AceAndMai:Ace 108.3 - Until Your Birthday
CHAPTER ONE - HOME AGAIN
The safehouse still smelled faintly of the cabin.
Not the cabin itself—not really. Watson did not permit pine forests, wet earth, woodsmoke, or the particular clean cold that settled over the lake after sunset. Those belonged somewhere beyond the city, outside the reach of traffic noise and corporate light.
But traces had followed them home.
A jacket hanging near the door carried the dry scent of smoke from the final evening. One of the travel bags had released several pine needles onto the floor when Mai opened it. A folded blanket rested over the back of the sofa, still holding a little of the warmth it had collected during the drive back.
The city pressed against the reinforced windows as usual.
Inside, the weekend had not entirely let go.
Ace occupied the center of the sofa with the absolute confidence of someone who required less physical space than anyone else in the safehouse and therefore considered all available space rightfully hers.
One boot rested on the floor.
The other had disappeared beneath the low table.
Her blade-cut black hair was still slightly disordered from the drive, faint violet sheen catching whenever she shifted under the warm lights. She had changed into a loose dark shirt and soft trousers, but had made no further effort toward civilized presentation.
A half-unpacked bag sat near the end of the sofa.
Ace had declared it functionally empty because everything she immediately needed had already been removed from it.
Mai had looked inside.
Mai had disagreed.
The disagreement had not yet become operational.
From the kitchen came the quiet domestic sequence of Shammy preparing tea.
A cupboard opened.
Ceramic touched stone.
Water moved into the kettle.
Shammy hummed once, softly and without melody, then stopped as if she had only been checking whether the room wanted sound.
Ace tipped her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.
The safehouse felt different after several days away.
Not unfamiliar. Never that.
More like a machine heard again after the engine had been shut down: ventilation whispering through familiar channels, security systems moving through their quiet checks, distant plumbing answering someone several floors below. The old building settling around them with all its known noises.
Mai crossed the living room carrying a stack of folded clothes.
Ace opened one eye.
“You know those can stay in the bag.”
“They could,” Mai agreed.
She continued toward the hallway.
Ace watched her go.
“They were perfectly safe there.”
Mai disappeared into the bedroom.
“That is not the same as being put away.”
Ace closed her eye again.
“I disagree philosophically.”
From the kitchen, Shammy said, “You disagree because you do not want to stand up.”
“That is also a philosophy.”
The kettle began its low rising murmur.
Mai returned without the clothes.
Ace did not move, but her attention shifted immediately.
Mai was carrying something else.
The object was rectangular, carefully wrapped in dark paper, and tied with a narrow ribbon that had been placed with far too much precision to be innocent.
Ace’s eyes opened fully.
Mai stopped beside the sofa.
Ace looked at the package.
Then at Mai.
Then back at the package.
“What is that?”
“A gift.”
Ace stared at her.
Mai waited.
“That answer contains almost no useful information.”
“It contains the most important information.”
“It contains a category.”
“Yes.”
“An extremely suspicious category.”
Mai’s expression remained composed, but there was softness at the edges of it. Not amusement exactly.
Something worse.
Patience.
Ace shifted upright.
The movement brought her feet beneath her, though she did not yet stand. The sofa released the space she had claimed only reluctantly.
She studied the package again.
It was not large. Perhaps the length of her forearm, slightly wider than her hand. Too shallow to contain anything obviously mechanical. Too carefully wrapped to be groceries, ammunition, or some object Mai expected to be thrown at a wall.
Ace narrowed her eyes.
“How long has that been in the safehouse?”
Mai considered the question.
“That depends on what you mean by that.”
Ace pointed at the package.
“That.”
“The wrapped object?”
“Yes.”
“Not long.”
“That was evasive.”
“It was accurate.”
The kettle clicked off in the kitchen.
Shammy opened another cupboard.
Ace glanced toward the sound, then back to Mai.
“Does Shammy know what it is?”
Mai’s eyes did not move.
“You could open it.”
“That was not my question.”
“No.”
Ace waited.
Mai waited longer.
Ace folded her arms.
“No, she does not know, or no, you will not answer?”
“Yes.”
Ace stared at her in silence.
From the kitchen came the faint sound of Shammy measuring tea leaves.
Mai extended the package slightly.
Ace did not take it.
Instead, she leaned forward and inspected it from a distance of perhaps twenty centimeters, as if proximity alone might activate something.
The wrapping paper was high quality. Matte, nearly black, smooth enough to catch a muted line of light along the upper edge. The ribbon was a deep green, not quite the emerald frequency of her blades, but close enough to be deliberate.
There were no visible seams beyond the folds.
No tag.
No writing.
No external lock.
Ace tilted her head.
“Did you wrap it?”
“Yes.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves I wrapped it.”
“It proves you had unsupervised access to it.”
Mai’s mouth curved by less than a smile.
“You have trusted me with unsupervised access to considerably more dangerous things.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
Ace looked at the package again.
“I knew what those were.”
Mai remained standing beside the sofa, holding the gift without urgency. She did not press it into Ace’s hands. She did not instruct her to take it. She simply waited, the way she did when she knew Ace would eventually reach the end of her own resistance.
That patience was deeply unfair.
Ace looked up.
“Is it dangerous?”
“No.”
“Potentially dangerous?”
“No.”
“Emotionally dangerous?”
Mai paused.
Ace pointed at her immediately.
“There.”
“There what?”
“You paused.”
“I was deciding whether the question had a useful definition.”
“It does now.”
Mai lowered the package slightly.
“No.”
Ace studied her face.
Mai allowed it.
No tension in her jaw. No protective distance. No indication that the object contained anything fragile enough to be threatened by Ace’s suspicion.
Only that quiet, impossible calm.
Ace’s gaze dropped to the ribbon again.
“Does it explode?”
“No.”
“Release gas?”
“No.”
“Transmit anything?”
“No.”
“Inject anything?”
“No.”
“Record anything?”
“No.”
“Summon anything?”
Mai’s brow lifted.
“We have been spending too much time with Collector-related work.”
“That was not a no.”
“It does not summon anything.”
“Open a portal?”
“No.”
“Alter probability?”
“No.”
“Change size?”
Mai looked at her.
Ace looked back, entirely serious.
“No,” Mai said.
“Good.”
Ace still did not take it.
Shammy poured hot water in the kitchen. Steam rose briefly beyond the edge of the counter, catching the light before disappearing.
The scent of tea began to spread through the room.
Mai glanced once toward the kitchen, then returned her attention to Ace.
“You are allowed to simply receive a gift.”
“I have received gifts.”
“You once dismantled one before opening it.”
“It contained a tracking system.”
“It was a music player.”
“It contained a badly configured tracking system.”
“It contained a location-sharing feature.”
“Exactly.”
Mai held the package a little closer.
“This contains no tracking system.”
“You say that very confidently.”
“I selected it.”
Ace went still.
The words changed something.
Not much. A fraction.
But enough.
She looked at Mai instead of the package.
Mai did not elaborate.
The safehouse settled around them. Traffic rolled somewhere below. A siren passed several blocks away, distant enough to belong to someone else’s night.
Ace’s suspicion did not disappear.
It sharpened into curiosity.
“You selected it.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“Specifically.”
“Yes.”
Ace’s eyes narrowed further.
“That sounds worse.”
Mai’s smile finally appeared.
Small.
Warm.
Unhelpful.
Ace exhaled through her nose.
“You have been planning something.”
“I frequently plan things.”
“That was practically a confession.”
“It was a description of my normal behavior.”
Ace shifted closer to the edge of the sofa.
Mai remained where she was.
The gift rested between them, still entirely in Mai’s hands.
For a moment, Ace’s expression lost some of its theatrical suspicion.
She looked at the careful folds. The measured ribbon. The absence of any label because Mai had never needed one.
The weekend still lived quietly in her body: tired muscles, remembered warmth, the lingering ease of several days without urgent calls or Night City trying to eat someone in front of them. Mai had been beside her through all of it. Shammy’s laughter had moved through the cabin. The lake had reflected a sky that did not belong to advertisements.
