As much as I might love my Kusanagi, I had a feeling riding it up to the school would’ve set the wrong tone. It was an “Akira bike” and it was my favorite possession and the thing I most cherished since I got to this hellhole of a world, but it had a different place in Night City than it used to.

Most people who rode bikes in the city now went for the crotch-rocket version of Kusanagi, with its faster lines and flashier mods. Style had changed and bikes focused more on speed than on history. As much as I appreciated my Kusanagi, I wasn’t about to ride it into Rancho Coronado and have a bunch of kids calling it ‘old school.’

Cyndi’s Archer Quartz was definitely off the table too. That thing was basically a wind-up toy on wheels, screaming ‘I’m cute and harmless!’ to everyone around. No, we needed something that demanded attention, something that said we meant business.

Enter Angelica. She’d been hanging around, doing her best to claw her way out of the doghouse I’d put her in. So, when I announced that I needed a chauffeur with a flash car, she jumped at the chance. Her Herra Outlaw was the kind of car that fanatics called sex on wheels, and she was all too happy to drive me around if it let her scrub off some of that Animal stink on her and get her back on my good side.

We pulled up in front of Rancho Coronado Public High just as the bell released the day’s crop of kids. Angelica killed the engine, and the four of us stepped out, leaning on the car and standing around like we had all the time in the world to waste.

We’d dressed to make a statement. I went for the solo look – aviator shades, jacket that Deng had bought me, a little edge. Cyndi and Diego matched in that neomilitarism style that they both liked, rugged and sharp. And Angelica…well, she looked ready to walk a runway instead of the concrete outside a high school. All told, we looked like a mix of bad ideas and good times.

The whole area used to be 6th Street turf. Ever since their dust-up with us, they’d started scaling back so they could lick their wounds. It let the Valentinos take over, inch by inch, filling the power gap. Lucky for us, we were tight with the ‘tinos, so we were on friendly ground.

It didn’t take more than five seconds after we parked for a group of kids to start hovering around us. They drifted closer, eyes fixed on us like we were something out of one of their BD fantasies. One kid, all skinny limbs and wide eyes, called out with reverence in his voice, “Preem ride, choom.” I couldn’t help but grin as he stared at the Herrera like it was something sacred.

I caught his gaze, flashing him a knowing smile. His friends, meanwhile, were almost hypnotized by Angelica, trying to figure out if they should be more mesmerized by the car or by Angelica’s barely-there fashion. It was the exact effect I was hoping for.

While I leaned back, taking it all in, Cyndi and Angelica decided to start striking up conversations with the encroaching kids. Cyndi’s Nomad background gave her plenty to talk about when it came to cars. I heard her ask what they all thought of the Herrera and what kinds of rides they wanted. Some of the kids shuffled around, mumbling about how their families didn’t have much. Most of them talked about their parents riding around in Thorton Galenas or Mahir Suprons – good, dependable family rides that could get them from point A to B, but with all the personality of a washing machine.

“That’s a shame,” I said, shaking my head sympathetically. “Everyone deserves to ride in something that makes ‘em feel like a boss.”

I nodded to Angelica, and she popped open the Herrera’s trunk. I reached in and pulled out a heavy bag and cracked it open. The kids crowded closer, craning their necks, eyes wide as they saw what was inside.

“Here,” I said, reaching in and handing out small stacks of eddies to each of them. I made sure to make eye contact with every kid I handled a bundle to, a silent message that this wasn’t some throwaway charity – it was something personal. “Get yourselves something preem, maybe something that’ll make school a little less shit.”

The kids took the eddies with wide eyes and that classic ‘playing it cool’ expression every Night City kid seemed to master young. But I could see the excitement bubbling under their attempts to act unfazed. Soon enough, they were orbiting us, trying to split their attention between the Herrera’s gleaming curves, our high-end clothes, the chrome that caught the sun just right, and the weapons some of them were dying to ask about. On their faces, I saw awe mixed with something like hero worship – a spark of admiration lit by a life so far removed from their own. Night City didn’t give them a whole lot to look up to; people didn’t just walk in and hand out eddies.

