamy would have approved of the handling. That made everything worse. Shammy watched the helmet settle into place. “It looks smaller.” Ace closed the support around it. “Everything does when you’re not trying to shoot it.” Reyes almost smiled. Then Kiro said: “Guard moving again.” The room snapped back into operation. Reyes turned fully toward the corridor. “Direction?” “West.” “Toward us?” “Yes.” Mai: “Time.” Reyes checked. “Less than a minute.” Ace closed the case. Latch one. Latch two. No dramatic click. Just done. Mai said: “Exit primary.” Reyes did not answer immediately. That made Ace look up. “Reyes?” “I’m checking.” Kiro fed the latest zone state. “Central corridor active. East residential quiet. Exterior patrol north side.” Reyes looked at the map on her wrist display. The planned exit remained technically open. Technically. That word had killed plenty of people. Shammy moved toward the collection-room door. “Footsteps.” Ace picked up the transport case. The helmet weighed almost nothing compared to what it meant. Reyes raised one hand. “Hold.” Ace stopped. Again. She hated that word more every time. The guard approached. Closer now. No alarm. No hurry. Just routine. The exact kind of routine they had planned around. Reyes watched the intersection. Listened. Counted. The guard reached the corridor outside the collection wing. Stopped. Ace’s body went perfectly still. The Shadow Aura compressed around her. A narrow dark seam along the floor. No outward pressure. No spectacle. Just restraint. The guard remained there. Shammy tilted her head. “He is looking toward the door.” Ace looked at Reyes. Reyes did not move. Kiro whispered: “No access query.” Mai: “So he has not checked the panel.” “Not yet.” The guard took one step. Then another. Away. Reyes exhaled through her nose. Not relief. Update. “Move.” They moved. Shammy first this time. Then Ace with the case. Reyes behind. The collection room closed exactly as they had found it. Case glass down. Lock restored. No visible damage. One missing helmet. Nothing else touched. Ace looked once over her shoulder. The empty support inside the display case looked far louder than an alarm. They had crossed the point where this could still become reconnaissance. Now Bellamy had been robbed. Simple. Ugly. True. Mai’s voice came quietly. “Go.” They went. The first corridor remained clear. Kiro watched door-state traffic. Shammy listened ahead. Reyes read movement. Ace carried history. The first camera intersection arrived. No problem for Ace. She moved through the blind corner. Reyes followed. Shammy waited. Kiro said: “Resync ready.” Reyes listened. “Hold.” Kiro stopped. Ace looked back. “What?” Reyes pointed toward the far junction. Shammy heard it too. A door. Then footsteps. Another guard. Not the same one. Kiro’s voice sharpened. “I have a second interior transition.” Mai: “Location?” “South service corridor.” Reyes frowned. “That wasn’t scheduled.” Ace smiled without humor. “People.” Reyes looked at her. “Exactly.” The second guard moved away from the service corridor and toward the central section. Not directly at them. But close enough to change the route geometry. Reyes waited. Watched. The first guard was still behind them somewhere near the collection wing. The second now moved ahead. The preferred exit narrowed. Ace touched the transport case against her side. “Still primary?” Reyes did not answer yet. Mai asked: “Reyes?” “Primary is degrading.” Kiro said: “How bad?” “Not dead.” Ace looked toward the corridor. “Then we go.” Reyes turned to her. “No.” Ace froze. Reyes’s voice remained low. “No pushing a route because we planned it.” Ace held her gaze. Then nodded. Fine. Reyes looked toward Shammy. “Can you hear the second?” Shammy closed her eyes. “Moving slowly.” “Direction?” “West.” Reyes stared at the plan. West. Toward the same central band as the first guard. Two separate human choices beginning to overlap. Kiro whispered: “This is getting ugly.” Mai: “Not yet.” Reyes’s eyes moved. Routes. Distances. Doors. The preferred exit. The fallback. The ugly option. Everything they had built yesterday for exactly this moment. Ace watched her work. Not the map. Reyes. Her attention changed when pressure rose. Narrower. Quieter. Street survival turned professional. Not panic. Not calculation like Mai. Not signal like Kiro. People. Where they would go. Why. What they would assume. Reyes pointed. “Primary still possible if the second guard keeps west.” Mai asked: “And if he turns north?” “Dead.” Kiro: “I can give you four seconds at the camera.” Reyes shook her head. “Camera isn’t the problem.” Ace almost smiled. Familiar sentence now. They reached the next junction. Shammy stopped. “Second guard stopped.” Reyes: “Why?” “I don’t know.” Kiro searched. “Door transition. Utility room.” Reyes’s expression shifted. “Bathroom?” Kiro paused. Then: “Possible.” Ace stared. “You’re kidding.” Reyes whispered: “Humans.” Ace almost laughed. Almost. Not yet. The first guard moved again behind them. Kiro caught it. “West collection corridor active.” Reyes looked back. Distance closing. “Go.” They crossed. Quick. Controlled. No running. Ace kept the case stable. Shammy moved ahead. Reyes stayed between them and the human pattern. The second guard remained in the utility room. The first guard reached the corridor they had just left. Timing. Nothing more mystical than timing. They made the next turn. Kiro whispered: “Primary exit visible in state.” Mai: “Status?” “Closed. Stable. Exterior zone clear.” Reyes nodded. “Good.” Then Shammy stopped. Again. Ace’s stomach tightened. “What?” Shammy listened. “There is someone outside.” Reyes looked immediately toward the wall. “Exterior patrol?” Kiro checked. “No. Patrol is north.” “Then who?” Pause. Kiro searched. No clean answer. Reyes moved to a narrow window angle. Looked through. A man crossed the side garden. No uniform. Older. Sleep clothes under a robe. Ace’s face went flat. “Bellamy.” Nobody spoke for half a second. Then Kiro: “Oh, fuck.” Mai stayed calm. “Confirmed?” Kiro checked available imagery. “Yes.” Reyes watched Bellamy walk slowly toward the garden path. No urgency. No awareness. Just an old man awake at the wrong hour. Ace closed her eyes briefly. Of course. Of course the man they were trying not to hurt had chosen tonight to take a walk through his own garden. Shammy whispered: “Arthur.” Ace’s eyes opened. The Labrador appeared behind Bellamy. Slow. Tail moving. Perfectly content. Ace stared. “No.” Reyes glanced at her. Ace pointed toward the window. “We are not crossing near them.” “Agreed.” Mai: “Primary exit compromised.” Kiro: “Not electronically.” Mai: “Operationally.” “Yes.” Ace looked toward Reyes. There it was. The real problem. Not security discovering them. Not an alarm. Not combat. Bellamy and his old dog had simply walked into the wrong part of their plan. Reyes watched them. Bellamy stopped beneath a garden light. Arthur sniffed something near the path. Reyes looked at the route map. Then the guards. Then the garden. Then the fallback. Ace knew what came next. “New route.” Reyes nodded. “Yeah.” Mai asked: “Which?” Reyes did not answer immediately. The first guard was moving south behind them now. The second emerged from the utility room and resumed west. Bellamy remained outside. Arthur remained extremely committed to one patch of landscaping. The preferred route was gone. But something else had changed. Reyes saw it. Ace saw Reyes see it. The second guard’s movement west had pulled him away from the northern internal corridor. The first guard’s southward check had opened space behind him. Two unpredictable movements. One dead route. One new hole. Reyes pointed at the map. “North interior.” Kiro said: “That wasn’t an exit route.” “It is now.” Mai immediately looked at geometry. “Longer.” “By ninety seconds.” “More doors.” “One.” Kiro said: “Camera overlap.” “Can you give Shammy four seconds?” “Yes.” Reyes looked at Ace. “Can you open the north service door?” Ace checked the hardware profile. “Probably.” “No probably.” Ace smiled faintly. “Yes.” Reyes nodded. “There.” Mai assessed. Two seconds. Three. Then: “Approved.” No debate. No ownership struggle. The route had moved. So did they. Reyes looked toward Shammy. “Lead to north junction.” Shammy nodded. Ace adjusted the case. Reyes looked at her. “You behind Shammy.” Ace raised an eyebrow. “You’re ordering me now?” “Yes.” Ace smiled. “Hot.” Reyes stared at her. Kiro made a strangled noise over comms. Mai said: “Later.” Shammy’s shoulders moved once with a silent laugh. Ace grinned. Pressure broken. One second. Enough. Then they moved. North. Away from Bellamy. Away from Arthur. Away from the route they had spent hours planning. Toward the gap nobody had expected until two guards accidentally created it. Reyes stayed last. Watching the shape change behind them. And this time, when the plan stopped existing, nobody tried to force reality back into it. --- ## Chapter 8 — Out The north interior route existed for exactly one reason. Someone had walked somewhere they were not supposed to. That was enough. Reyes moved last. Ace hated it. Which was how she knew it was probably correct. Shammy led through the north junction, silent and long-limbed, listening ahead. Ace followed with the transport case held tight against her side. Reyes stayed several meters behind, watching the corridor they had abandoned. Kiro fed state. Mai fed structure. Nobody tried to turn the new route into the old plan. That mattered. “North camera active,” Kiro said. Reyes did not look away from the corridor behind them. “Field?” “Full overlap except inside corner.” Mai answered: “Not enough for Shammy.” “No.” Ace looked ahead. The corridor narrowed. One camera. One door. One ugly little stretch of exposure. Kiro said: “I can give four seconds.” Reyes watched the guard states. First guard south. Second west. Bellamy and Arthur still outside. The north side remained physically empty. For now. “Not yet.” Ace stopped. Shammy stopped. Kiro waited. Mai did too. No one asked why. Reyes counted. The second guard crossed another internal threshold. Door state changed. West. Farther away. The first stopped south of the collection corridor. Good. Bad. Neutral. Humans did not organize themselves according to mission usefulness. Reyes looked toward Ace. “Ready?” Ace nodded. Shammy did too. “Kiro.” “Ready.” “Now.” The camera resync hit. Shammy moved first. Three long steps. Turn. Through. Ace followed immediately, faster and lower. Reyes crossed last. “Clear.” Kiro exhaled. “Four point two seconds.” Mai said: “Acceptable.” Kiro sounded offended. “Acceptable?” Ace whispered: “She loves you.” “I’m choosing to believe that.” Mai ignored all of them. “North service door ahead. Forty meters.” They moved. The corridor looked less residential than the rest of Bellamy’s house. Utility