Now they were home.
And Mai had brought her something.
Ace lifted one hand.
She stopped just before touching the package.
“Last opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To tell me why I should be suspicious.”
“You are always suspicious.”
“That is why I am still alive.”
Mai’s voice softened.
“You do not need to be suspicious of me.”
The sentence did not challenge her.
It did not tease.
It simply existed between them as an old truth.
Ace’s hand remained still for half a second longer.
Then she took the package.
Mai released it immediately.
No resistance.
No attempt to control how Ace held it.
The weight settled into Ace’s palms.
Lighter than expected.
Solid beneath the paper.
Balanced.
Ace tested it with the smallest movement.
Something inside remained perfectly still.
That was somehow more suspicious.
Mai sat beside her, leaving enough room that Ace could decide whether to close the distance.
Ace did, though only by a few centimeters.
She turned the package once.
Then again.
The ribbon remained immaculate.
From the kitchen, Shammy lifted the tea infuser from her cup and set it onto a small dish.
Ace looked toward her.
Shammy’s back was turned.
Ace looked at Mai.
Mai’s face had returned to composed neutrality.
“You are both being strange.”
Shammy glanced over one shoulder.
“I am making tea.”
“That does not clear you.”
“I did not know I had been accused.”
“You live here. That makes you a person of interest.”
Shammy considered this.
Then she turned back to her cup.
Ace looked down at the gift.
Her thumb brushed the edge of the ribbon.
Mai said nothing.
Ace found the loose end.
She glanced sideways at Mai one last time.
Mai waited.
Ace drew the ribbon free.
Slowly.
Without trust.
But without hesitation either.
CHAPTER TWO - THE BOX
The ribbon came free without resistance.
Ace held it between two fingers for a moment, inspecting the narrow strip of green as though it might contain information Mai had forgotten to conceal.
It did not.
She placed it carefully on the table.
Mai watched this without comment.
Ace found one folded edge of the paper and slid a fingernail beneath it.
She could have torn the wrapping open in less than a second.
She did not.
The care was not reverence. Not yet.
It was investigation.
The first fold opened cleanly. Then the second. Mai had wrapped the object with irritating precision, every edge aligned, every piece of tape placed where it could be removed without damaging the paper.
Ace worked slowly around the package.
From the kitchen came the faint clink of Shammy setting a spoon beside her cup.
“You are opening it like evidence,” Mai said.
“It might become evidence.”
“Of what?”
“I have not determined that yet.”
“That is usually the part that comes after evidence.”
Ace glanced at her.
“Do not interfere with the process.”
Mai inclined her head.
Ace returned to the wrapping.
The last fold released.
Dark paper slipped away from the object beneath.
Ace stopped.
The package was not cardboard.
It was a presentation case.
The outer shell was nearly black, with a finish too matte to reflect the room clearly. Its edges were reinforced with narrow metal lines that caught the light only when Ace turned it. No visible branding. No decorative ornamentation. No cheap molded seams.
The case had weight now that the paper was gone.
Not much.
Enough.
Ace ran her thumb along one edge.
The surface felt cool and dense beneath her skin.
“This is not retail packaging.”
“No.”
“Custom?”
Mai answered with a small pause.
“Modified.”
Ace looked at her immediately.
“Modified by whom?”
“That is not relevant.”
“It became relevant when you avoided the noun.”
“I did not avoid it.”
“You replaced it with a category.”
Mai’s expression remained calm.
Ace looked back at the case.
Its proportions were exact. Too exact.
The object inside had not shifted when she turned it. The interior had been fitted to hold something in place, not merely contain it.
At the front edge sat a compact locking mechanism.
No visible keyway.
No external latch.
Ace leaned closer.
The lock was integrated into the case itself, a narrow dark plate with a recessed pressure surface and a single indicator line.
She touched nothing.
“Biometric?”
“No.”
“Encrypted?”
“No.”
“Mechanical?”
“Primarily.”
Ace narrowed her eyes.
“Primarily.”
“There is a secondary release.”
“For what?”
“In case the primary lock fails.”
“That is a very sensible answer.”
“Thank you.”
“I distrust it.”
Mai sat comfortably beside her, hands resting in her lap.
Ace lifted the case and examined its underside.
Nothing.
No maker’s mark. No serial number. No access panel.
She turned it sideways.
Still nothing.
The lock remained the only visible point of entry.
“Where is the key?”
“There is no separate key.”
Ace studied the recessed surface.
“Pressure sequence?”
Mai said nothing.
Ace looked at her.
Mai met her gaze.
“That was not a question,” Mai said.
“It was shaped like one.”
“It was shaped like a theory.”
Ace exhaled through her nose.
She returned the case to her lap.
The lock did not look designed to keep a determined attacker out.
It looked designed to prevent casual opening.
That made sense.
Which was annoying.
Ace placed her thumb lightly against the pressure surface.
Nothing happened.
She shifted it slightly.
Still nothing.
She applied firmer pressure.
A faint mechanical click answered from inside the casing, followed by a narrow green line appearing along the edge of the lock.
Ace went still.
Mai’s face gave her nothing.
Ace released the surface.
The green line remained.
“One stage,” Ace said.
Mai did not answer.
Ace pressed again, this time closer to the lower edge.
A second click.
The indicator line brightened.
Ace looked at Mai.
“You designed the opening sequence.”
“No.”
“You chose it.”
“Yes.”
“That is almost worse.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“For whom?”
Mai’s eyes moved toward her hands resting on the case.
“You.”
Ace stared at her for a moment.
Then she looked back down.
Two pressure points.
Not random.
The first beneath her thumb. The second where her middle finger naturally settled while supporting the case.
The sequence required the case to be held correctly.
Not difficult.
Personal.
Ace adjusted her grip.
Her index finger found a third recessed point along the underside of the lock plate.
She pressed.
The final mechanism released with a soft, precise sound.
Not dramatic.
Not electronic.
Just the quiet internal movement of something expensive doing exactly what it had been built to do.
Ace did not open the case immediately.
She held it closed with both hands.
“You could have just given me the sequence.”
“You found it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
Ace looked sideways at Mai.
Mai’s mouth curved faintly.
Ace looked toward the kitchen.
Shammy was still facing the counter, both hands around her cup while the tea cooled enough to drink.
“You are certain she does not know what is in this?”
Mai’s answer came without hesitation.
“I am certain.”
Shammy turned her head slightly.
“I know there is a box.”
“That is not helpful,” Ace said.
“I was not trying to help.”
“That is exactly what someone involved would say.”
Shammy looked down into her tea.
Ace returned her attention to the case.
The lid had lifted by less than a millimeter when the lock released.
A narrow dark line now ran around the edge.
She hooked her fingers beneath it.
Then paused.
Mai said nothing.
That was becoming unbearable.
Ace opened the case.
The lid rose smoothly on concealed hinges.
The interior was lined in dark material, soft enough that the object inside rested without a single visible pressure mark.
For one second, Ace did not understand what she was looking at.
Then she did.
A collar lay fitted into the case.
Black leather.
Not synthetic.
Not imitation.
Real leather, worked so cleanly that the grain was visible only when the light moved across it. The surface was smooth without being polished to a shine. The edges had been finished by hand, rounded just enough that nothing sharp would touch skin.
The stitching was nearly invisible.
The hardware was dark metal, understated and solid.
There was no decorative excess.
No cheap studs.
No exaggerated buckle.
No attempt to make it look theatrical.
It looked expensive because nothing about it needed to advertise that fact.
Ace’s expression changed.
The suspicion did not vanish.
But the humor did.
She looked down at the collar in silence.
The shape was unmistakably sized for her.
Not approximately.
Exactly.
The curve suggested it had been measured rather than chosen from a standard range. The fastening system was slim and integrated into the rear, designed to sit flat rather than protrude.
At the front center rested a small circular emblem.
Ace leaned closer.
The symbol was simple.
Three balanced elements joined into one enclosed mark.
A Triad emblem.
Its color was the emerald frequency of her katanas.
Not merely green.
The same deep, sharp emerald that lived along the blades when they awakened under her hands.