So, this? This they’d remember.

I spotted a man in a cheap, slightly rumpled suit marching toward us, face tight with purpose. He had to be the principal of the school. He had that stern, no-nonsense look that probably served him well as a public servant in the hellhole of Rancho Coronado.

I jerked my head his way, and Diego caught the signal. He moved in, smooth and silent, intercepting the man with a relaxed but confident stance. Diego didn’t need to raise his voice or throw around any muscle; just his calm, steady presence was enough to make the principal slow to a stop. With a polite but firm smile, Diego ushered the man off to the side, talking to him in low tones. The principal, who clearly wasn’t used to being backed down, looked almost taken aback. And some of the kids noticed, standing a little straighter, wide-eyed as they watched the man who kept them all in line fall silent under Diego’s calm stare.

The rest of the kids kept their attention fixed on Cyndi, Angelica and me. Some of them couldn’t stop staring at the car we’d arrived in, soaking in every gleaming line of the thing, knowing their families couldn’t dream of a ride like that. Others had their eyes glued to Angelica, probably wondering what it would be like to walk around Night City with someone like her at their side. The rest took in the sight of us – the clothes, the chrome, the easy confidence – and I could practically feel the want simmering under their gazes. To them, we were a window into a life they thought was out of reach. But today, we’d brought that life a little closer.

&&&&&&

A few minutes later, I slid into the back seat of the Outlaw, feeling the cool pleather against my skin as the door shut with a satisfying, solid thunk. Cyndi, Diego, and Angelica settled in around me, and we pulled away from Rancho Coronado HS, leaving behind the buzz and chatter of kids who’d just gotten a taste of something different.

A few blocks down, as we coasted through the cracked, grimy streets of Night City, Cyndi twisted in the front seat, one eyebrow raised. “So…what was that all about?”

“Recruitment,” I said, letting the word settle. Diego shot me a glance, brow furrowing as if he wasn’t sure where I was headed.

I met his gaze. “Think back,” I said. “When’d you join Militech? And why?”

He shifted, eyes dropping for a second before he shrugged. “I was a little older than those kids. And I didn’t have many options,” he admitted. “I was just a street rat with nothing to look forward to. Militech offered cash and a way out. Sold me on the whole ‘better life’ angle.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “In a few months, Militech, Arasaka, Kendachi, Kang Tao – every corp in the city will be down here, hunting fresh bodies to add to their ranks. I’m doing the same thing, just got here a little early is all. Why should Militech get first dibs on the youth of Night City?”

Diego went quiet, letting that sink in as we coasted down the street. I let my gaze drift out to the window, thinking back to the scene at the school.

“Okay, so why the car? The clothes? The handouts?” Cyndi asked.

“You use what you got. Militech would show up with drones and armored AVs; Arasaka would show up with some cutting-edge chrome.” I shook my head. “We show them eddies and the life they could have if they come to us. It makes them feel like they’re joining something bigger. Sure, they’re gonna blow all the eddies I gave them on clothes, BDs, and whatever else. And by the end of the week, we’re gonna send one of our people back to the school to drop hints that The Pack’s got openings. We need runners and go-fers. We got small time gigs they can work.”

Cyndi and Diego watched me, understanding slowly dawning on their faces.

“They’ll remember how we rolled up looking sharp, driving one of the preemest cars they’ll ever see, flashing chrome and cash. They’ll remember Diego shutting down their principal with just a stare. That alone might do it. They’ll want what we have. And when we come knocking, they’ll want to say yes.

“The Pack needs more people,” I added, looking out the window once again. “We’re lean compared to half the other gangs in the city. Valentinos, Maelstrom, hell even the Scavs – they’ve all got us beat on numbers. We probably only have more bodies than the VDB. And they’re mostly a specialist gang so it doesn’t really count. If we’re gonna hold our own in this city, we need to grow.”