access. Storage. Mechanical panels behind clean woodwork. A place meant to disappear into function. Ace liked it better. Less evidence of Bellamy being a decent person. Reyes caught up enough to keep visual contact with both women. Not too close. Still reading. The new route did what improvised routes always did. It solved one problem and created three smaller ones. The first was the door. Ace reached it. Looked. Then: “Annoying.” Kiro asked: “How annoying?” “Better lock.” Mai answered: “Expected. Service perimeter.” Ace crouched. The transport case went beside her. Carefully. Always carefully. Reyes watched the rear. Shammy watched the forward branch. Ace opened the access housing. Physical latch. Electronic state. Nothing Kiro could simply override. Good security. Again. Ace began. Kiro whispered: “I can see the door, but I cannot open it.” “Understood.” “Could maybe lie about its state afterward.” “Useful.” Mai said: “If required.” Kiro sighed. “Yes.” Reyes checked behind them. No movement. Shammy tilted her head. “Something changed.” Ace kept working. Reyes immediately asked: “What?” “Air.” Everyone paused mentally, even if nobody stopped physically. Shammy listened. “Door opened somewhere.” Kiro checked. “South exterior.” Reyes looked at the map. Bellamy? Kiro found the state. “Garden door.” Ace’s hand paused for half a beat. “Bellamy coming inside?” “Likely.” Reyes adjusted. That changed the house again. Bellamy reentering would shift one guard. Maybe two. Not because anyone saw the missing helmet. Because an elderly homeowner and his dog moving through the residence created normal protective attention. Exactly the kind of ordinary change that killed rigid plans. Reyes asked: “Where does Bellamy usually go after the garden?” Kiro searched. “No clean data.” Mai said: “Bedroom most likely.” Reyes shook her head. “Don’t assume.” Ace looked over her shoulder. “Then?” “Watch.” Kiro tracked doors. Shammy listened. Bellamy entered. Arthur too. The garden door closed. Interior movement east. Good. Then south. Unexpected. Reyes frowned. “Why south?” Kiro had no answer. Mai said: “Kitchen?” Possible. Ace smiled faintly. “Midnight snacks. Respect.” Reyes ignored her. Bellamy moved farther south. Arthur with him. That pulled the south guard slightly east. Small. Almost meaningless. But the first guard near the collection corridor responded. He moved south too. Reyes’s eyes sharpened. There. Ace saw the change in her face. “What?” “Nothing yet.” Ace returned to the lock. Click. First mechanism. Reyes watched the guard-state transitions. The first guard was no longer behind them. The second remained west. The south guard had shifted toward Bellamy. The north side was opening. Not because anyone had defeated security. Because Bellamy wanted something in his own kitchen. Reyes smiled. Tiny. “Interesting.” Mai heard it. “What?” “House is rotating south.” Kiro checked. “Oh.” Mai: “How much?” “Enough.” Ace looked up. “Define.” Reyes pointed toward the north service geometry. “Our exit is getting cleaner.” Ace returned to the lock. “Beautiful old man.” Shammy said: “Do not call him that where he can hear you.” Ace smiled. “Noted.” The second mechanism gave. Ace opened the door a fraction. Stopped. Reyes looked forward. Exterior. Dark. Service yard. Partial cover. Wall. Then beyond it, the route toward the secondary street. Almost there. Kiro whispered: “Exterior camera.” Ace sighed. “Of course.” “Not on the stupid box.” “Rude.” Mai said: “Field?” Kiro brought it up. Wide. Too wide. No useful blind corner. Reyes looked. “Can you touch it?” “No.” “Health state?” “Yes.” “Can you spoof a fault?” “Maybe.” Mai said: “No maybe.” Kiro was silent for a second. “Not safely.” Reyes nodded. “Then we don’t.” Ace looked at the yard. “So what?” Reyes studied the geometry. Camera high corner. Service entrance. Waste enclosure. Landscaping wall. Vehicle bay. Then she looked at Shammy. “Can you reach that shadow line without crossing center?” Shammy measured. “Yes.” “Do it.” Shammy moved. Slow. Natural. Using the wall. The camera angle stayed wide. Shammy reached the enclosure. Reyes looked at Ace. “You next.” Ace picked up the case. “Easy.” She crossed low. The camera would see movement if it looked closely enough. But not a clean face. Not enough shape to classify quickly. No alarm. No automated response. Bellamy’s security was good. Not omniscient. Ace reached Shammy. Reyes remained inside. Ace looked back. Reyes waited. That was the part Ace hated most. She could see the door. Could see Reyes. Could also see why Reyes was waiting. The north route was open. But the interior pattern was still moving. Reyes was not leaving until she understood which way it would close. Kiro whispered: “First guard stopped.” Reyes: “Where?” “South central.” “Second?” “Still west.” “Bellamy?” “Kitchen.” Ace smiled. “Definitely snacks.” Mai said: “Ace.” “Sorry.” Not sorry. Reyes looked toward the yard. Then back. The first guard turned north. There. The route was about to start closing. Reyes stepped through the door. Closed it behind herself. Kiro said: “State mismatch.” Mai: “Can you clean it?” “Yes.” One second. Two. “Done.” No alert. Reyes crossed toward them. Fast. Not running. Not visibly desperate. Ace watched. Shammy watched the wall beyond. Reyes reached cover. “Move.” They moved. The yard connected to a narrow landscaped passage along the north side. No exterior patrol. Yet. Reyes checked. Kiro checked. Shammy listened. Ace carried the case. Halfway through, Kiro said: “Exterior patrol changed.” Reyes stopped immediately. Ace stopped too. Shammy turned. “Where?” “North.” Ace looked at Reyes. Of course. Of course now. Reyes checked the distance. The guard had left the outer path and cut inward. Not alarmed. Not responding. Another unscheduled check. Another ordinary human decision. The exact failure they had planned for. The guard’s path intersected their exit in less than a minute. Ace looked at the wall. Then at Reyes. “Can’t go back.” “No.” “Can’t go forward.” “Not that way.” Ace waited. Reyes watched the live pattern. The guard moved north. Closer. Then Kiro updated another state. “West patrol moved.” Reyes frowned. “Why?” “No idea.” Shammy listened. “Vehicle.” Everyone heard it now. A distant engine beyond the property. A security vehicle arriving at the western access point. Shift-related. Routine. Maybe nothing. But the north guard reacted. Turned slightly west. Reyes watched. The planned north exterior route died. At the same moment, the west side thinned. Exactly what they had discussed in Houston. One guard’s improvisation closed one hole. Another movement opened another. Reyes saw it first. “West.” Ace looked at her. “That’s back toward the house.” “Not all the way.” Reyes pointed through the property map on Ace’s wrist. “Maintenance path. Between utility wall and garage.” Kiro looked. “That is inside camera coverage.” “Partial.” Mai checked. “Two zones.” “Both currently empty.” Kiro said: “For now.” Reyes nodded. “That’s all we get.” Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy nodded. No fear. No hesitation. Just ready. Reyes said: “Shammy first. Ace second. I close.” Ace smiled. “Again?” “Yes.” “Terrible habit.” “Move.” They moved. The west maintenance path was narrow. Concrete. Utility housings. No beauty. No collection. No Bellamy photographs. Ace appreciated it. Shammy reached the first corner. Stopped. “Camera.” Kiro: “Active.” Reyes looked at the field. “Blind under the eave.” Kiro checked. “Small.” “Enough.” Shammy moved under the wall line. Ace followed. Reyes stayed one beat behind. Then the camera angle shifted. Not physically. Detection zone update. Kiro hissed. “Hold.” Everyone froze. Ace’s Shadow Aura pressed flat against the wall with her. Reyes looked toward the camera. No alarm. Kiro whispered: “System refreshed its mask.” Mai: “Why?” “Probably vehicle arrival.” Reyes stared at the coverage. The new mask widened slightly. Their blind strip was gone. Ace looked toward Reyes. “What now?” Reyes did not answer immediately. She looked at the system. Then the people. Then the physical space. Garage door. Utility recess. Drainage channel. Vehicle noise approaching west. The arriving security SUV would pass near the outer gate. Attention would move toward it. Not electronically. Humanly. Reyes looked at Ace. “When the vehicle reaches the gate, everyone will look west.” Ace smiled. “We are west.” “Exactly.” Ace stared. Then understood. Too obvious could become invisible if everyone assumed they already knew what they were seeing. Reyes continued: “We cross with the vehicle noise.” Kiro said: “That does nothing to the camera.” “No.” Reyes looked toward Ace. “But it changes the humans who review it.” Mai said: “Risky.” “Yes.” “How risky?” “Less than staying.” Three seconds. Mai decided. “Proceed.” Ace grinned. “Command.” “Move.” The SUV reached the gate. Engine. Light. Guard movement. A brief wash of attention toward the entrance. Reyes said: “Now.” Shammy crossed. Ace crossed with the case. Reyes followed. The camera saw three moving shapes. Probably. Maybe. But no automated alarm fired. No guard shouted. No weapon came up. Kiro monitored. Nothing. “Still clean.” Reyes kept them moving. The maintenance path opened toward the western utility yard. And there— A gate. Not the one they had planned to use. Not even one they had considered as primary. A simple maintenance gate. Protected. Alarmed. But currently unattended because the security vehicle had pulled west-side attention toward the main access. Reyes smiled. “There.” Ace looked at the hardware. “You’re joking.” “No.” Kiro checked. “Alarm loop.” “Can you suppress?” “Four seconds.” Reyes looked at Ace. “Can you open in four?” Ace looked offended. “Yes.” Mai: “Sequence.” Kiro prepared. Ace crouched. Shammy watched rear. Reyes watched people. Mai watched all of them. The guard on the north path continued away. The first interior guard remained south. Bellamy remained in the kitchen. Arthur’s position was unknown. Ace decided not to think about that. Kiro said: “Ready.” Reyes waited. One second. Two. The security SUV stopped fully at the west gate. The gatehouse guard stepped toward it. Reyes: “Now.” Kiro suppressed the alarm state. Ace moved. Three seconds. Latch. Two. Pressure. One. Open. Shammy through. Ace through. Reyes through. Gate shut. Kiro restored state. “No alert.” They were outside the secured property. Nobody celebrated. Not yet. They still had distance to cover. Reyes guided them along the secondary service lane. Not running. No need. Running created witnesses. They walked like people who belonged somewhere else. Shammy carried nothing suspicious. Reyes carried nothing visible. Ace carried a case that looked expensive enough to be somebody’s professional equipment. Which it was. Technically. They crossed one street. Then