The emblem was small enough not to dominate the collar.
Large enough to establish orientation.
Front.
Center.
Intentional.
Ace’s thumb hovered over it.
She did not touch it yet.
The safehouse seemed quieter around her.
Even the city beyond the windows had receded for a moment.
Mai remained beside her, close enough to feel, far enough not to intrude.
Ace finally lifted her gaze.
Mai was watching her.
Not the collar.
Her.
Ace looked back down.
“This was made for me.”
“Yes.”
It was not a question.
Mai answered anyway.
Ace touched the leather with one fingertip.
Soft.
Firm beneath the softness.
The kind of material that would warm quickly against skin and hold its shape for years if cared for properly.
Her finger moved toward the emblem.
The emerald circle caught a thin line of light.
Ace traced its edge once.
“Triad.”
“Yes.”
“Your idea?”
“Yes.”
Ace’s thumb rested against the symbol.
“And the color.”
“I thought you would object if it was silver.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
Ace looked at her again.
Mai’s expression had changed.
The amusement was gone now.
There was warmth in its place, and something more deliberate beneath it.
Not pressure.
Not expectation.
Meaning.
Ace glanced back into the case.
“This is not a joke.”
“No.”
“Not part of a cover.”
“No.”
“Not for a job.”
“No.”
“Not because someone paid you to see whether I would wear it.”
Mai’s eyes sharpened.
“No.”
Ace nodded once.
That answer had arrived differently.
No playfulness.
No tolerance for the idea.
She believed it immediately.
Ace rested the open case across her thighs.
The collar remained inside.
She did not remove it.
Not yet.
Her fingers stayed near the emblem.
“How long have you had this?”
Mai considered.
“Long enough.”
“That is an answer designed to make me ask again.”
“Yes.”
Ace looked at her.
Mai’s calm returned by degrees.
Ace’s eyes narrowed.
“Was this in the cloth bag?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly to challenge.
Ace went still.
Mai realized it at exactly the same moment.
Ace turned fully toward her.
“So the cloth bag is separate.”
Mai said nothing.
Ace pointed at her with one finger.
“That was information.”
“It was an answer.”
“It was more answer than you intended.”
“No.”
“You knew I would connect them.”
“I assumed you already had.”
Ace stared at her.
Mai held the stare.
From the kitchen, Shammy took her first sip of tea.
Ace looked between the collar and Mai.
The suspicion returned.
Stronger now.
But beneath it was something else.
Something quieter.
She touched the Triad emblem again.
“What do you want me to do with it?”
Mai did not answer immediately.
Ace’s attention lifted from the case.
Mai’s gaze remained steady.
When she spoke, her voice was soft.
Not careful.
Not hesitant.
Simply certain.
“I want to ask you something.”
Ace’s fingers stopped against the emerald emblem.
The room seemed to hold still around them.
She closed the case halfway.
Not enough to hide the collar.
Only enough to give the question the space it had just claimed.
Then she looked at Mai.
“Ask.”
CHAPTER THREE - THE REQUEST
Mai did not look away.
Ace waited.
The half-closed case rested across her thighs, the black leather collar still visible between the lid and the dark lining. Her fingers remained near the emerald emblem, close enough to touch it again but no longer moving.
From the kitchen came the quiet sound of ceramic being lifted from stone.
Shammy was still there.
Still making tea into an occupation large enough to justify remaining outside the conversation.
Ace knew better.
Mai drew one slow breath.
“I would like you to wear it until your birthday.”
Ace did not move.
For several seconds, nothing in her expression changed.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“My birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Until.”
“Yes.”
Ace opened the case fully again and looked down at the collar.
The emerald Triad emblem caught the light at the center.
Her birthday was not tomorrow.
Not close enough that Mai’s request could be dismissed as one evening of theatrical preparation.
There were jobs between now and then.
Briefings.
Afterlife.
The city.
People.
Rogue.
Reyes.
Kiro, who would inevitably ask how the locking mechanism worked before remembering that this was perhaps not the first question she should ask.
Ace looked back at Mai.
“You want me to wear this outside the safehouse.”
“I want you to wear it until your birthday.”
“That includes outside the safehouse.”
“It does.”
“On jobs.”
“If it is safe and practical.”
Ace’s brow lifted.
“So there are conditions.”
“No.”
“You just added one.”
“I clarified that I am not asking you to compromise your safety for it.”
“That is a condition.”
“It is an exception.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a condition wearing formal clothes.”
Mai’s mouth almost curved.
Almost.
Ace watched her closely.
Mai had not said put it on.
She had not reached for it.
She had not arranged the situation so that refusal would become awkward or cruel.
The collar remained in the case.
The choice remained entirely in Ace’s hands.
That made the request considerably more dangerous than an order would have been.
Ace knew how to resist orders.
Orders presented edges.
They created opposition.
They gave her something to push against.
A request from Mai had no such structure.
It simply arrived carrying years of trust and waited to see what Ace would do with it.
Ace looked back down.
The leather appeared almost soft beneath the low light. Firm enough to hold its form. Carefully finished. Made for her.
She touched the inner surface.
Nothing hidden.
No embedded contacts beneath the lining.
No unnecessary seams.
No obvious mechanism beyond the fastening at the rear.
Still, she checked.
Mai allowed her to.
“Is there a tracker?”
“No.”
“Microphone?”
“No.”
“Telemetry?”
“No.”
“Medical sensor?”
“No.”
“Location beacon?”
“No.”
“Remote lock?”
Mai’s answer came without hesitation.
“No.”
Ace’s fingers paused at the rear fastening.
“Can it be locked?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze rose sharply.
Mai continued before Ace could speak.
“Mechanically. By the wearer.”
Ace inspected the fastening more closely.
There was a narrow locking catch integrated into the hardware. Small. Strong. Designed so that it would sit flat against the back of the neck rather than protrude.
“And removed by the wearer?”
“Yes.”
“No hidden key?”
“No.”
“No remote release?”
“No.”
“No code only you know?”
“No.”
Ace stared at her.
“You removed all the fun.”
Mai’s eyes softened.
“I was not looking for that kind of fun.”
The answer landed quietly.
Ace’s attention returned to the collar.
She ran one finger along the edge.
“What kind were you looking for?”
Mai looked toward the emerald emblem.
“The kind where I ask.”
Ace went still again.
The safehouse ventilation whispered overhead.
Outside, something heavy passed along the street below, its engine vibration briefly traveling through the floor before fading into Watson’s endless mechanical pulse.
Shammy took another sip of tea.
Ace could hear it.
She could also hear how carefully Shammy was not entering the living room.
Mai did not fill the silence.
That, more than anything, told Ace the request was genuine.
No justification.
No performance.
No explanation designed to steer her answer.
Just the request.
Ace closed the case.
Not hard.
The latch did not engage.
She rested both hands on top of it.
“And if I say no?”
Mai answered immediately.
“Then you say no.”
“That is all?”
“That is all.”
“You will not ask why.”
“Not unless you want to tell me.”
“You will not be disappointed.”
Mai considered that honestly.
“I might be.”
Ace’s eyes sharpened.
Mai held her gaze.
“But that would be mine to manage. Not yours.”
There it was.
No manipulation.
No denial that the answer mattered.
No attempt to make Ace responsible for Main feelings.
Just truth placed cleanly between them.
Ace looked away first.
Not because she had lost.
Not yet.
Because Mai had made the ground irritatingly difficult to fight on.
She turned the case slowly beneath her hands.
The rear hinge faced her.
The lock faced away.
“You planned this before the cabin.”
Mai said nothing.
Ace looked at her.
“That was a statement.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you made it.”
“That is not how conversations work.”
“It is how some of ours work.”
Ace gave her a flat look.
Mai remained infuriatingly composed.
Ace shifted the case back around.
“Did you order it before the cabin?”
Mai’s gaze dropped briefly to the wrapping paper on the table.
“I arranged for it before the cabin.”
“A better distinction than I expected.”
“It is the accurate one.”
“Was it delivered while we were away?”
“No.”
“Before we left?”
Mai paused.
Ace pointed at her.