But as the words left my mouth, a queasiness settled in. I’d just spent a good hour buttering up kids, showing them a flash of a life they’d probably never reach without The Pack. And I was inviting them down the same path that had broken more people than it made whole. Still, what was the alternative? If I didn’t make the pitch, Militech or Arasaka would. At least with me they’d get a real chance to earn some eddies instead of simply being canon fodder in some corporate turf war.

But Fred’s face flickered in my mind, uninvited and unshakeable. Fred, who’d always drawn the lines I’d followed, the one who’d shown me the difference between thriving and just surviving. I could practically feel the weight of his disappointment if he saw me now, hustling kids into a world I knew was all sharp edges. Would he shake his head at what I was doing, that disapproving look sharp enough to cut through all the shit in the city? Or would he just see it for what it was – playing the same game as everyone else in the city, knowing full well it was either me or the corps who’d chew up the young and spit them out?

&&&&&&&

I rode my Kusanagi over to City Center, tucking it down a side street where it’d be out of sight before making my way over to Empathy. The neon lights spilling out of the club cast everything in a pulsing, blood-red glow as I wove through the crowd out front, their voices mixing with the thump of bass spilling out the doors.

Inside, the air hit like a wall, thick with smoke and the bite of some floral incense I couldn’t place. Empathy was alive tonight – a mix of regulars with rough edges, corpos dipping their toes in the grime, and a few dancers moving through the haze, their eyes scanning the crowd for likely marks. Like Lizzie’s, Empathy was a BD club where people could stop by and drown themselves in someone else’s life for a few hours. But whereas Lizzie’s had a gaudy attempt at class, Empathy didn’t bother. Everything here was laid bare, trading elegance for raw, gritty realism. It was the perfect backdrop for a chat with a street kid looking to make his way up.

I’d been checking in with every pawn broker across the city, getting a feel for crews that were starting to make noise, and Frank, who ran the little pawnshop in the lobby of my building – had come up with a name: Dalal Rodriguez, or Dal to those he ran with.

Word was, he’d been scraping together small-time jobs, hustling around Kabuki, Heywood, and maybe a few other districts where he could find easy pickings. And recently, he’d scored big enough to bring his little crew to Empathy for a taste of the high life. That kind of ambition didn’t stay hidden for long in Night City.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Sure enough, I spotted Dal and his crew tucked away in a corner booth, their faces washed in the muted glow of holograms spinning over the bar. They looked the part – rookies riding high, downing drinks the bartenders probably wouldn’t have served them just a month ago. I made my way over, and as I closed in, I saw a couple of them catch sight of me. They tensed up, unsure if I was trouble or something better.

Without invitation, I slid into the booth and threw Dal a grin. He blinked, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knew who I was or, at least, had heard enough to know I wasn’t someone to brush off. His crew shifted, watching me closely, a guarded tension hanging in the air as they waited, ready to jump in if things took a turn.

I waved down a waitress, ordering another round for the table before settling back on the worn couch, sizing up Dal and his crew. We waited quietly until the waitress camp back, setting the drinks down before melting into the crowd. I picked up one of the highball glasses, letting it catch the dim neon light as I raised it in a casual toast and downed half of it in one gulp.

“Heard about your last gig,” I said, watching the way Dal’s crew looked at me – a mix of curiosity and nerves sparking across their faces. “Not bad for a few eddies. Enough for a little celebration. But your’e still splashing about in the shallow end.”

Dal bristled a little, trying to hide it behind a smirk. It was obvious he was trying to keep his confidence afloat. “We’re doing fine,” he shot back, his tone a mix of boldness and caution.

“Fine’s fine,” I replied, keeping it light. “Fine’s for folks happy to scrape by on small jobs. But…if you’re here, I’m guessing you’re not exactly looking for a life of small payouts and scrounging for scraps.” I leaned in a bit, letting my gaze drop to the drink before meeting his eyes again. “You looking to climb?”