another. No pursuit. Kiro checked property state. “Still quiet.” Mai: “Any discovery?” “None.” Reyes kept moving. Another block. The extraction vehicle appeared ahead. Ace saw it. Only then did some part of her body release. Tiny. Enough. Shammy felt it. Reyes saw it. Nobody commented. They reached the vehicle. Reyes opened the rear. Ace placed the case inside. Carefully. Always carefully. Shammy climbed in. Ace followed. Reyes closed the rear and went around to the driver’s side. The vehicle started. No squeal. No dramatic acceleration. Just movement. Normal. Houston slid past around them. Ace looked through the rear window. No security vehicles. No flashing lights. No pursuit. Nothing. They had stolen the Red Baron’s helmet from a heavily secured private collection and left behind almost nothing except an empty display. Ace leaned her head back. “Okay.” Shammy looked at her. “Okay?” “Now okay.” Reyes glanced at her through the mirror. “Not yet.” Ace stared. “We are in the car.” “We are still in Houston.” “You are impossible.” “Alive.” “Annoyingly.” Mai’s voice came through. “All routes remain clean.” Kiro added: “No security escalation at residence.” Ace looked at the transport case. “Meaning he hasn’t noticed.” “Not yet.” Shammy looked toward the case too. The helmet remained perfectly inert. No sound. No glow. No consequence beyond theft. Just history in a box. Ace exhaled. Reyes drove. Five minutes. Ten. Traffic. Ordinary city. The adrenaline changed shape. Shammy leaned back. Ace looked at her. “You okay?” “Yes.” “Memory?” Shammy considered. “Quiet now.” Ace nodded. “Same.” Mai said through comms: “We will discuss it later.” Ace smiled faintly. “Threat?” “Promise.” “Worse.” Kiro laughed. Then the first real notification arrived. Not to them. Kiro saw it through passive monitoring. “Oh.” Reyes looked forward. “What?” “Residence security state changed.” Ace sat up. “Alarm?” “No.” Pause. “Collection room access.” Bellamy. Or a guard. Someone had finally noticed. Kiro continued. “Internal escalation.” Mai: “Local only?” “Yes.” “Police?” “Not yet.” Reyes nodded. “Good.” Ace looked at the dark Houston roads ahead. Bellamy knew. Somewhere behind them, an old man was standing in front of an empty display case. That landed differently than the successful exit. No victory glow. No exhilaration. No enemy defeated. They had won. Bellamy had lost. Both were true. Ace stared at the case. “Shitty job.” Reyes looked at her in the mirror. “Yeah.” Shammy said: “We did it as gently as we could.” Ace nodded. “Still stole it.” “Yes.” No argument. No attempt to clean it up. Good. Mai’s voice came quietly. “Everyone is safe.” Bellamy. Guards. Arthur. Them. Ace let that sit. Then: “Good.” That was enough. Kiro broke the silence several seconds later. “For the record, the stupid box performed beautifully.” Mai sighed. Reyes smiled. Ace closed her eyes. Shammy said: “It did.” Kiro sounded delighted. “Thank you.” Mai: “We are not naming it.” Ace opened one eye. “Too late.” Reyes looked at the road. “Definitely too late.” Kiro asked: “What are we naming it?” Ace thought. Then: “Bellamy Bridge.” Mai objected instantly. “No.” Shammy considered. “Stupid Bridge.” Kiro gasped. “Elegant.” Mai sounded wounded. “This operation has become culturally unsalvageable.” Reyes laughed. Ace smiled. There. Safety. Humor. The proof arrived exactly when it always did. Not because what they had done was good. Because everyone was still here to argue about naming bad infrastructure. The city lights stretched ahead. Houston behind. Night City far away. And in the cargo compartment, inside a protective case built with more care than the theft deserved, rested one ordinary leather helmet that three people remembered from an impossible war. They had the artifact. Nobody had died. Nobody had been hurt. Arthur remained, as far as anyone knew, completely unaware that history had just been stolen from his house. Ace looked at Reyes through the mirror. “Good call.” Reyes glanced back. “Which one?” “The route.” Reyes shrugged. “It moved.” “So did you.” “Job.” Ace nodded. “Yeah.” No ceremony. No speech. No promotion. Just acknowledgment. Exactly right. Mai came through comms: “Extraction remains clean. Next stop is temporary holding, then home.” Ace looked toward the case. Home. Safehouse. Then nearly a month of living beside the Red Baron’s helmet because Collector apparently believed calendar symbolism was a valid logistics policy. Ace sighed. Kiro asked: “What?” Ace answered: “We have to keep this thing for weeks.” Silence. Then Kiro laughed. Reyes groaned. Shammy smiled. Mai said: “Yes.” Ace stared at the ceiling. “Of course we do.” Outside, Houston disappeared behind them. The operation was over. The waiting had just begun. --- ## Chapter 9 — Home With History The helmet made it back to Night City before Ace fully accepted that it was going to live with them. That realization arrived somewhere between unloading the transport case and watching Mai clear an entire section of secure storage at the Safehouse. Ace stood in the doorway. “No.” Mai did not look up. “Yes.” “No.” Kiro leaned against the wall beside the storage room, still wearing travel clothes and the expression of someone who had slept just enough to become dangerous again. Reyes stood nearby with coffee. Shammy sat on the edge of a workbench, watching the exchange with quiet interest. Ace pointed at the storage compartment. “We are not giving it a bedroom.” Mai continued adjusting the protective shelf. “It is not a bedroom.” “It has climate control.” “It is a historical leather artifact.” “It has better climate control than me.” Kiro raised one hand. “That is objectively true.” Ace looked at her. Kiro lowered the hand. “Supportively.” Reyes drank coffee. “You also sleep under blankets.” Ace stared. “Excellent. Everyone has chosen violence.” Shammy looked toward the protective transport case. “The helmet has no blanket.” Ace pointed at her. “Do not make me feel sorry for it.” Shammy smiled. Mai finished the storage preparation. No containment field. No anomaly cage. No special wards. No Foundation hardware. Nothing dramatic. A secure compartment. Stable temperature. Controlled humidity. Enough physical protection that a century-old piece of leather would not spend the next several weeks becoming a century-old piece of ruined leather. That was it. The ordinariness remained unsettling. Kiro watched Mai inspect the seals. “So this is really happening.” Mai looked at her. “Yes.” “We stole the Red Baron’s helmet.” “Yes.” “From a nice old aviation collector.” “Yes.” “Who had an old dog.” Ace sighed. “Arthur.” Reyes nodded solemnly. “Arthur.” Kiro stared at both of them. “You’re still on that?” Ace looked offended. “He was a noncombatant.” “He was asleep.” “Successful mission planning.” Mai closed the compartment door before Ace could expand the doctrine. The protective case remained outside for now. They still had to do final condition documentation. Bellamy had taken care of the artifact. They intended to continue doing so. Again, inconveniently respectable theft. Shammy slid down from the workbench. “Can I see it once more?” Mai looked at her. Not worried. Checking. Shammy understood. “I’m fine.” Mai nodded. Ace moved closer too. Reyes remained behind them. Kiro did not crowd. Mai opened the case. The helmet sat exactly where Ace had placed it in Houston. Nothing had shifted. Brown leather. Creases. Old stitching. Darkened wear. The left-side mark. Ordinary. Ace waited. Nothing. Shammy waited too. Nothing. Mai reached in with gloved hands and checked support points. Nothing. Kiro leaned slightly closer. “So this is the thing.” Ace looked at her. “Yep.” Kiro stared. A long time. Then: “It looks like a hat.” Ace exhaled. “Thank you.” Reyes smiled. Mai continued checking condition. Kiro looked at her. “What?” “That is the most comforting thing anyone has said about it.” “It literally is a hat.” “Helmet,” Mai corrected automatically. Kiro looked toward her. Mai paused. “…technically.” Ace smiled. “Historical victory.” Shammy looked at the helmet. “It still does not feel like anything.” Kiro glanced at her. “Good?” “Yes.” Ace nodded. Very good. No atmosphere. No wrongness. No pull. No sense that the object had arrived somewhere it wanted to be. Just a thing. Whatever had happened in 1918 had happened to them. The helmet offered no opinion. Mai finished the documentation. “Condition unchanged.” Kiro said: “From before theft?” Mai looked at her. Kiro smiled slightly. “Sorry. Acquisition.” Ace shook her head. “No. Theft.” Reyes nodded. “Definitely theft.” Shammy said: “Yes.” Kiro looked around the room. “I appreciate the moral consistency.” Mai closed the case. “We should retain it.” “Also evidence.” Ace said: “Of crime.” Mai stared. Ace smiled. Nobody tried to make it heroic. That was strangely easier. They had accepted a Collector contract. They had located the object. They had offered money. Bellamy refused. They had stolen it. They had taken great care not to harm anyone. Both facts could live in the same room. Night City had taught them worse contradictions. Reyes set her coffee down. “Debrief?” Mai nodded. “Food first.” Everyone stopped. Ace looked at Mai. Kiro looked at Mai. Reyes looked at Mai. Shammy smiled. Mai’s expression tightened. “What?” Ace pointed. “You said food first.” “Yes.” “Voluntarily.” “We have been traveling.” Kiro leaned toward Reyes. “This is huge.” Mai looked at her. Kiro straightened. “Professionally huge.” Shammy said: “Warm organization.” Ace covered her face. Reyes laughed. Mai closed her eyes. The helmet remained silent. Possibly judgmental. They ate in the main room. Not a formal debrief table. Food spread across the kitchen counter. Coffee. Tea. Something Kiro had ordered because nobody trusted Ace to choose food after sleep deprivation. Ace objected. Then ate most of it. Reyes noticed. Did not comment. That was affection. The operational report began twenty minutes later and immediately refused to remain formal. Mai put the timeline up. “Entry at 02:21.” Kiro corrected: “02:21:17.” Ace looked at her. “Necessary?” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” Mai continued before an argument formed. “Collection room reached at 02:29.” Reyes leaned back in her chair. “Primary exit degraded at 02:33.” Shammy said: “Bellamy walked outside.” Ace looked at the ceiling. “With Arthur.” Kiro added: “Critical hostile element.” Ace pointed. “Do not.” “I said element.” “You implied hostile.” “Arthur was hostile to scheduling.” Reyes laughed into her cup. Mai looked at Kiro. Kiro stopped smiling. Mostly. Mai moved forward. “Reyes redirected north.” Ace looked toward Reyes. “Good call.” Reyes shrugged. Again. Still no need for ceremony. Kiro added: “Then north exterior degraded.” “Also humans,” Reyes said. “Also vehicle arrival.” “Which opened west.” Mai nodded. “That sequence matters.” Reyes’s attention sharpened. “Yes.” Not praise. Analysis. The real value. If they ever operated this way again, that was what needed remembering. Not the exact route. Not Bellamy’s house. The principle. Mai enlarged the exfil timeline. “We had planned three exits.” Reyes nodded. “And used none exactly as planned.” Kiro said: “Excellent planning.” “No,” Reyes answered. “Excellent flexibility.” Kiro thought. Then nodded. “Fair.” Mai looked toward Ace. “You followed route changes immediately.” Ace frowned. “Was I supposed to argue?” Everyone stared at her. Ace looked around. “What?” Kiro started laughing. Shammy covered her mouth. Reyes looked genuinely delighted. Mai simply stared. Ace slowly realized. “Oh, fuck all of you.” Reyes leaned back. “I’m framing that sentence.” “I will kill the frame.” Kiro pointed. “Cannot erase history.” Ace looked toward the storage room. “Apparently.” That landed. Not painfully. But enough. Everyone’s eyes went briefly toward the closed door. The helmet was there. Really there. Not dream memory. Not archival image. Not Bellamy’s display. Here. Safehouse. Watson. Night City. Absurd. Shammy spoke first. “How long?” Mai checked the calendar. Ace immediately disliked the answer before hearing it. “Twenty-six days.” Silence. Kiro blinked. Reyes stared. Ace looked at Mai. “Twenty-six.” “Yes.” “Days.” “Yes.” “With that.” “Yes.” Reyes looked toward the storage room. “So we stole it early.” Mai’s expression flattened. “We stole it when the operational window was viable.” Kiro grinned. “Twenty-six-day early delivery.” Mai ignored her. Ace leaned back. “We are babysitting the Red Baron’s helmet for almost a month.” Shammy considered. “It does not require babysitting.” “That makes it worse.” Reyes looked thoughtful. “Do we charge Collector storage?” Mai looked at her. Ace sat up. “Excellent question.” Kiro joined immediately. “Historical artifact warehousing fee.” Mai closed her eyes. “No.” “Humidity premium.” “No.” “High-risk aviation adjacency.” “No.” Ace pointed toward the storage room. “It lives here now.” “It is stored here.” “Same thing emotionally.” “It is not.” Shammy smiled. “The helmet has become temporary Safehouse infrastructure.” Mai turned slowly toward her. Shammy’s expression remained perfectly sincere. Kiro lost control first. Reyes followed. Ace laughed hard enough to bend forward. Mai stared at Shammy. “Brenda is influencing you.” Shammy thought about that. “Yes.” The laughter eased. Good. That was how safety returned after jobs now. Not by pretending nothing had happened. By allowing the room to become ridiculous again. Mai eventually got the debrief back. Barely. Kiro’s technical contribution was straightforward once stripped of jokes. The environmental bridge had behaved exactly as hoped. Limited visibility. Very limited manipulation. Enough to matter. Not enough to replace the field team. Kiro seemed almost proud of that. Not of the vulnerability. Of the balance. “If I could’ve owned the entire network from that endpoint,” she said, “the whole job would have been suspicious.” Ace nodded. “And boring.” “Also that.” Mai recorded the point. Reyes added the human layer. The security system itself had not failed. The guards had not failed either. Nobody had been incompetent. That mattered. The shifts that helped the team had come from normal behavior. Unscheduled checks. Movement responding to Bellamy. Attention shifting toward an arriving vehicle. People making reasonable decisions that changed the geometry. “You can’t freeze people into the recon model,” Reyes said. Mai nodded. “You can model tendencies.” “Yes.” “But not commit to them.” “Exactly.” Kiro looked between them. “That sounds annoyingly generalizable.” “It is,” Mai said. Kiro sighed. “Fine. Useful lesson.” Shammy’s contribution came last. Not because it mattered least. Because hers was harder to quantify. Sound. Spatial pressure. The difference between a quiet corridor and a corridor where someone had opened a door farther away. Movement she heard before the systems gave enough context. Not supernatural. Just awareness. Reyes looked toward her. “You saved time twice.” Shammy nodded slightly. “Yes.” No false modesty. Ace liked that too. Mai closed the operational record. “Successful retrieval.” Ace raised one finger. “Successful theft.” Mai looked at her. “Both.” Ace smiled. “Better.” Kiro leaned back. “So. Payment.” Mai’s expression changed. Reyes noticed. Ace noticed. Shammy noticed. Kiro definitely noticed. “What?” Mai looked toward her. “We do not know.” Kiro stared. Reyes frowned. “You still don’t know?” “No.” Kiro looked at Ace. Ace nodded. “Collector.” “That keeps not explaining anything.” “Yes.” Reyes asked: “Rogue didn’t give a number?” “No.” “A range?” “No.” “A percentage?” “No.” “No budget?” “No.” Kiro sat up. “What the hell kind of contract is this?” Ace smiled. “Now you understand.” Mai said: “We know his prior payments are generous.” Kiro stared. “That is not a financial model.” Mai’s expression became subtly pained. “Yes.” Ace smiled wider. There were very few things capable of making Mai uncomfortable through inadequate financial definition. Collector had found one. Reyes leaned back. “You accepted a contract without knowing the fee.” Ace said: “We have history.” Kiro looked toward the storage room. “With him or the hat?” “Yes.” Reyes laughed. Mai refused to participate. Shammy took another drink. Kiro looked thoughtful. “So we risked an international theft charge for mystery money.” Mai replied: “The object’s historical and collector value independently justified assuming significant compensation.” Kiro pointed at her. “You just made uncertainty sound responsible.” Ace nodded. “She does that.” Mai looked at both of them. “Would you prefer I say we have absolutely no idea what he will pay?” Reyes smiled. “Yes.” Mai waited. Then: “We have absolutely no idea what he will pay.” Kiro stared. “Fantastic.” Ace leaned back. “Fun, right?” “No.” “Give it time.” The discussion shifted to compensation. Not final amounts. Those did not exist yet. But principle. Kiro had found the owner and helped map the security. Reyes had joined planning, recon and physical retrieval. Both were material contributors. Nobody treated that as optional. Mai said: “Once payment is known, we divide operational compensation accordingly.” Kiro looked at her. “You don’t need to—” Ace interrupted: “Yes, we do.” Kiro stopped. Reyes glanced toward Ace. Ace shrugged. “You worked.” Kiro looked at Mai. Mai nodded. “This is not a favor.” Reyes said: “Same.” “No argument,” Mai replied. Reyes accepted that. Kiro took longer. Then: “Okay.” No dramatic gratitude. Good. That would have been wrong. They worked together. They got paid together. Simple. Shammy looked toward the storage room again. “Does Rogue know we have it?” Mai nodded. “I sent confirmation.” Ace turned. “What did she say?” Mai opened the message. Rogue’s response: **Keep it secure. Delivery rules unchanged.** Ace stared. “That woman has no curiosity.” Reyes laughed. Kiro said: “She works with you.” “Rude.” “Statistical.” Mai closed the message. Shammy asked: “Friday the thirteenth.” “Yes.” “And not before.” “Yes.” Ace looked toward the storage room. “Twenty-six days.” Mai sighed. “Yes, Ace.” Ace folded her arms. “I’m going to complain every day.” “I know.” “Possibly twice.” “I know.” Kiro looked delighted. “I’m coming over for at least one helmet day.” Mai stared. “What is helmet day?” Kiro thought. “Any day the helmet is here.” “No.” Reyes nodded. “I support helmet day.” Ace pointed. “Democracy.” Mai looked toward Shammy. Shammy considered. Then: “I also support helmet day.” Mai stared at the ceiling. Ace smiled with vicious satisfaction. “Four to one.” “This is not a democracy.” “Sounds like losing talk.” Kiro laughed. Reyes raised her cup. Shammy smiled. Mai eventually surrendered by refusing to continue the argument. That counted. The room drifted away from debrief. Kiro stretched out across one end of the couch. Reyes stole the better chair. Ace attempted to steal part of the chair from Reyes despite there being no physical justification for doing so. Reyes allowed it for thirty seconds. Then put one arm around Ace and trapped her there. Ace objected verbally. Not physically. Shammy watched from nearby. Mai returned with fresh tea and coffee. Nobody discussed the significance. That was how long relationships worked. Not every small gesture needed translation. The helmet remained locked away. No reaction. No pressure. No dream. No echo. Nothing. Eventually Kiro looked toward the storage room one final time. “Still weird.” Ace rested her head against Reyes’s shoulder. “Yep.” “You three saw that thing in 1918.” “Apparently.” “And now it’s in Watson.” “Yep.” “And nobody knows what happened.” “Correct.” Kiro frowned. “I hate unresolved systems.” Mai sat down beside her. “No, you don’t.” Kiro looked at her. Mai continued: “You hate systems that pretend they are resolved.” Kiro stared. Then smiled slowly. “That was disgustingly attractive.” Ace immediately raised her head. Mai closed her eyes. Reyes started laughing. Shammy said: “It was.” Mai looked toward her. “Please.” Kiro leaned closer to Mai. “No, she’s right.” Ace pointed. “Helmet day just improved.” Mai gave Ace a look that promised eventual retaliation. Ace settled back against Reyes, completely unrepentant. The Safehouse returned to normal around them. Coffee. Teasing. Bodies occupying familiar places. Someone complaining about food. Someone stealing someone else’s chair. Kiro leaning into Mai without either making it significant. Shammy quietly changing the room simply by being relaxed inside it. Reyes’s hand resting against Ace’s side. Ordinary life. Twenty meters away, behind a locked compartment door, sat the Red Baron’s helmet. Not cursed. Not alive. Not waiting. Just stored. For twenty-six days. Ace looked toward the ceiling. “This is stupid.” Reyes tightened her arm slightly. “Very.” Ace smiled. “Good.” Outside, Night City carried on without caring that one of the most famous aviation artifacts in history had quietly changed continents and was now sitting in a Watson Safehouse beside emergency gear, spare weapons, household supplies and whatever Brenda had labeled _pending infrastructure_ this week. Nobody had died. Nobody had been hurt. The job was done. Mostly. Now they had to live with history until the calendar caught up. --- ## Chapter 10 — Twenty-Six Days Nothing happened. That became the problem. On the first morning after Houston, Ace checked the storage compartment before coffee. Not because she expected anything. Because she did not. Those were different. She opened the secure panel. Looked at the protective case. Waited. Nothing. Closed it. Mai watched from the kitchen. “You checked.” Ace turned. “No.” Mai looked at the compartment. Then at Ace. Ace walked toward the coffee machine. “Coincidence.” Shammy was already sitting at the table with tea. “You opened it.” Ace pointed at her. “Hostile witness.” Shammy smiled. Mai poured coffee. Ace accepted it. Nobody mentioned the helmet again for almost forty minutes. Progress. Then Brenda came into the kitchen wearing an oversized shirt, one sock, and the expression of someone whose consciousness had arrived several minutes before the rest of her. She opened the refrigerator. Stared inside. Closed it. Opened it again. Ace watched. Brenda finally said: “Why is there nothing edible?” Mai looked over. “There is food.” “There are ingredients.” “Yes.” “That is different.” Ace nodded solemnly. “Correct.” Mai looked at both of them. “No.” Brenda turned toward Ace. “You understand me.” “Unfortunately.” Shammy sipped tea. Brenda found leftover noodles. Success. She put them on the counter. Then noticed the additional secured-storage indicator on the wall. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that?” Ace froze. Mai did not. “Temporary storage.” Brenda stared. Then looked at Ace. Ace looked away. Brenda’s suspicion became immediate and total. “Temporary storage of what?” Mai answered: “A historical artifact.” Brenda blinked. “How historical?” Ace drank coffee. Mai looked toward her. Ace refused participation. Brenda saw this. Which was enough. “How bad?” “It is not dangerous.” “Then why is Ace pretending the ceiling is interesting?” Ace looked down. “I like ceilings.” “No, you don’t.” “New hobby.” Brenda looked at Shammy. Shammy considered the social options. Then: “The Red Baron’s helmet.” Silence. Brenda stopped moving. Completely. Ace closed her eyes. Mai sighed. Brenda looked toward the storage compartment. Then toward Shammy. Then Ace. Then Mai. “The Red Baron.” “Yes,” Mai said. “Like _the_ Red Baron.” “Yes.” “The airplane guy.” Ace opened one eye. “Historically rigorous.” Brenda ignored her. “Manfred von Richthofen.” “Yes.” “And his helmet is in our storage room.” “Yes.” Brenda slowly placed both hands on the counter. “How?” Ace answered: “Crime.” Mai looked at her. Ace shrugged. “Efficient summary.” Brenda stared. Then: “I leave you people alone for one job.” Ace looked offended. “You live here.” “I was asleep emotionally.” Shammy smiled. Brenda pointed toward the compartment. “Can I see it?” Mai answered immediately. “Yes. Later. After food.” Brenda blinked. Then looked at Ace. Ace nodded. “She’s doing food-first now.” Brenda stared at Mai. “Who are you?” Mai looked deeply tired. The helmet remained silent. Day one proceeded normally after that. Which was deeply suspicious. Brenda eventually saw the helmet. She studied it through the open protective case. Did not touch. Did not make a joke for almost thirty seconds. That alone impressed Ace. Then Brenda said: “Wow.” Ace waited. Brenda looked at her. “It really does look like a hat.” Ace pointed. “Kiro said the same thing.” “Because we’re correct.” “Mai insists helmet.” Brenda looked toward Mai. Mai stood at the workbench entering updated storage condition readings. Brenda considered. “Protective head garment.” Mai looked at her. Brenda smiled. “Compromise.” “No.” Ace liked her better every day. The helmet remained in storage. Day two. Nothing happened. Ace checked twice. Mai caught her once. Shammy caught her both times. Nobody else commented. Day three. Reyes came by in the evening. She brought food. Ace opened the door and looked at the bag. “You’re learning.” Reyes stepped inside. “I know you.” “Different problem.” Reyes kissed her briefly. Not theatrical. Not hidden either. Then she looked toward the storage room. “Helmet still behaving?” Ace stared. “It has not developed behavior.” “Good.” “That sentence made it worse.” Reyes smiled. Shammy appeared from the kitchen. “It has done nothing.” Reyes nodded. “Excellent.” Ace looked between them. “You’re both saying this like nothing is an achievement.” Mai called from the other room: “For an artifact associated with a Collector job, nothing is excellent.” Ace stopped. Considered. “Fine.” Reyes handed her the food. “Growth.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been talking to Kiro.” “Unfortunately.” Reyes stayed the night. Nothing happened to the helmet. Something happened to Ace’s ability to wake before noon. That produced commentary. No one had mercy. Day four. Kiro arrived. Not for the helmet. Officially. She brought a replacement interface module Mai had asked for. Then stood in the storage doorway for forty-seven seconds looking at the compartment. Mai noticed. “What?” Kiro looked over. “Nothing.” Mai stared. Kiro pointed toward the storage compartment. “I’m just appreciating helmet day.” Ace, from the couch: “YES.” Mai closed her eyes. Brenda appeared from nowhere. “Helmet day?” Kiro looked delighted. Ace looked delighted. Mai looked doomed. Shammy walked in carrying tea. “Happens every day while the helmet is here.” Brenda nodded slowly. “That is logically correct.” Mai said: “No.” Nobody listened. Helmet Day became a thing. Not an event. That would have been too much. More like a phrase. Someone would enter the kitchen. “Morning.” “Helmet day.” “Fuck off.” Normal. Kiro sent a message: **HAPPY HELMET DAY** Mai replied: **No.** Kiro reacted with a heart. Ace saved the exchange. Day five. Nothing happened. Day six. Nothing happened. Day seven. Ace stopped checking every morning. Mostly. She checked every other morning. That counted. Day eight. Shammy sat in the storage room for ten minutes. Ace found her there. Not doing anything. Just sitting. The helmet remained inside the protective case. Ace leaned against the doorway. “You okay?” “Yes.” “Memory?” Shammy thought. “A little.” Ace waited. Shammy looked toward the case. “The sound of the engine.” Ace nodded. “Yeah.” “Not from the helmet.” “I know.” Shammy looked at her. “I know you know.” Ace smiled faintly. She sat down beside her. For several minutes, neither spoke. No flash. No strange weather. No impossible smell of oil and canvas. Just Safehouse ventilation. Distant traffic. Somebody—probably Brenda—dropping something in the kitchen and immediately saying, “Structurally fine.” Ace smiled. Shammy did too. There. Home. They left the storage room together. Day nine. Mai checked the condition log. Humidity stable. Temperature stable. Physical position unchanged. The object remained ordinary. She stared at the data slightly longer than necessary. Kiro, sitting beside her, noticed. “It bothers you.” Mai looked at her. “What?” “That the answer is nothing.” Mai thought. “Yes.” Kiro nodded. “Same.” Ace watched from across the room. Shammy sat beside her. Neither needed to say anything. They already knew this dance too. Mai did not want magic. She wanted structure. The absence of anomaly did not give her one. It removed one. That was worse. Kiro leaned against her shoulder. Mai allowed it. Then Kiro said: “Maybe the explanation is that you three had a shared stress dream caused by—” Mai looked at her. Kiro stopped. “No.” “No.” “Yeah.” Ace called: “Good attempt.” Kiro pointed without looking. “Thank you.” Shammy said: “It was not a dream.” Silence. Not heavy. Certain. Mai looked toward her. Ace did too. Shammy shrugged slightly. “I do not know what it was.” Important difference. Ace nodded. “Same.” Mai looked back at the screen. Nothing resolved. Good. Annoying. Correct. Day ten. Rogue sent no message. Day eleven. Rogue sent no message. Day twelve. Ace asked: “Do you think Rogue forgets these jobs exist between retrieval and delivery?” Mai answered: “No.” “Evidence?” “She is Rogue.” Ace considered. “Strong.” Day thirteen. Kiro and Reyes were both at Safehouse. Not for the helmet. That was becoming another pattern. Once people knew the absurd historical object existed, they found excuses to ask whether it still existed. Reyes looked toward storage while drinking coffee. “Still there?” Ace answered: “No. It enlisted.” Kiro added: “Luftwaffe?” Mai looked up sharply. “Wrong war.” Kiro smiled. “Testing.” Mai returned to her tablet. Reyes looked at Ace. Ace whispered: “She hates historical inaccuracies more than she hates helmet day.” Mai said: “I heard that.” Ace smiled. “Good.” Day fourteen. Brenda put a tiny paper sign on the outside of the storage compartment. **NO FLYING** Mai removed it. Ace restored it. Mai removed it again. Shammy restored it. Mai stopped fighting. Victory. Day fifteen. Nothing happened. Day sixteen. Nothing happened. Day seventeen. Ace forgot about the helmet for six consecutive hours. Then remembered that she had forgotten. This annoyed her. She walked into the storage room. Opened the compartment. Looked. The helmet remained. She closed the compartment. Reyes was standing behind her. Ace nearly stabbed the air on reflex. Reyes raised both hands. “Easy.” Ace stared. “How long?” “Long enough.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.” “A little.” Ace leaned back against the wall. “I forgot it was here.” Reyes nodded. “That’s probably good.” Ace looked toward the compartment. “Feels rude.” “To the helmet?” “To 1918.” Reyes’s humor disappeared. Not entirely. Enough. She leaned beside Ace. “You remember it.” “Yeah.” “Then forgetting the object for six hours isn’t forgetting what happened.” Ace stared at her. “You rehearsed that?” “No.” “Annoyingly competent.” “Yes.” Ace let their shoulders touch. That was enough. Day eighteen. Mai found Ace asleep on the couch with one hand hanging toward the floor. Shammy asleep nearby. Brenda had fallen asleep in a chair while supposedly reading. The Safehouse was quiet. Normal. Mai stood in the kitchen for a moment. Looked toward the storage room. Then at the people. History there. Life here. She turned off one light. Went to bed. Nothing happened. Day nineteen. A normal job came through Rogue. Not Collector. Ordinary merc work. Ace seemed delighted. “Finally.” Mai looked at her. “You are happy about a job.” “I am happy about a job where nobody owns Kaiser memorabilia.” Kiro, over comms: “Technically Richthofen served the German Empire, not—” Ace disconnected. Mai stared. Shammy smiled. Day twenty. The normal job ended without catastrophe. A rare and beautiful thing. They came home tired. Ace walked past the storage room. Did not check. Shammy noticed. Said nothing. Day twenty-one. Panam stopped by. She had heard. Of course she had. Nobody knew exactly from whom. Ace suspected Kiro. Kiro denied everything with the confidence of someone almost certainly guilty. Panam stood in the storage doorway. Looked at the closed compartment. Then at Ace. “You stole the Red Baron’s helmet.” “Yes.” “From Houston.” “Yes.” “Why?” “Collector.” Panam stared. Ace waited. Panam finally said: “I hate that I understand that answer now.” Shammy smiled. Panam looked at her. Then back at Ace. “Can I see it?” Mai, from the kitchen: “After coffee.” Panam