“There.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep giving me reasons.”
“I was deciding whether the timing mattered.”
“It matters now.”
Mai inclined her head slightly.
“Yes. Before we left.”
Ace processed that.
The collar had been in the safehouse during the entire weekend.
Hidden somewhere.
Or perhaps inside—
Her eyes narrowed.
“The storage room.”
Mai did not react.
Ace leaned closer.
“The cloth bag.”
Mai’s expression remained still.
Too still.
Ace lifted one finger.
“This is connected to the cloth bag.”
“You have not defined connected.”
“That answer is already suspicious.”
“It is also necessary.”
“No, it is what you say when the truthful answer would give me useful information.”
“The truthful answer depends on what relationship you are asking about.”
Ace stared at her.
“That was an entire paragraph designed to avoid one word.”
“I am trying to understand your question.”
“No, you are trying to survive it.”
Mai’s eyes warmed.
“I do not feel endangered.”
“You should.”
The threat carried no weight.
Mai knew it.
Ace knew Mai knew it.
That made it worse.
Ace placed the case beside her on the sofa and turned more fully toward Mai.
“Is the collar from the same place as whatever is inside the bag?”
“No.”
Ace caught the answer immediately.
“So there is something inside the bag.”
Mai remained silent.
Ace’s expression brightened with predatory satisfaction.
“You confirmed it.”
“I did not.”
“You referred to whatever is inside.”
“You referred to whatever is inside.”
“And you answered.”
“I answered the relationship between your two proposed objects.”
“Objects.”
Mai’s lips pressed together.
Ace pointed again.
“Plural.”
“You have already concluded there is something in the bag.”
“Yes.”
“Then plural does not provide new information.”
“It provides confirmation.”
“It provides grammar.”
“Grammar is evidence.”
“Only when interpreted responsibly.”
“I am extremely responsible.”
From the kitchen, Shammy made a quiet sound into her tea.
Not quite a laugh.
Ace turned her head.
Shammy was still facing the counter.
“You have something to add?”
“No.”
“That sounded like something.”
“It was tea.”
“Tea does not make judgmental noises.”
Shammy looked over her shoulder.
“This one does.”
Ace stared at her.
Shammy lifted the cup slightly, as though presenting the offending beverage as proof.
Then she turned back.
Ace looked at Mai.
“She knows.”
Mai’s face gave her nothing.
“Knows what?”
“What is in the bag.”
“You would need to ask Shammy.”
Ace’s eyes narrowed further.
“That sounds like permission.”
“It is a statement of jurisdiction.”
“You are both impossible.”
Shammy answered from the kitchen.
“I am still making tea.”
“You finished making tea several minutes ago.”
“It is cooling.”
“That is not an activity.”
“It is for the tea.”
Ace looked toward the ceiling for patience that was not stored there.
Mai remained beside her.
Close.
Calm.
The closed case sat between Ace’s hand and the side of her thigh.
She touched it once with her fingertips.
“Is the bag for my birthday?”
Mai’s gaze did not shift.
“It is in the storage room.”
Ace stared at her.
“That answer should be illegal.”
“It is factually correct.”
“Is whatever is inside the bag intended for my birthday?”
“The contents of the bag have not changed because you asked the question differently.”
“That was not an answer.”
“No.”
Ace leaned back slightly.
A new approach.
Fine.
“Should I expect the bag to remain in the storage room until my birthday?”
Mai considered.
Ace watched every fraction of the pause.
“It will remain there until it is needed.”
Ace’s eyes sharpened.
“Needed.”
“Yes.”
“So it will be used.”
“That is generally why things become needed.”
“By whom?”
Mai said nothing.
Ace waited.
Mai waited better.
“Me?” Ace asked.
Mai’s expression remained neutral.
“You?”
Nothing.
“Shammy?”
From the kitchen came another sip.
Ace continued.
“All three of us?”
Mai’s gaze flickered.
Only once.
So small that someone else might have missed it.
Ace did not.
Her smile arrived slowly.
“There.”
Mai sighed.
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw enough.”
“You saw me blink.”
“You blink strategically.”
“I blink biologically.”
“You do very little accidentally.”
“That is not true.”
“Name one thing.”
“I fell in love with you.”
Ace’s smile vanished.
Not from hurt.
From impact.
Mai had said it gently.
Without using it as a weapon.
Without even smiling afterward.
She simply let the truth exist.
Ace held her gaze.
The city noise beyond the windows faded behind the sudden quiet inside the safehouse.
Mai reached out.
Not toward the case.
Toward Ace.
She rested her hand palm-up on the sofa between them.
An offer.
Nothing more.
Ace looked down at it.
Then placed her hand into Mai’s.
Their fingers closed naturally.
No ceremony.
No need for one.
Mai’s thumb moved once across Ace’s knuckles.
Ace looked at the closed case beside her.
“You did not fall accidentally.”
“No?”
“You overanalyzed it for months.”
Mai’s mouth curved.
“That came afterward.”
“You are revising history.”
“I am protecting my professional reputation.”
“That was already lost.”
“Because of you.”
“Exactly.”
The humor returned carefully.
Not enough to erase the request.
Enough to let them breathe around it.
Ace squeezed Mai’s hand once, then released it.
She picked up the case again.
The latch remained unfastened.
She opened it.
The collar lay exactly where she had left it.
Black leather.
Dark hardware.
Emerald Triad emblem centered at the front.
Ace lifted it from the lining for the first time.
The case had held it in a perfect curve, but the leather flexed beneath her hands. Soft enough to shape around her neck without pressure. Strong enough that it would not twist or collapse during movement.
She turned it over.
The inner surface was unmarked.
No inscription.
No hidden message.
No name.
Only craftsmanship.
Only intent.
Ace examined the fastening again.
Then the emblem.
“Until my birthday.”
“Yes.”
“How many people know?”
Mai paused.
Ace looked up immediately.
Mai did not attempt to deny it.
“Know about the collar?”
“Yes.”
“Very few.”
“That is not a number.”
“No.”
“Does Rogue know?”
“No.”
“Reyes?”
“No.”
“Kiro?”
“No.”
“Panam?”
“No.”
Ace glanced toward the kitchen.
“Shammy?”
Mai looked toward Shammy.
Shammy was now leaning lightly against the counter, cup held between both hands, watching the steam move above it.
Mai returned her attention to Ace.
“She knew I had something for you.”
Ace’s eyes narrowed.
“But not what.”
“No.”
“Did she know you were giving it to me tonight?”
“No.”
Ace studied both of them.
Shammy appeared entirely unconcerned.
Which meant absolutely nothing.
Ace looked down at the collar again.
“What happens on my birthday?”
Mai’s answer was immediate.
“Your birthday.”
Ace waited.
Mai did not continue.
“That is it?”
“It is the only answer you are getting tonight.”
“There.”
“There what?”
“You admitted there are other answers.”
“I admitted I am not giving them.”
“Practically a confession.”
Mai leaned back slightly.
“You have used that phrase three times.”
“Because you keep confessing.”
“I have confessed to nothing.”
“You confessed to planning.”
“I plan breakfast.”
“Suspiciously.”
“I plan coffee.”
“Necessary.”
“I planned the cabin weekend.”
Ace’s fingers slowed against the leather.
That weekend was still too close to be used carelessly.
Mai knew it.
Her voice softened again.
“I planned this.”
Ace looked at her.
Mai nodded toward the collar.
“Not because you need it.”
The words arrived cleanly.
“Not because I expect anything from you.”
Ace remained still.
“Not because it changes what you are to me.”
Mai’s gaze dropped briefly to the emerald Triad emblem, then returned to Ace’s face.
“I chose it because I wanted to ask. And because I thought it would suit you.”
Ace’s expression became unreadable.
Mai did not add anything else.
No speech about symbolism.
No explanation of ownership, belonging, submission, or control.
The emblem said enough.
The years between them said the rest.
Ace looked down.
Her thumb pressed lightly against the emerald circle.
“You had it made to fit me.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Mai’s silence lasted half a second too long.
Ace looked up sharply.