His eyes flicked to his friends – each one hanging on my words, eager but trying not to look too eager. They didn’t want to admit it, but the hunger was there, written plain on their faces. They were rookie enough to have thought they’d be swimming in eddies as soon as they started down the path of an edgerunner, yet here they were, splitting drinks and pretending they had more than enough eddies to cover everything.

Dal leaned forward, trying to sound casual but with an edge of real interest. “What’re you offering?”

“A chance to go pro.” I let the words sink in. “You’re making eddies, sure, but you’re moving loud and clumsy. Small-timers move like that. It catches the attention, and not the good kind. You keep this up and you’ll get heat from all the wrong crews, and you’ll be out of the life before you’re even in it. But if you work with me, you’re not gonna be just another pack of street rats hustling to make rent.” I help his gaze, letting the silence build before continuing. “With me, you get resources. Intel. Access to jobs with payouts you wouldn’t believe. People will know your name. You’ll be someone people respect – or fear, if that’s your thing.”

Dal leaned back, his face a careful mask as he considered my offer. One of the girls in his crew looked like she wanted to speak, her eyes flicking to Dal, waiting for his cue.

I let the tension settle before standing up, breaking the moment. “Think about it,” I said. “Your choice: stay where you are, scrape up a few more eddies, wait ‘til someone bigger decides to knock you down…or start pulling real jobs. You should be able to find me. If you can’t…you wouldn’t work out anyway.”

I left them sitting there, eyes following me as I left the club. On my way out I caught their reflection in a mirror and could see it – the ambition sparking behind the looks of respect the gave me.

&&&&

Another day, another visit to a bar tucked away in City Center. This one wasn’t on any of the usual maps, but Sandra Dorsett had tipped me off about it. She said it was the place for anyone serious about running the NET. The place didn’t have the notoriety of the Afterlife, where mercs would pull in to toast their own legends, or Lizzie’s, haven for joytoys and their regulars, or even Totentanz, which had practically patented chrome-and-violence. No, Short Circuit was strictly for the netrunners.

Inside, the only light came from the cool, blue glow of monitors plastered across the walls, casting shadows over the faces hunched around tables. I spotted Sandra across the room, leaning casually against the wall, one boot tapping in time with the pulsing electronic beat flooding the bar. She was hosting a gathering of netrunners, including some familiar faces I recognized for when they dropped by the HQ in the past. There were a half-dozen new faces seated next to her normal crew, each new face hidden behind bulky tech gogles and wrapped in netrunner suits that seemed part of their skin. Their pallor and twitchiness was a dead giveaway that they spent way more time jacketed into the NET than living out in meatspace.

I made my way over and Sandra intercepted me, hoping to tell me a bit about them before I made my little presentation.

“Solid crowd,” she murmured with a quick jerk of her head to the fresh faces she’d brought. “Got some up-and-comers here. That short guy? They call him Spectral Kid. Beside him is 6houl, and the one over there’s Sweet Ellie – or something close to that.” She raised a brow, sizing up the lot of them. “They’re all willing to talk, but don’t get your hopes up. Netrunners aren’t known as joiners. They mostly go in for contract work. Gangs don’t exactly mesh with their style.”

I took a breath and strolled over to the table, eyes scanning each of them, watching as they gave me a once-over right back. It was a mixed crew. Their postures ranged from guarded to vaguely interested.

“Name’s Noah,” I said, meeting their gaze one by one. “I’m with The Pack. Right now, we’re on a recruitment drive – not for numbers, but for talent. We’re evolving. Expanding.”

A few of the new faces exchanged glances or folded their arms, clearly skeptical of me but not cutting in. “We’re building something new. I’m looking to start a daemon-mill, Pack-run, with reach across Night City. Right now, if someone wanted to buy quality soft, their options are the sorcerers in Kabuki or the VDB. And nobody’s lining up to deal with those spooky shits unless they have to.” I let that hang a second, watching intrigue start to flicker on a few faces. “I’m going to create a third option. One that is more than competitive with the other two.”

I could see a few raise their brows, slightly intrigued.

