He sat before a cheap laminate table, staring at the frost clinging to the edges of the windowpane. Milky, dim light seeped in from the towering buildings outside, casting shadows across the room. His feet were crossed on the table. His breath formed small clouds of mist. He wore a thick winter coat to fend off the biting cold. The heater technically worked, but there was no money to run it. It was still before dawn when the buzzer at the container door suddenly rang.

The thin metal sheet groaned and jolted aside, and Earl Tardino stood there with a worn folder clutched in both hands. He didn’t say a word as he stepped through the gap Lex had left open. He flicked the light switch on the wall and sat down on an empty metal chair under the window.

"Did you meet her?" he asked. His once-long hair was now shaved down to mere millimeters. The overhead light gleamed off his scalp. He was clean-shaven and strikingly thin.

"She was working up there. In the restaurant," the boy replied.

The former spacecraft technician fixed him with his pale blue eyes. The last of his breath’s mist faded in the cold air. For a moment, he held his breath.

"And what did she say?"

"She made me a Jax and said it was worth the credits." Lex took a few steps toward the worn-out desk chair, its upholstery frayed and torn. He spun it to face him and sat down.

Tardino nodded gravely. "Then it means she’s fulfilled her assignment. But why did she stay up there?"

"That’s what I’ve been wondering too." The boy grabbed the empty cup from last night by its handle, studying the dried coffee grounds at the bottom. The chair creaked as he shifted. "She was involved with some corporate rat up there," he said. Zak Quinten."

For a long moment, they stared at each other without blinking. Tardino seemed unsure how to react. Then he leaned back against the container wall, folding his arms over the old folder in his lap. "She must have a plan," he said aloud. "She sees an opportunity to bring down the SnackBite corporation too."

Lex looked up from the coffee cup. "And you think that makes it better?"

His companion glared at him, baring his teeth. In an instant, his expression shifted from thoughtful to a twisted grimace. "What kind of crap are you spouting, kid?"

"When I saw her in that restaurant again," the boy began, "I realized how she really feels about me. Maybe I already knew before, but it was only then that I admitted it to myself." He paused, thinking, his face contorted in pain. He shook his head as if trying to dispel his dark thoughts. "I could never be with anyone else," he said quietly.

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"Holy shit."

"I just couldn’t," he repeated. "Because of her. Because of how I feel about her. And if she felt the same way, she wouldn’t have done it either."

"She did what she hated most in the world for you, for the Crimson Dawn, for your people," Tardino said. "She integrated herself into that slimy upper world—the world of lies and appearances, built on the suffering of others. She did all that for the ultimate goal: to make the world a better place in the end. For her, everything she’s doing on Denova II is a means to an end. An evil she has to endure to reach her goal."

"Yeah. She puts her mission above me," Lex said. "She always has. Even when she sent me to Luvanda. The mission—the Crimson Dawn—was always more important to her. I get that now." In the silence that followed, he avoided Tardino’s gaze, staring instead through the small window at the snowy megalopolis outside. The city was lit by advertisements, everything gray and grim, ruled by the corporations. The people. The world. Everything lived by their rules.

"Did anything else happen while you were up there? Anything worth mentioning?" Tardino asked.

"She gave me a chip card."

"Then hand it over. It’s meant for me."

"I can’t," Lex replied. "The card was in my jacket. The one the guard took when he tried to grab me."

Tardino furrowed his brow. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the folder and folding his hands as if in prayer. "That card probably held the explanation for why Veela hasn’t come back to us yet. What she’s planning with Zak Quinten." He fell silent, deep in thought. "What did you do up there?"

Lex didn’t respond. It felt like an eternity before Tardino rose from his seat and placed the folder on the desk. He walked past him to the metal door, opening it with the press of a button, and paused there. Outside, the day was beginning to break. Tardino’s figure faded into a shadowy outline against the steel-gray light and the shimmering corporate advertisements. Snow fell over the bleak expanse of container homes, and the sounds of the city drifted in—the hum of traffic, the murmur of conversations among the residents of the slums.

"There’s no reason for us to wait any longer," Tardino said. "We’ve achieved what we set out to do. The only question left is whether you’re with us. If you’re disappointed in us, then—"

"I’m in," the boy said, his gaze fixed on the motionless silhouette in the doorway for a long moment.

"Good," Tardino replied. "Then read everything in the folder carefully. It contains our plans, the tactical principles—everything you need to know for the mission. And get some rest. You’ve been through a lot. In three days, we move out."

The silhouette stepped out into the snow and cold. The door slid shut behind him automatically, and suddenly, the room was unbearably silent again.

Lex remained in the battered office chair for a long time. The past weeks had been relentless. He had cleared four city blocks of the detritus of civilization, traded his right hand for an artificial one, and, just hours ago, narrowly escaped a habitat station in orbit. He hadn’t slept all night. He should have been utterly exhausted. But he was wide awake.

Eventually, he lay down on the bed and stared up at the metal ceiling, closing his eyes—only for them to snap open again, as if against his will. Sleep was miles away.