Mai’s expression became very carefully neutral.
“How did you get the measurements?”
Mai’s eyes shifted by perhaps one degree.
Ace stared.
“You measured me while I was asleep.”
“I had several reliable reference points.”
“That is not a denial.”
“You are difficult to measure when awake.”
“Because people who approach my throat with measuring tools have poor survival instincts.”
“Yes.”
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“In the safehouse.”
“Yes.”
“While I was asleep.”
Mai considered whether continued resistance had any value.
“Yes.”
Ace stared at her.
From the kitchen, Shammy lowered her face toward her cup.
Her shoulders moved once.
Ace turned.
“You knew about that.”
Shammy looked up.
“I knew Mai had a measuring tape.”
“You knew what she was measuring.”
“No.”
“You did not ask why she was near my neck while I was unconscious?”
“You were asleep.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“You seemed comfortable.”
Ace looked back at Mai.
Mai was trying not to smile.
Failing slightly.
Ace pointed the collar at her.
“You violated several operational boundaries.”
“You slept through all of them.”
“That is not a defense.”
“It was remarkably peaceful.”
“You are both criminals.”
Shammy took another sip.
Mai’s smile finally escaped.
Ace tried to remain offended.
The effort lasted perhaps three seconds.
Then the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
She looked down at the collar again.
Its curve fitted naturally between her hands.
Her size.
Her neck.
Made for her because Mai had apparently conducted a covert tailoring operation while she slept under the same roof.
That should have been alarming.
Instead, it felt absurdly like home.
Ace turned the collar so the emblem faced outward.
“If I agree, I am not agreeing to anything else.”
“No.”
“No hidden rules.”
“No.”
“No implied obligations.”
“No.”
“No birthday expectation I have accidentally accepted by putting it on.”
“No.”
Ace watched Mai carefully.
Mai answered the unspoken question as well.
“You can remove it whenever you choose.”
“Even before my birthday.”
“Yes.”
“And you will not ask me to explain.”
“No.”
Ace’s eyes remained on her.
Mai did not look away.
There was no catch.
That was the catch.
Ace lowered her gaze.
She lifted the collar slightly toward her neck.
Then stopped.
Not from fear.
From awareness.
The moment had become real in a way opening the box had not been.
Mai did not move.
Did not offer to help.
Did not extend her hands.
Ace lowered the collar again.
“Your timing is suspicious.”
“We returned home.”
“That is not timing.”
“It is to me.”
Ace looked around the safehouse.
The unpacked bag.
The folded blanket over the sofa.
The dark city pressing against the reinforced glass.
Shammy in the kitchen with her tea.
Mai beside her.
Home, restored around them after the cabin.
Perhaps that was the point.
Not a hotel.
Not a job.
Not a cover identity.
Not a private room somewhere else.
Here.
Ace looked down at the collar once more.
Then at Mai.
“You know Rogue is going to see this.”
“Yes.”
“She will comment.”
“Eventually.”
“Reyes will be worse.”
“Probably.”
“Kiro will want technical specifications.”
“Definitely.”
“Panam will say something unforgivable.”
“Almost certainly.”
Ace exhaled slowly.
“And you expect me to tolerate all of them.”
“I expect you to respond in whatever manner feels appropriate.”
“That is a dangerous amount of freedom.”
“I trust you.”
Ace gave her a narrow look.
“You should stop doing that.”
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
Immediate.
Foundational.
Ace’s resistance had nowhere left to stand.
She looked down at the collar.
Then toward the kitchen.
Shammy had finally begun moving, lifting her cup from the counter and turning toward the living room.
Ace made her decision before Shammy crossed the threshold.
She held the collar by both ends.
Raised it.
And brought the black leather around her neck.
CHAPTER FOUR - IT SUITS YOU
The leather touched the back of Ace’s neck first.
Cool for less than a second.
Then it began taking warmth from her skin.
Ace held one end in each hand, elbows lifted slightly as she guided the collar around her throat. The black leather curved exactly where it should, neither resisting nor collapsing. Its inner surface lay smooth against her skin.
The fit was already close.
Not tight.
Precise.
Ace lowered her chin enough to look at the emerald emblem now resting just below it.
The small circular Triad mark sat almost perfectly centered.
Almost.
The fastening remained open behind her neck.
Ace reached back with both hands.
The movement pulled the loose sleeves of her shirt slightly upward and disordered her hair further around her fingers. She found one side of the mechanism, then the other.
Mai stayed where she was.
She did not reach forward.
Did not offer help.
Did not tell Ace how the fastening worked.
Ace felt her watching, but there was no pressure in it. Only attention.
The catch was small enough to sit flat once closed. Ace aligned the two dark metal pieces by touch.
They met with a faint click.
Not locked yet.
She tested the collar with two fingers beneath the leather.
Enough room to breathe easily.
Enough room to move.
No rough edge.
No hidden pressure point.
No reason not to continue.
Ace found the narrow locking catch with her thumbnail.
She paused.
The safehouse did not become silent.
The ventilation continued its steady whisper. Traffic continued beyond the reinforced glass. Somewhere inside the walls, a pipe answered a pressure change with a soft metallic knock.
Shammy’s footsteps approached from the kitchen.
Ace pressed the catch.
The lock closed.
A quiet mechanical sound settled behind her neck.
Final without being permanent.
Secure without taking the choice away from her.
Ace lowered her hands.
The collar remained exactly where Mai had designed it to rest.
She turned her head slowly to one side.
Then the other.
The leather moved with her without shifting. The rear hardware did not catch against her hair. Nothing pressed against her throat.
She touched the emerald emblem with two fingers.
Warm now.
Mai’s eyes followed the movement.
Ace looked at her.
“Well?”
Mai did not answer immediately.
Her gaze moved over the collar once—not possessively, not critically, but with the focus she gave anything whose exact placement mattered.
“The center is slightly left.”
Ace looked down as far as she could.
“I cannot see it from here.”
“I know.”
Ace held Mai’s gaze.
Mai remained still.
She would not touch it without being invited.
Ace could see that clearly.
The understanding between them was so old that neither needed to explain it, but Mai still honored the boundary as though it had been spoken aloud for the first time.
Ace turned slightly on the sofa until one shoulder faced Mai.
Then she lifted her chin.
Permission.
Mai moved closer.
One knee pressed into the sofa beside Ace’s thigh as she leaned in. Her fingers touched the collar first at the front, resting lightly on either side of the emerald emblem.
Ace felt the contact through the leather.
Mai shifted the collar by a fraction.
The emblem settled into the exact center of Ace’s throat.
Mai checked the spacing with two fingers beneath the lower edge.
Ace watched her face from close range.
“No breathing difficulties?” Mai asked.
“I would have mentioned them.”
“You might have considered them tactically inconvenient to admit.”
“I am emotionally mature now.”
Mai glanced up.
Ace maintained the statement for almost a full second.
“No,” she said. “It feels right.”
Mai’s fingers remained against the leather.
Not tightening it.
Not claiming it.
Simply feeling the fit she had planned.
Her thumb moved once along the finished edge.
Ace’s breath changed slightly.
Mai noticed.
Of course she noticed.
But she did not turn the moment into anything larger than it was.
She drew her hand away.
“Thank you.”
Ace looked at her.
The words landed harder than satisfaction would have.
Mai was not thanking her for obedience.
She was thanking her for trust.
Ace touched the emblem again.
“You are welcome,” she said, as though the answer had cost nothing.
Mai’s expression said she understood exactly what it had cost.
Ace looked away before that understanding became intolerable.
Shammy entered the living room carrying her cup of tea between both hands.
Steam curled above it in thin pale lines.
She had reached the edge of the sofa before Ace fully registered her presence.
Shammy stopped.
Her eyes moved first to Ace’s face.
Then to the black leather around her neck.
Then to the small emerald Triad emblem centered at the front.
She regarded it with quiet, uncomplicated attention.
Ace waited for the question.
None came.
Shammy smiled softly.
“It suits you.”
Ace turned her head toward her.
Slowly.
Shammy took one more step into the room.
Ace narrowed her eyes.
“You’re involved.”