looked toward her. Ace whispered: “Food-first doctrine expanded.” Panam nodded slowly. “Terrifying.” They showed her later. Panam stared at the helmet. Then: “Huh.” Ace waited. Panam looked at Shammy. “Does it do anything?” “No.” “Nothing?” “Nothing.” Panam nodded. “Best kind.” Ace pointed. “THANK YOU.” Mai sighed somewhere behind them. Day twenty-two. Nothing happened. Day twenty-three. Mai checked the calendar three times. Ace noticed on the third. “You’re counting.” Mai looked at her. “Yes.” “Excited?” “No.” “Liar.” “I am interested in completing an outstanding operational obligation.” Ace smiled. “Excited.” Mai ignored her. Shammy said: “She is a little.” Mai looked betrayed. Ace laughed. Day twenty-four. Kiro sent: **TWO HELMET DAYS REMAIN** Mai did not reply. Ace did. **TRAGIC** Reyes reacted with a skull. Shammy sent a small airplane. Mai muted the group for eleven minutes. Day twenty-five. The Safehouse became strangely conscious of the storage room again. Not because anything changed. Because tomorrow mattered. Ace checked the transport case seals. Mai checked preservation readings. Shammy stood nearby. Brenda watched from the doorway. “So tomorrow you just take it to Collector?” Ace nodded. “Yep.” “And he pays you.” “Presumably.” “How much?” “No idea.” Brenda stared. They had explained this before. It had not improved with repetition. “That remains insane.” Mai answered: “Yes.” Brenda looked at her. “You admitted it.” “I am tired.” Ace smiled. “Growth.” Mai ignored her. Brenda looked around. “Can I come?” Three answers arrived instantly. “No.” Brenda blinked. Ace softened the edge. “Collector delivery is Triad only.” “Oh.” No argument. She understood structural boundaries better now. “Okay.” Then: “Can I wave at the helmet before you leave?” Ace stared. Shammy smiled. Mai closed her eyes. “Why?” Brenda shrugged. “It’s been living here almost a month.” “It has been stored here.” “Same emotional ecosystem.” Ace pointed. “Mine.” Mai looked toward the ceiling. The sign still remained on the compartment. **NO FLYING** She had given up. Day twenty-six. Friday the thirteenth. Ace woke before the alarm. For once. She lay still. Mai beside her. Shammy breathing quietly on the other side. No engines. No French airfield. No impossible sky. Just Safehouse. Ace looked at the ceiling. Then: “Helmet day.” Mai made a sound into the pillow. Shammy smiled without opening her eyes. “The final helmet day.” Ace turned. “That sounded sad.” “No.” “Little bit.” Shammy opened her eyes. “Maybe.” Mai pushed herself upright. “No one is mourning the storage object.” Ace sat up. “You’re very cold.” “We are delivering it.” “Abandonment.” “Ace.” “Fine.” Breakfast happened first. Because apparently Mai had changed forever. Brenda joined them. She looked toward the storage room repeatedly. Ace noticed. “You actually got attached.” “To the situation.” “Same.” “No.” Shammy drank tea. Mai ate. Everyone pretended this was a normal Friday. It was not. Collector Friday never was. After breakfast, the rhythm changed. Not dramatically. Ace dressed for Bywater House. Dark. Clean. Practical. No cover identity. No Amber. No performance. Just Ace. Mai dressed with her usual precise restraint. Shammy chose something simple enough that nobody could mistake the visit for a formal social event and careful enough to respect the ritual anyway. Then the storage room. Mai opened the compartment. Ace removed the protective case. Shammy watched. The helmet came out for the last time. Brown leather. Still ordinary. Still silent. Still unresolved. Mai completed the final condition check. “Unchanged.” Ace looked at it. “Good.” Shammy touched the edge of the protective support. Not the helmet. “Goodbye.” Ace stared at her. Shammy looked back. Ace sighed. Then toward the helmet: “You were an extremely boring roommate.” Mai closed the case. “Thank you.” Brenda appeared in the doorway. Waited. Ace looked at her. Brenda raised one hand. Small wave. “Bye, historical head garment.” Mai stared. Brenda smiled. “Compromise.” Ace nearly laughed. The case locked. Done. Ace picked it up. Not heavy. Never heavy enough. Mai checked the time. “We leave in eight minutes.” Ace looked around the Safehouse. Kiro was not there. Reyes was not there. Correct. This part belonged to the three of them. Always had. Always would. Whatever the wider team had become operationally, Bywater House was still Triad ground. No need to explain it. Everyone knew. Brenda stepped aside. Ace carried the case toward the door. Shammy followed. Mai last. Before leaving, Ace looked back toward the storage room. Empty compartment. The stupid sign. Normal shelves. Nothing missing that belonged to them. Strange feeling. Then her comm buzzed. Kiro. One message: **HAPPY FINAL HELMET DAY** Ace smiled. Mai saw. “What?” Ace showed her. Mai looked at the message. Then, despite twenty-six days of resistance, smiled too. Tiny. Ace saw it. Of course. “Got you.” Mai’s expression flattened immediately. “You saw nothing.” “Historical record.” Shammy smiled. “Too late.” Ace opened the Safehouse door. Outside, Night City was Night City. No omen. No strange weather. No impossible aircraft overhead. Just Friday the thirteenth. Exactly the date Collector wanted. Ace adjusted her grip on the case. “Bywater?” Mai nodded. “Bywater.” Shammy stepped beside them. The door closed behind the Triad. For twenty-six days, the Red Baron’s helmet had been part of their home. It had done nothing. Explained nothing. Proved nothing. Now they were taking it to a house that had a long history of doing exactly the opposite. Ace looked at the case. “Still think this is stupid.” Mai started walking. “Yes.” Shammy joined her. “Yes.” Ace smiled. “Good.” And together, the three of them went to deliver history. --- ## Chapter 11 — Bywater House Bywater House had moved the front door again. Ace stopped at the bottom of the steps. Mai stopped beside her. Shammy looked up at the house. Ace looked left. Then right. Then back at the door. “No.” Mai adjusted one glove. “It is still the same house.” “The door was there.” She pointed. Mai followed the gesture. A section of stone wall. No door. Shammy tilted her head. “I remember it farther right.” Ace looked at her. “Thank you.” Mai sighed. “You are both encouraging the architecture.” Ace started up the steps. “The architecture started it.” The protective case hung from her hand. Not large. Not particularly heavy. No special containment markings. No warning symbols. Just a well-made transport case holding a piece of old leather that had somehow cost them several days of research, an international theft, a Houston security operation, twenty-six days of storage and most of Mai’s remaining tolerance for the phrase _helmet day_. The door opened before Ace reached it. Collector stood inside. Immaculate. As always. Older without seeming older than last time. Well dressed without looking dressed for anything in particular. His expression warmed. “Good afternoon.” Ace looked at the open doorway. Then at him. “You moved it.” Collector glanced toward the door. “Did I?” Mai stepped past Ace. “No.” Collector smiled faintly. “Then we are fortunate.” Ace stared. Shammy’s mouth curved slightly. Collector’s attention moved to the case. Only briefly. No hunger. No visible excitement. No _finally_. He looked back at them. “Please, come in.” Ace stepped over the threshold. The house smelled like coffee, old paper and something faintly woody she could never identify twice. The hallway looked familiar. Mostly. One painting had changed. Or she remembered it changing last time. Or it had always been a landscape instead of a portrait. Ace refused to investigate. Collector closed the door behind Shammy. “Coats, if you like.” Mai removed hers first. Shammy followed. Ace kept one hand on the case while shrugging out of hers. Collector accepted the coats without comment. No servant appeared. None ever did when Ace expected one. That was worse than if they had. He hung the coats on a stand near the hall. Ace looked at it. The stand had not been there last time. She was almost sure. “Coffee?” Collector asked. Ace looked at him immediately. “Yes.” Collector nodded. “I remember.” Of course he did. He looked toward Mai. “Tea?” “Yes, thank you.” Then Shammy. Shammy considered. “Tea.” “Very good.” He gestured toward the sitting room. “Please.” Ace carried the case with her. Collector made no attempt to take it. Also correct. The sitting room was warm. Not overheated. Actual warmth. Fire in the hearth. Bookshelves. Low lamps. Deep chairs. A clock on the mantel said 4:43. Another clock on the opposite wall said 4:43. Ace narrowed her eyes. Collector noticed. “Something wrong?” “They agree.” He looked at the clocks. “How reassuring.” Ace sat down. Shammy chose the long sofa. Mai sat beside her. Ace took the chair closest to the low table and placed the transport case beside her leg. Not on the table. Not yet. Collector disappeared for coffee and tea. Ace waited until he was out of the room. Then whispered: “Both clocks agree.” Mai looked at her. “Yes.” “That’s bad.” “Why?” “They never agree.” Shammy looked toward the mantel. “They might be frightened.” Ace stared at her. Then slowly smiled. Mai closed her eyes. “Please do not repeat that when he returns.” Shammy looked innocent. Ace looked delighted. Collector returned carrying a tray. No visible effort. Three cups. Small pot. Coffee. Tea. Cream. Sugar. Nothing impossible. Probably. He placed the tray down and poured for them himself. Ace accepted the coffee. Took one sip. Paused. Good. Annoyingly good. Collector sat in the remaining chair with his own tea. No one touched the case. For several seconds, nobody discussed it. Ace knew the ritual. Still strange every time. Collector looked toward Shammy. “How has the weather been treating you?” Shammy thought. “Mostly well.” “Mostly?” “There was too much wind yesterday.” Collector nodded seriously. “That is inconsiderate.” Ace looked at him. Shammy answered with equal seriousness. “Yes.” Mai drank tea. Ace decided not to ask whether either of them was joking. Collector turned toward Mai. “And your recent work?” Mai took a moment. “Complicated.” “Productively?” “Eventually.” Collector smiled slightly. “Those are often the useful complications.” Ace drank coffee. This was absurd. Not the conversation itself. The fact that none of them were pretending. Collector genuinely wanted to know. Mai genuinely answered. Shammy was comfortable. Ace had good coffee. The Red Baron’s helmet sat in a protective case beside her chair. Night City had ruined her calibration permanently. Collector looked toward Ace last. “And you?” Ace raised the cup. “Coffee is good.” “I am pleased.” “I assume that means I am fine.” Collector considered. “It has been a reliable indicator.” Ace stared. Then smiled despite herself. “Fair.” They talked. Not long. Not performatively. A few minutes about Night City rain. A few about an exhibition Collector had visited somewhere Ace had never heard of. Mai asked a question about a restoration technique mentioned in passing. Collector answered. Shammy commented on the way old buildings held temperature. Collector listened as though the observation mattered. No one rushed. That was the part Ace always found hardest. The job had ended days ago. The delivery had begun when they crossed the front door. And still nobody had moved the object onto the table. Eventually Collector set his cup down. Not ceremonially. Just finished. His eyes went to Ace. Then the case. “Shall we?” Ace nodded. “Yeah.” The room shifted. Not supernaturally. Socially. Business now. Ace put her cup down. Lifted the case. Placed it on the low table. Collector leaned forward slightly. Mai stood. Shammy did too. Not because they feared the artifact. Because this part belonged to all three of them. Ace opened the first latch. Then the second. Lifted the lid. The helmet rested inside its protective support. Brown leather. Old. Worn. Quiet. Collector did not speak immediately. His face changed. Barely. The warmth remained. But something behind it settled into focus. Attention. Respect. He reached toward the case. Stopped before touching. Looked at Mai. “May I?” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Collector put on a pair of thin preservation gloves from the side table. Ace had not seen them there before. She decided not to look too hard at that. He lifted the helmet carefully. No flash. No sound. No reaction from the house. Nothing. Collector turned it once in his hands. Examined stitching. Wear. Construction. The left-side mark. Inner lining. No theatrical revelation. No whispered recognition. No mention of 1918. No strange smile toward Ace. Good. Very good. He looked at the small provenance plaque Mai had included in the transport documentation. Not the Bellamy plaque. Their own condition record. He read it. Then looked at the helmet again. Mai watched him. Not impatient. But closely. Collector finally said: “Excellent.” Ace blinked. “That’s it?” Collector looked at her. “Would you prefer a speech?” “No.” “Then excellent seems adequate.” Ace smiled. “Fair.” Collector lowered the helmet back into the support. Carefully. Very carefully. His hands lingered nowhere. He removed the gloves. Folded them. Set them aside. Mai asked: “Accepted?” Collector looked at her. “Yes.” Simple. Done. Something inside Ace relaxed. Not much. Enough. Collector sat back. “You have handled it well.” Mai nodded. “We intended to return it in the condition we found it.” Collector’s gaze remained calm. “A good habit.” Ace looked at him. “You know we stole it.” Mai closed her eyes. Shammy looked toward Ace. Collector did not react much. “I had assumed the previous owner had not misplaced it voluntarily.” Ace stared. Then laughed once. Short. “Right.” Collector’s expression softened. “You were careful?” “Yes.” “No one harmed?” “No.” “The collection?” “Untouched except for the helmet.” Collector nodded. “And the owner?” Ace thought of Bellamy standing in his kitchen. Arthur. The empty display. “Alive. Unhurt. Probably furious.” Collector accepted that. No moral absolution. No condemnation. Only fact. Mai asked quietly: “Was there another way?” Collector looked at her. That question sat in the room differently. He did not answer quickly. “I requested the object.” Mai held his gaze. “Yes.” “I did not request the method.” Ace leaned back slightly. Of course. Collector continued: “You determined the method available to you.” Mai’s expression remained unreadable. “That is not an answer.” “No.” Collector smiled faintly. “Mysteries deserve dignity.” Ace immediately pointed at him. “No.” Collector looked almost amused. “That was not intended as evasion.” “It absolutely was.” “Perhaps a little.” Shammy smiled. Mai let the subject go. Not resolved. Correct. Collector looked once more at the helmet. Then closed the transport case. Not locked. Just covered. Business accepted. Ace waited. This was usually the point where the room became financially dangerous. Collector reached toward a small tablet on the side table. Tapped it once. Mai’s eyes narrowed. Ace noticed. Shammy noticed Ace noticing. Collector placed the tablet on the table and turned it toward Mai. “Your fee.” Mai looked down. Stopped. Completely. Ace knew that posture. She had seen Mai face impossible geometry with more visible movement. Ace leaned sideways. “Mai?” No answer. Knew it. Ace stood enough to see the number. Then stopped too. Shammy leaned closer. Silence. Collector picked up his tea. Took a sip. Ace looked at the figure again. Then at Collector. Then back. “Is that correct?” “Yes.” Mai finally spoke. Very softly. “Collector.” “Yes?” “That number is absurd.” Collector considered. “I have been told this before.” Ace stared. “That’s not a defense.” “No.” Shammy looked at the number. Then at Collector. “You expected to pay this.” “Yes.” No emotional weight. No drama. As if he had ordered a particularly expensive clock. Mai sat down again. Slowly. The figure remained on the tablet. Ace did not repeat it aloud. Something about that felt dangerous. Not because Collector had forbidden it. Because saying it might make it more real. Mai finally asked: “Why?” Collector’s expression changed only slightly. “Because you acquired what I requested.” “That does not explain the scale.” “No.” “Historical value?” “Partly.” “Rarity?” “Partly.” “Discretion?” “Partly.” “Risk?” “Certainly.” Mai waited. Collector smiled. “And because I agreed to pay it.” Mai stared. Ace started laughing. Could not help it. Collector looked toward her. Ace covered her mouth. “No. Sorry. That was just extremely you.” “I shall take that as a compliment.” “You probably should.” Shammy looked at Mai. Mai was still staring at the number. Ace enjoyed this more than she should. Mai was rarely financially stunned. O’Sullivan work had changed everyone’s scale. Corporate retainers. Premium security contracts. Orbital work. Numbers that would once have looked absurd now passed through their lives with professional logic attached. This was different. Collector money did not look like compensation. It looked like someone had made a clerical error in the direction of wealth. Mai finally asked: “Transfer?” Collector nodded. “Completed.” Kiro was going to lose her mind. Reyes too. Ace smiled. Then remembered. Rogue. Oh. That was going to be even funnier. Mai looked at Ace. Ace looked back. Both had the same thought. Shammy saw. “What?” Ace leaned closer to Mai. “Twenty percent.” Mai’s eyes changed. For the first time since seeing the number, something close to amusement surfaced. “Yes.” Shammy understood. Then smiled too. Collector watched them. Did not ask. Probably knew. Probably did not care. Ace looked at the tablet again. “Rogue is about to have a very good day.” Collector lifted his cup. “I hope so.” Of course. No clue whether joke. Ace sat back. The room became ordinary again with terrifying ease. The helmet belonged to Collector now. The fee belonged to them. Business closed. No explanation of 1918. No revelation. No answer. Exactly right. Collector poured Mai more tea. “Another cup before you go?” Mai looked at him. Then at the number. Then at the helmet. “Yes.” Ace immediately raised her coffee cup. “Also yes.” Shammy nodded. Collector smiled. “Excellent.” And so they sat again. The Red Baron’s helmet rested between them. Not anomalous. Not talking. Not explaining why three women remembered seeing it in a sky more than a century earlier. Collector did not ask. The Triad did not tell him. Coffee remained excellent. The tea remained warm. The clocks still agreed. Ace found that increasingly suspicious. But for the moment, no one needed answers. The object had been delivered. The ritual had been satisfied. And somewhere in Night City, Rogue was about to receive twenty percent of a number so obscene that Ace was already looking forward to the message. --- ## Chapter 12 — Contract Closed Kiro knew something was wrong before Ace said anything. Not dangerous wrong. Financial wrong. Which, according to Kiro, was usually worse. The Triad had been back at the Safehouse for less than six minutes when Kiro looked up from the couch and narrowed her eyes. Ace had not even taken off her jacket. Mai had. Shammy had. Ace still held her coffee from Bywater House in a sealed travel cup Collector had somehow produced without anyone seeing where it came from. That alone should have been suspicious. But Kiro was looking at Mai. Mai was standing too still. Reyes noticed next. She sat near the kitchen counter with one boot hooked against the lower rail, watching the room with the easy posture of someone who had come over expecting debrief, food and possibly insults. Her eyes moved from Mai to Ace. Then Shammy. Then back to Mai. “What?” Mai looked at her. “Nothing.” Ace smiled. Kiro immediately pointed. “No.” Mai frowned. “What?” “That was the wrong nothing.” Ace took a sip of coffee. Reyes looked toward her. “You’re enjoying this.” “Yes.” Mai closed her eyes briefly. Shammy sat down. Calm. Too calm. Kiro looked at her. “Shammy.” Shammy looked back. “Yes?” “What happened?” “The artifact was accepted.” Kiro stared. “That is not the interesting part.” “No.” Reyes leaned forward slightly. “There it is.” Mai looked toward both of them. “We should sit down.” Kiro froze. Ace almost laughed. Reyes’s eyebrows went up. “That sentence is never good.” “It is not bad.” “That made it worse.” Ace put the coffee down before she spilled it. Mai walked toward the table. Kiro followed immediately. Reyes followed more slowly. Shammy was already there. Ace took the last chair. Five around the table again. Same people. Different problem. Mai placed her tablet in the center. Screen dark. Kiro stared at it. Then at Mai. “Is the helmet cursed after all?” “No.” “Did Collector reject it?” “No.” “Did he ask for another one?” “No.” Reyes looked at Ace. Ace smiled. “Keep going.” Mai gave her a look. Ace ignored it. Kiro leaned toward the tablet. “Did something happen at Bywater House?” Ace thought about the front door. The clocks. The impossible coat stand. “Yes.” Mai said immediately: “No.” Kiro stared between them. Ace pointed at Mai. “She means nothing job-relevant.” Reyes smiled. “House weird again?” Ace nodded. “Door moved.” Shammy added: “The clocks agreed.” Reyes paused. Then looked at Mai. Mai sighed. “That is not the issue.” Kiro leaned back. “Okay. Then what?” Mai activated the tablet. One figure appeared. No explanation. No breakdown. No invoice. Just the transfer. Kiro looked at it. Silence. Reyes looked at it. Silence. Ace watched them both. This was worth the entire job. Kiro blinked. Then leaned closer. Reyes did the same. Kiro looked at Mai. “Decimal.” Mai