Shammy looked down at the cup in her hands.
“In making tea?”
“That was not what I meant.”
Shammy lifted her eyes again.
Ace searched her expression for guilt.
There was none.
Unfortunately, Shammy was fully capable of being involved without producing anything recognizable as guilt.
Ace pointed at her.
“You knew.”
“I knew Mai had a gift for you.”
“You knew what kind of gift.”
“No.”
“You knew she measured my neck.”
Shammy considered.
“I knew she had a measuring tape.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
Ace looked at Mai.
Mai had settled back onto the sofa with the composure of someone who had survived the interrogation and intended to enjoy the aftermath.
Ace looked at Shammy again.
“You saw her near me with it.”
“You were sleeping.”
“That is somehow the answer both of you have agreed to use.”
“You were sleeping very peacefully,” Shammy added.
Ace stared.
Shammy’s smile warmed by a fraction.
“It still suits you.”
Then she continued toward the other end of the sofa.
Ace watched her sit.
Shammy folded one leg beneath herself, wrapped both hands around the cup again, and took a careful sip.
As far as she was concerned, the matter had apparently been resolved.
Ace looked from Shammy to Mai.
Mai’s expression offered no useful information.
Ace touched the collar again.
The leather had already adjusted to her body heat. She could feel its presence clearly, but it did not interfere with movement. The emblem rested beneath her fingertips like a small hard point of emerald certainty.
“This is connected to the bag,” Ace said.
Mai leaned back against the sofa.
“You have returned to that theory.”
“It is not a theory.”
“What is it?”
“A conclusion.”
“Based on?”
“Your behavior.”
“My behavior was giving you a gift.”
“Suspiciously.”
“Carefully.”
“Those are often the same thing with you.”
Shammy took another sip of tea.
Ace glanced at her.
“And you.”
“I made tea.”
“For an extremely long time.”
“It needed to steep.”
“It steeped through an entire interrogation.”
“It is good tea.”
Ace looked back at Mai.
“The bag is for my birthday.”
Mai crossed one leg over the other.
“The bag remains in the storage room.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“No.”
Ace leaned closer.
“The collar is part of what is planned.”
Mai’s eyes held hers.
“The collar is what I gave you tonight.”
“Because it is needed before my birthday.”
“I asked you to wear it before your birthday.”
“Until.”
“Yes.”
“Which means it serves a purpose before then.”
“It already does.”
Ace’s fingers stopped against the emblem.
Mai’s gaze lowered to them.
Ace followed it.
The small Triad symbol remained centered at her throat.
Black leather around it.
Emerald at the middle.
Not hidden.
Not temporary-looking.
Not something that belonged only inside the safehouse.
Ace lifted her eyes.
“What purpose?”
Mai’s answer came quietly.
“You chose to wear it.”
Ace stared at her.
“That is not a purpose.”
“It is to me.”
The response was too simple to attack.
Ace tried anyway.
“You are becoming irritatingly philosophical.”
“I learned from you.”
“I am never philosophical.”
Shammy lowered her cup.
“You once argued that refusing to get out of bed was an ethical position.”
“It was.”
Mai looked toward Shammy.
“She also called unpacking an act of surrender.”
“Because it is.”
“To what?” Shammy asked.
“Routine.”
Mai glanced at the half-unpacked bag beside the sofa.
“You like routine.”
“I like choosing which parts of it apply to me.”
Mai’s eyes moved briefly to the collar.
Ace followed the look.
“That was deliberate.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I have admitted several things tonight.”
“Not the useful ones.”
Mai smiled.
Ace leaned back into the sofa.
Her hand remained near her throat.
Not pulling at the collar.
Not testing the lock anymore.
Simply touching it because it was new and because her body had not yet decided whether to stop noticing it.
Shammy watched her over the rim of her cup.
Ace caught her.
“What?”
Shammy lowered the tea.
“Nothing.”
“You were looking.”
“Yes.”
“At the collar.”
“At you.”
Ace’s suspicion sharpened.
“And?”
Shammy’s answer was immediate.
“You seem comfortable.”
Ace looked away.
“I am evaluating it.”
“Of course.”
“That was agreement spoken in a suspicious tone.”
“I agreed.”
“You agreed too easily.”
Shammy’s hair shifted gently around her shoulders though the room held no breeze.
Mai settled close enough that her thigh touched Ace’s.
Ace allowed the contact without comment.
The safehouse resumed its ordinary rhythm around them.
Tea cooling.
Unpacked bags waiting.
The dark paper and green ribbon resting on the table beside the empty presentation case.
Night City pressing against the windows and failing, for once, to require anything from them.
Ace ran one fingertip around the edge of the emerald emblem.
Rogue would see it.
That realization returned with unpleasant clarity.
Rogue would look once, say nothing, continue the briefing, and then eventually choose exactly the worst possible moment to comment.
Reyes would not wait nearly that long.
Kiro would begin with the fastening mechanism and only later realize the existence of social context.
Panam would be unbearable.
Brenda would construct an entire theory within thirty seconds.
Iris would notice the craftsmanship.
Marco would pretend not to understand while understanding everything.
Lena would probably make the same observation Shammy had made.
It suits you.
Ace frowned.
Mai noticed.
“Regret?”
“No.”
The answer came before Ace could consider softening it.
Mai’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Ace saw the warmth enter it.
She scowled harder.
“Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you believe you have won.”
“I did not ask to win.”
“That sounds exactly like something someone says after winning.”
Mai leaned closer.
Her lips touched Ace’s temple.
Brief.
Familiar.
No ceremony.
Ace’s hand moved from the emblem to Mai’s wrist and held it there for a moment before letting go.
Shammy returned her attention to her tea with the careful discretion of someone who lived with them and therefore knew when privacy did not require leaving the room.
Ace looked toward the hallway.
Beyond it, somewhere behind a closed storage-room door, waited the cloth bag.
Still unexplained.
Still protected from her.
Still absolutely connected to this, regardless of what Mai claimed.
Ace narrowed her eyes at the hallway.
“I will find out.”
Mai followed her gaze.
“Perhaps.”
“That was overconfident.”
“It was realistic.”
Ace looked at Shammy.
“You know something.”
Shammy considered the tea in her cup.
“I know this is finally cool enough to drink.”
Ace pointed toward the kitchen.
“You spent fifteen minutes making it.”
“Yes.”
“And another fifteen waiting.”
“Yes.”
“That is absurd.”
Shammy took a slow sip.
“It was worth waiting for.”
The words carried no obvious secondary meaning.
Which meant they almost certainly had one.
Ace looked between her partners.
Mai sat beside her, composed and warm.
Shammy sat at the far end of the sofa, peaceful behind her cup.
The presentation case lay open and empty on the table.
The collar remained around Ace’s neck.
She could remove it.
Mai had made that clear.
The release mechanism was accessible. The choice remained hers now just as completely as it had before she closed the lock.
Ace touched the emblem once more.
Then she reached toward the table.
Mai’s attention sharpened.
Ace picked up the discarded green ribbon.
She turned it between her fingers.
Then placed it neatly inside the empty case and closed the lid.
Mai watched her.
Ace set the case aside.
“For storage,” she said.
“Of course.”
“I might need it after my birthday.”
The words entered the room before Ace fully examined them.
Mai went very still.
Shammy’s cup paused halfway to her lips.
Ace realized what she had said.
She looked at Mai.
Mai’s expression remained admirably controlled.
Almost.
Ace pointed at her.
“Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You thought something.”
“I frequently think things.”
“Suspicious.”
Shammy lowered her cup.
“It really does suit you.”
Ace looked toward her.
Shammy smiled.
Mai finally lost the battle with her own smile.
Ace sighed and sank deeper into the sofa between them.
She did not remove the collar.
Not that evening.
Not when the bags were finally unpacked.
Not when the lights were lowered and the city became a muted glow beyond the windows.
And when Ace eventually fell asleep with Mai beside her and Shammy’s quiet atmospheric warmth settling through the safehouse, the black leather remained around her neck.
The emerald Triad emblem stayed centered at her throat.
Waiting with her.