shook her head. “No.” Kiro looked back. “Currency conversion.” “No.” “Display error.” “No.” Reyes reached over and enlarged the number. It became larger. This did not help. She stared. Then: “What the fuck.” Ace lost it. Not a polite laugh. Full. Immediate. She folded forward with both hands over her face. Mai looked toward the ceiling. Shammy smiled. Kiro stared at the screen. “This is wrong.” Mai answered: “It is not.” “This is _structurally_ wrong.” Ace looked up through tears. “You sound like Mai.” Kiro ignored her. “Collector paid this?” “Yes.” “For the helmet?” “Yes.” “The old leather hat.” “Helmet,” Mai said automatically. Kiro turned. “NOT NOW.” Reyes burst out laughing. Mai stared. Ace pointed at Kiro. “Correct response.” Kiro looked at Shammy. “You saw this already?” “Yes.” “And you’re calm?” Shammy thought. “No.” Kiro stared. Shammy smiled faintly. “I am sitting.” Ace laughed again. Reyes looked at the number once more. Then at Mai. “Is this more than the O’Sullivan jobs?” Mai nodded. Reyes stared. “By how much?” Mai answered with a comparison. Not exact. Enough. Reyes leaned back. Slowly. “Okay.” Ace wiped one eye. “That was our reaction too.” Kiro was still staring at the tablet. “No. I reject this.” Mai looked at her. “You cannot reject an incoming transfer retroactively.” “Watch me.” Ace pointed. “Technically her field.” Kiro looked at Mai. “Where did the money come from?” Mai’s expression went flat. “Collector.” “That is not what I asked.” “It is the answer available.” Kiro looked offended by reality. Reyes looked delighted by Kiro being offended by reality. Shammy watched both of them. Ace watched everyone. Perfect. Kiro started counting silently. Ace could see it happening. Not numbers. Scale. Cars. Homes. Years. Jobs. Risk. Time. Her brain was trying to force the payment into a sane economic category. It failed visibly. “This is insane.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Kiro looked up sharply. “You admitted it again.” Ace smiled. “Collector does that to her.” Reyes leaned toward the tablet. “So how does this split?” There. Back to practical. Mai nodded. “We agreed everyone who materially worked receives a share.” Kiro’s expression changed immediately. “No.” Mai looked at her. “Yes.” “No, absolutely not at—” Ace interrupted. “You worked.” Kiro looked at her. Ace’s voice lost the comedy for one second. “You found Bellamy.” Mai added: “You identified the ownership chain.” Shammy: “You found the security weakness.” Reyes: “And gave us the state we needed inside.” Kiro looked around. Four faces. No charity. No indulgence. No _we’re giving you something because we like you_. Compensation. Work. Real. Kiro exhaled. “Okay.” Mai nodded once. Done. Reyes tapped the table. “Same rule for me?” Ace looked at her. “No.” Reyes raised an eyebrow. Ace smiled. “You get paid in exposure.” Reyes stared. Kiro covered her mouth. Shammy looked down. Mai closed her eyes. Reyes slowly stood. Ace immediately pushed her chair backward. “Wait.” “You little shit.” Ace was already laughing. Reyes came around the table. Ace escaped the chair. Barely. Being 145 centimeters tall had advantages. One was fitting through gaps between furniture that Reyes absolutely could not use at full speed. Ace darted around Shammy. Reyes followed. Shammy moved one knee approximately five centimeters. Reyes stopped. Looked at her. “Did you just block me?” Shammy considered. “Yes.” Ace hid behind her. “Triad solidarity.” Mai said: “No.” Kiro was laughing too hard to breathe properly. Reyes pointed around Shammy. “I will remember this.” Ace smiled. “Long memory.” Reyes looked at her. “Very short target.” Ace froze. The room exploded. Kiro hit the table. Shammy bent forward laughing. Mai actually made a sound. Ace stared at Reyes. Reyes smiled. “That one was free.” Ace’s Shadow Aura gathered under the table. Reyes looked down. “Cheap tricks.” Ace pointed. “You started it.” Mai finally recovered enough to speak. “Can we distribute the payment before this becomes an attempted homicide?” Ace looked at her. “Attempted?” Reyes smiled. “Optimistic.” They sat again. Eventually. Mai brought up the provisional post-Rogue share structure. Not mechanically equal. Fair according to work. Research. Planning. Field risk. Technical support. Operational ownership. Kiro looked at her number. Then at the original transfer. Then at her number again. “This is still stupid.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Reyes stared at hers. Silent. Ace noticed first. There. The moment the comedy stopped being abstract. Reyes had money. She was comfortable. Competent merc work paid well. Her life was not precarious. But this was different. This was the kind of money that changed how long you could say no to bad jobs. How long you could disappear. How much room existed between necessity and choice. Ace knew exactly when Reyes understood that. Her expression did not soften. It became still. Ace reached over and tapped two fingers against Reyes’s wrist. Small. Reyes looked at her. Ace said: “Yours.” Reyes held the look. Then nodded once. “Yeah.” That was enough. Kiro had reached the same realization differently. She looked toward Mai. “No strings.” Mai understood immediately. “None.” “Collector doesn’t expect anything else?” “No.” “Rogue?” Mai looked toward Ace. Ace smiled. “About that.” Kiro stared. Reyes stared too. Mai brought up the transfer interface. “Rogue receives twenty percent.” Kiro’s mouth opened. Reyes actually coughed. Kiro pointed toward the full payment. “Twenty percent of _that_?” “Yes.” “Why?” Mai looked confused by the question. “Standard share.” Kiro stared. “Standard where?” Ace answered: “Us.” Reyes looked at her. “You’re serious.” “Yes.” “Rogue didn’t negotiate this?” “No.” “Didn’t ask?” “No.” “Does she even know the total?” “No.” Silence. Ace smiled. There. The second comedy payload. Kiro slowly leaned back. “Oh no.” Shammy smiled. Reyes understood. “Oh, this is going to be good.” Mai looked at them. “We are simply sending the agreed share.” Ace nodded far too innocently. “Exactly.” Kiro pointed at her. “You are enjoying this on a spiritual level.” “Yes.” Mai prepared the transfer. Twenty percent. A number large enough that Kiro stared again despite already knowing what twenty percent meant mathematically. Reyes whistled softly. Ace watched the outgoing field. “Send.” Mai looked at her. “I know.” “Just helping.” “You are not.” Mai sent it. Transfer complete. Five people stared at the message interface. Nothing happened. Ace waited. Kiro waited. Reyes waited. Shammy waited. Mai sat back. Ace leaned forward. “How long does Rogue usually—” The reply arrived. One line. **Received. Contract closed.** Silence. Ace stared. Kiro stared. Reyes stared. Shammy’s expression changed first. Then Ace broke. She laughed so hard she slid halfway down in her chair. Kiro shouted: “THAT’S IT?” Reyes covered her face. Mai looked at the message again. Nothing else appeared. Kiro pointed at the screen. “She just got—” Mai raised one finger. Kiro stopped herself before saying the number aloud. “—an absolutely catastrophic amount of money and that is her response?” Ace wheezed: “Rogue.” Reyes looked at the message. Then at Mai. “No emoji?” Mai stared. “No.” “Not even a period of concern?” “There is a period.” Ace lost it again. Shammy’s shoulders shook. Kiro stared at Mai. “You did not just say that.” Mai looked mildly defensive. “It is grammatically present.” Reyes leaned both hands on the table. “Oh, fuck me.” Ace raised one finger. “Scheduling.” Reyes looked at her. Ace immediately shut up. Kiro was still looking at Rogue’s message. “Received. Contract closed.” She read it aloud in the driest voice she could manage. Then: “That woman is terrifying.” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Shammy said: “She is consistent.” Ace finally managed to sit upright. “Imagine her seeing the transfer.” Reyes smiled. “Probably didn’t blink.” Kiro shook her head. “No human being sees that number and doesn’t blink.” Ace looked at her. “Rogue.” Kiro paused. “…fair.” The laughter faded slowly. Not all at once. It stayed around the edges. Exactly where it belonged. Mai closed the Rogue thread. Contract closed. That mattered. Not symbolically. Professionally. Rogue had received her share. Collector had accepted delivery. Mai sent the remaining transfers. Kiro’s confirmation appeared first. Reyes’s followed a heartbeat later. The five-person operation had been paid. Done. Really done. Ace looked around the table. Kiro. Reyes. Mai. Shammy. Same five who had sat around the plan. Same five who had taken different pieces of the job and made them fit. No ceremony. No naming. No attempt to redefine the Triad. Nothing needed changing. The operation had worked. That was enough. Kiro looked at her payment again. Then locked the screen. “I need a drink.” Reyes nodded. “Yes.” Mai said: “We have alcohol.” Ace looked toward the kitchen. “Brenda has alcohol.” Mai’s expression changed. “That is not reassuring.” Shammy stood. “I know where it is.” Ace pointed. “See? Infrastructure.” Mai looked defeated. Kiro stood too. Then stopped. “Wait.” Everyone looked at her. Kiro looked toward the storage room. Empty now. No helmet. No protective case. Nothing. “It’s actually gone.” Ace followed her gaze. “Yep.” Kiro frowned slightly. “No more helmet day.” Shammy looked almost solemn. “No.” Reyes sat back. “End of an era.” Mai stared at all of them. “It was twenty-six days.” Ace nodded. “A formative period.” Kiro put one hand over her heart. “We grew.” Mai looked toward Shammy. Shammy nodded. “We did.” Mai closed her eyes. Ace smiled. Then Brenda’s voice came from the hallway. “Why is everyone talking about helmet day like somebody died?” Everyone turned. Brenda stood there. Hair messy. Tool in one hand. Clearly interrupted from something. Ace pointed toward the table. “Contract closed.” Brenda looked at Mai. “Paid?” Mai nodded. “Yes.” Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “How much?” Five people looked at one another. Ace smiled slowly. “Come sit down.” Mai immediately said: “No.” Too late. Brenda was already moving. Kiro pulled out a chair. Reyes started laughing again. Shammy went toward the kitchen for drinks. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at the ceiling. Outside, Night City continued being itself. Somewhere, Rogue had just received a transfer large enough to make most mercs reconsider their entire career and responded with five words. Somewhere else—if _somewhere_ was even the right word inside Bywater House—the Red Baron’s helmet had presumably disappeared into a collection nobody fully understood. And at the Safehouse, the people who had stolen it were about to spend the evening discovering just how many different ways Brenda could say: “You got paid WHAT?” Ace leaned back. Contract closed. Perfect.