Until her birthday.
At least.
CHAPTER FIVE - HOME
Much later, the safehouse finally became quiet.
The travel bags had been emptied.
Not entirely according to Ace, who maintained that several objects had merely been transferred into more strategically useful piles, but enough that Mai had stopped looking toward them whenever she crossed the living room.
The dark wrapping paper had been folded.
The green ribbon rested inside the closed presentation case.
Shammy’s cup had been washed and left inverted beside the sink.
Outside, Watson continued without them.
Traffic passed beneath the windows in slow waves. Advertisements shifted color against neighboring buildings. Somewhere several blocks away, a siren rose, changed direction, and faded into another part of the city.
None of it entered the bedroom.
The door closed behind Shammy with a soft click.
Ace stood beside the bed, fingers resting lightly against the emerald emblem at her throat.
She had changed shirts twice since putting the collar on.
Not because either shirt had been uncomfortable.
Because the first neckline had hidden too much of it, and the second had made the leather feel too visible.
Ace had refused to acknowledge either reason.
The shirt she wore now was soft, black, and loose enough to fall away from the collar without competing with it. The leather had warmed completely against her skin. She still noticed its weight whenever she swallowed, tilted her head, or touched the emblem.
It was not heavy.
The awareness was.
Mai sat on the edge of the bed.
She had let her hair down.
That alone changed her.
Throughout the weekend, Mai had allowed herself to become more visible than usual—not less competent, not less deliberate, but less guarded about wanting, choosing, approaching. She had laughed without first checking who was watching. She had flirted because she wanted to. She had allowed other hands, other kisses, other moments to matter without turning each one into something she needed to measure afterward.
Ace had watched all of it.
Loved all of it.
And had also noticed the quiet expectation beneath the return journey: the point where Mai would put every layer back into place.
She had not.
Not yet.
Mai’s posture was relaxed, one hand resting beside her on the mattress, the other loose against her thigh. She was watching Ace with the same calm attention she had given the collar earlier, but there was less distance in it now.
Shammy crossed the room behind Ace.
Her presence moved through the air before her hands did. The bedroom warmed by a fraction. The faint electrical tension that always followed her settled into something softer, a quiet charge along the walls and beneath the skin.
She stopped close enough that Ace could feel her without turning.
Ace looked at Mai.
Mai looked at the collar.
Then back at Ace.
“You have been checking it all evening,” she said.
“I am evaluating long-term comfort.”
“You checked it while brushing your teeth.”
“Movement test.”
“You checked it while unpacking.”
“Load test.”
“You checked it while threatening the storage-room door.”
“That was unrelated.”
Shammy’s hands came to rest lightly at Ace’s waist.
Not holding.
Only arriving.
Ace leaned back into her without hesitation.
Shammy lowered her face near Ace’s hair.
“Does it still feel right?”
Ace touched the front emblem again.
“Yes.”
Mai’s gaze followed the motion.
Ace noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Her chin lifted a little.
Mai’s eyes rose to hers.
“You can touch it,” Ace said.
The words were quiet.
They were also unnecessary in the practical sense. Mai had already adjusted it. Already checked the fit.
But this was not practical.
Mai stood.
She crossed the small distance between them without hurry and raised one hand toward Ace’s throat.
Her fingers stopped just before the leather.
Ace remained still.
Mai touched the emerald emblem first.
Only that.
The contact traveled through the small piece of metal and into the awareness Ace had been carrying all evening. Her breath changed before she could prevent it.
Shammy felt the change against her back.
Her hands tightened slightly at Ace’s waist.
Mai’s thumb traced the edge of the emblem.
“It really does suit you,” she said.
Ace narrowed her eyes.
“You coordinated that.”
“With Shammy?”
“Yes.”
“I did not.”
Behind her, Shammy said, “It still does.”
Ace turned her head enough to look up at her.
Shammy’s smile was soft.
Completely unrepentant.
Ace looked back at Mai.
“This is becoming harassment.”
Mai’s fingers moved from the emblem to the finished edge of the leather.
“Would you like me to stop?”
Ace answered by catching the front of Mai’s shirt and pulling her closer.
Mai came willingly.
Their first kiss was gentle.
Not tentative.
There was too much history between them for tentativeness.
It was the kiss of people who already knew how the other breathed, where hesitation lived, how pressure changed meaning, and when a hand resting still could be more intimate than one that moved.
Mai’s palm settled against the side of Ace’s neck, fingers above the collar rather than beneath it.
Ace felt Shammy lean closer behind her.
Shammy’s lips touched the side of her head, then her temple, then the line just below her ear where the collar ended.
Ace’s breath caught between Mai’s mouth and Shammy’s warmth.
The Shadow Aura stirred.
Not violently.
The corners of the bedroom deepened. The city light leaking through the narrow gaps in the curtains seemed to bend away from the bed. A thin darkness gathered around their feet and moved with the slow, protective rhythm of something closing a door against the world.
Mai broke the kiss only far enough to breathe.
Her forehead rested against Ace’s.
Ace still held her shirt.
Shammy’s hands remained around Ace’s waist.
For a moment, the three of them simply stayed there.
Close.
Connected.
No one guiding the others toward an expected conclusion.
No one proving anything after the weekend.
No one returning to claim what had never been lost.
Mai turned her head.
Her eyes found Shammy’s over Ace’s shoulder.
She lifted her free hand.
Shammy understood the invitation and stepped around Ace rather than away from her.
Mai’s fingers closed around Shammy’s wrist and drew her forward.
Shammy bent easily, her height folding into the space they made for her.
Mai kissed her.
Ace remained between them, one hand still against Mai’s chest, the other reaching back to Shammy’s hip.
The kiss lasted.
Ace watched it from inches away.
Watched Mai choose it openly.
Watched Shammy answer with one hand against Mai’s cheek and the other still anchored to Ace.
Nothing in Mai’s expression closed afterward.
No quick return to composure.
No embarrassed half-step away.
She opened her eyes and looked first at Shammy, then at Ace.
“I don’t want to become careful again tonight,” she said.
Ace’s hand flattened over her heart.
“Then don’t.”
Mai’s gaze held hers.
Shammy touched the back of Mai’s hand.
“You do not have to.”
The answer settled into the room.
Mai breathed out.
Something in her shoulders released.
Not control.
Armor.
She kissed Ace again, and this time there was more hunger in it.
Ace answered immediately.
She rose onto her toes out of habit, although Mai was already bending to meet her. Shammy’s hands moved over both of them, drawing them together rather than separating them into a pair and an observer.
Ace reached for Shammy without looking.
Her fingers found the edge of Shammy’s shirt and pulled.
Shammy laughed softly against Mai’s shoulder.
“That was subtle.”
“I am wearing a collar,” Ace said. “Subtlety has already failed.”
Mai’s mouth curved against hers.
“Is that what the collar means?”
“No.”
Ace kissed her before Mai could ask what it did mean.
They moved toward the bed without anyone issuing the decision.
Mai stepped backward until her legs touched the mattress. Ace followed her. Shammy stayed close behind Ace, hands moving from her waist to her shoulders, then down her arms.
Mai sat.
Ace remained standing between her knees.
For a second, the position made the collar impossible to ignore.
Mai’s face was level with it.
Her eyes lifted from the emerald emblem to Ace’s face.
Ace’s hand entered her hair.
Not forcing.
Holding.
Mai pressed one kiss against the emblem.
The touch was gentle enough that Ace felt the meaning more than the pressure.
Her Shadow Aura drew inward around the bed.
Shammy’s breath warmed the back of her neck.
Ace closed her eyes.
The collar was not a toy.
It was not a role she had been placed into.
It was Mai’s request resting against her skin.
Her own answer still locked behind her neck.
When Mai kissed the leather again, Ace’s fingers tightened in her hair.
Mai looked up.
“Still comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“With this?”
Ace understood the actual question.
Her thumb moved along Mai’s cheek.
“Yes.”
Mai nodded.
No triumph.
Only acknowledgement.
Shammy knelt onto the bed behind Mai and reached for her.
Ace released Mai’s hair so Shammy could draw her back against her chest.
Mai allowed herself to be moved.
That mattered too.
Shammy kissed the side of Mai’s neck while Ace stood between Mai’s knees, watching her face soften under the attention.
Ace leaned down.
She kissed Mai while Shammy held her.
Mai’s hands found both of them—one at Ace’s waist, one reaching back into Shammy’s hair. She answered each touch separately and together, turning toward Shammy when Shammy needed her, pulling Ace closer when Ace’s distance became too much.
No one disappeared.
They undressed without haste.
Not as a sequence performed for one another, but as familiar cooperation: Mai lifting Ace’s shirt and pausing when the fabric caught briefly against the collar; Ace raising both arms and letting her free it carefully; Shammy turning so Ace could find the fastening at her back; Mai helping Shammy draw the fabric from her shoulders; Ace leaning into Mai while Shammy removed the last layers between them and the bed.
Every movement created another point of contact.
A hand on a waist.
A mouth against a shoulder.
Fingers brushing hair away from a face.
The bed receiving their weight in stages.
Mai lay back first, but she did not remain passive beneath them.
She caught Ace by the hips and guided her down until Ace straddled one of her thighs, then reached for Shammy with her other hand.
Shammy came down beside them.
Her body curved around Mai’s shoulder and Ace’s back, enclosing without trapping.
Ace bent over Mai.
Their mouths met.
Mai’s hands moved along Ace’s sides, slower than urgency required and more honestly than restraint would have allowed. Each time her fingers approached the collar, Ace became aware of it again—not because Mai used it, but because Mai refused to treat it carelessly.
She touched around it.
Above it.
Beside it.
Sometimes the emblem itself.
Always as something Ace had chosen to wear.
Shammy kissed Ace’s spine, then Mai’s shoulder, then drew Ace upright enough to turn her toward her.
Ace shifted.
The change was awkward for half a second, knees and blankets and too many limbs finding new places.
None of them hurried through it.
Mai helped Ace turn.
Shammy caught her when her balance moved.
Ace laughed once, breathless and unguarded.
Mai’s hand steadied her hip.
Shammy kissed the laugh from her mouth.
Ace answered with both hands against Shammy’s face, drawing her lower until the difference in their height no longer mattered.
Mai rose behind Ace.
Her chest touched Ace’s back.
Her mouth found the side of Ace’s neck below the collar while Shammy kissed her from the front.
Ace’s eyes closed.
The Shadow Aura moved across the walls in slow, impossible lines.
Not reaching for Shammy or Mai.
Responding to them.
The darkness held the room close while Shammy’s faint static warmed the air inside it. The two phenomena met at the edges and settled there, less like power than privacy.
Ace remained the human center of it.
Her hands.
Her breath.
Her choice to turn from Shammy back toward Mai.
Her choice to pull Mai forward until Mai lay beneath her again.
Shammy moved with them, one hand resting over Mai’s and the other against Ace’s back.
Mai looked up at both of them.
Her hair had spread across the pillow. Her breathing was uneven. The careful woman who managed rooms, routes, risks, and everyone else’s worst decisions was still present.
She simply was not hiding behind any of it.
Ace touched her face.
“You’re here,” she said.
Mai’s eyes sharpened with emotion.
“Yes.”
“No retreating tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a demand.”
“It is a warning.”
Mai smiled.
Then reached up and drew Ace down to her.
The next stretch of time lost the city completely.
They moved slowly enough that every change mattered.
Ace beside Mai.
Shammy over both of them, then drawn down between them.
Mai turning toward Shammy while Ace pressed close behind her.
Shammy rolling carefully onto her back and pulling Ace with her while Mai followed, one hand never leaving either of them.
Each of them initiated.
Each of them answered.
When one slowed, the others stayed with her rather than moving ahead.
When breathing became language, they listened.
When hands paused in question, bodies answered deliberately.
Mai’s openness did not vanish beneath intensity.
It became more visible.
She asked for Ace.
Then for Shammy.
Then reached for both.
Ace let herself be held without turning surrender into weakness.
Shammy gave them space without withdrawing from it, her warmth filling every gap their bodies could not.
The collar remained at Ace’s throat throughout.
Sometimes forgotten.
Sometimes suddenly central beneath Mai’s fingertips or Shammy’s careful kiss.
Never reduced to what was happening in the bed.
It carried the earlier moment with it:
Mai asking.
Ace choosing.
Shammy seeing her afterward and saying the simplest true thing.
It suits you.
Much later, movement finally softened into stillness.
Not abruptly.
There was no final boundary where intimacy ended and aftermath began.
Their breathing gradually slowed.
Hands that had held with urgency remained in place with tenderness.
The room stayed warm.
The Shadow Aura relaxed along the floor and beneath the bed, no longer sealing the world out so much as acknowledging that the world had failed to enter.
Ace lay partly across Mai.
One leg tangled with hers.
Her head rested high on Mai’s chest, where she could hear the heartbeat beneath her ear.
Shammy lay on Ace’s other side, curved around both of them with one arm across Ace’s back and her hand resting against Mai’s ribs.
No one had been left at the edge.
Even now, their arrangement belonged to all three.
Mai’s fingers moved slowly through Ace’s hair.
The other hand rested on Shammy’s wrist.
Shammy’s hair spread across the pillows and over Mai’s shoulder, a few strands still carrying faint static that rose and settled with each breath.
Ace touched the collar.
The leather was warm and slightly damp against her skin.
Mai noticed.
“Too tight?”
“No.”
“Any irritation?”
“No.”
“Let me check.”
Ace lifted her chin.
Mai slipped two fingers carefully beneath the edge, checking the skin without opening the fastening.
Her touch was practical.
Tender because it was practical.
“It is fine,” Mai said.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
Mai withdrew her fingers.
Ace caught her hand before it moved away and pressed it back against the emblem.
Mai went still.
Ace looked up at her.
“Do not take it off.”
Mai’s expression softened.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I know.”
The answer rested between them.
Shammy’s hand moved once along Ace’s back.
“You are going to keep it after your birthday.”
Ace turned her head enough to look at her.
“That sounds like speculation.”
“Yes.”
“Based on?”
Shammy’s eyes moved toward the collar.
Then to the way Ace still held Mai’s hand against it.
Ace followed the look.
She released Mai immediately.
Too late.
Mai’s smile appeared.
Ace narrowed her eyes at both of them.
“Nothing has been decided.”
“Of course,” Mai said.
“That tone is unacceptable.”
“I agreed with you.”
“You agreed in advance.”
Shammy’s smile warmed against the pillow.
“It still suits you.”
Ace made a quiet, offended sound and lowered her head back onto Mai’s chest.
Mai’s fingers returned to her hair.
Shammy moved closer until her forehead touched the back of Ace’s shoulder.
Silence filled the spaces between their breathing.
Not empty silence.
The kind earned after everything that had needed saying had been spoken through touch, choice, and presence.
The weekend remained with them.
Rhea.
Sol.
Kiro.
Nyx.
Reyes.
Panam.
Brenda and Iris.
Marco and Lena.
Walks through the trees, laughter near the lake, sauna heat, doors closing and opening, Mai allowing herself to want without apology.
None of those moments had weakened this one.
Nothing needed reclaiming.
Love had moved through the wider Orbit and returned without becoming less.
This was not the opposite of the weekend.
It was where the weekend had always been allowed to come home.
Ace’s breathing slowed first.
Shammy’s followed.
Mai stayed awake longest, holding both of them while the city continued beyond the sealed quiet of the bedroom.
Ace shifted once in the final moments before sleep.
Her hand found Shammy’s beneath the blanket.
Her other remained curled against Mai.
The emerald emblem rested centered at her throat.
Mai looked at it once.
Then at Shammy.
Shammy’s eyes were nearly closed, but she saw the look and answered with the smallest smile.
Mai lowered her face and kissed Ace’s hair.
No audience.
No hurry.
Nothing left to prove.
Only Ace, Mai, and Shammy in their own bed, folded into the structure they had built and chosen again.
Home closed gently around them.
This time, none of them needed to leave it.