“We’d be selling high-grade soft to crews all over Night City,” I continued. “Tyger Claws? They’ll probably stick with Kabuki – they’ve got roots there, and they’re territorial. But the Valentinos? They’re already scouting for new suppliers. They’ve got chop shops all over their territory and need daemons that can slip through car security clean and fast. Car companies are always upgrading their security, which means a steady customer base for us once we get up and running. And from there? We scale up.”

One of the netrunners, a guy with a tangle of silver and purple cables trailing from his neck, tilted his head and raised a hand. “You really the guy who blacked out the city?”

The question threw me. I thought the people I was trying to recruit would have been asking me about software quality, the logistics of challenging the old heads in Kabuki, maybe even the risks involved. But this guy went in a completely different direction. After a beat, I gave a slight nod, just enough to confirm what he wanted to know.

His eyes widened a touch, and as he glanced at the others, I caught a look of surprise and a little spark of respect passing between them. Then he turned back to me, leaning in. “How’d you pull it off?”

I snorted, giving him a look that said you really think I’d hand over my trade secrets? His face broke into a grin, and he shrugged, letting it go.

“So, let’s be real,” he pressed, shifting back to a skeptical tone. “Why would we work for a gang? We’re independent. No bosses, no bullshit. We take jobs, get paid, keep it simple.”

I crossed my arms and sized him up. “Alright, tell me this – what’s been your best gig? Anything I’d hear about?”

He raised his chin a bit, pride flickering in his eyes. “Ran a job for some Nomads about two years back. Tracked a shipment of high-grade medical supplies from Chrome Cross. Rerouted the whole thing so they could hijack it clean. Earned me some good eddies and a nice bump in street cred.”

“Not bad,” I nodded. “Solid work. And Chrome Cross is a corp, so you had to deal with some kind of security there.” I paused, then continued. “RCS, Cytech, Kiroshi. I’ve hit all of them.” The netrunners all jerked a little at the names I was dropping. Hell, Cytech’s not even in business anymore. Sandra and some Pack netrunners ground them to dust; they couldn’t keep up, and they went under. How many netrunners do you know have bankrupted an entire corp before?” I let that sit for a beat, watching their intrigue morph into something deeper, the wheels turning.

“And that?” I smirked. “Just a warm-up for what’s coming up. We’re gonna make noise soon. Loud enough that the whole city will hear it.”

Another netrunner leaned forward, eyes sparking. “What’s bigger than taking down a corp?”

I leaned back, letting a smirk play on my lips. “I’m not in the habit of spilling secrets to people who are thinking of joining.”

The group fell quiet, each of them balancing skepticism and intrigue, which was exactly where I wanted them. A glance at Sandra showed her watching, her expression calm but pleased, with the barest nod of approval at how things were going back. I shot her a quick nod back, silently grateful. She’d brought some top talent tonight, and though they weren’t sold yet, I could tell they were closer than they’d been when I walked in.

&&&&

Our HQ downtown felt empty. It was a strange hollowness I couldn’t quite explain. Mor and Fred’s absence had changed the place, and I felt it hardest in the quiet moments while I slouched on the couch I’d half-claimed as my own. The couch was almost comforting; a spot where I could just sink into thought and let the gang go on without needing anything from me. But facing Fred’s death? Coming to terms with how he’d just…vanished from my life? I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. And Mor? When he died it felt like he took a piece of the HQ’s heart with him.

I was lost in thought, so I barely noticed as Deng led Reed over to me. Reed and I hadn’t spoken since I left HQ that night a while back, heading out without a word after I got the news about Fred. I knew Reed would track me down sooner or later, and I figured he’d have some questions. I had a few of my own too.

Reed took a seat across from me, meeting my gaze directly. “Let’s get to it,” I said. “Am I gonna have problems with the FIA or 6th Street? My implant…I need to keep it under wraps. It’s one of my biggest advantages, and I don’t want other people knowing about it.”

Reed nodded, his expression hard to read. “It’s your call. That’s actually part of why I’m here. We could use you. You know this city better than most, and you could help us. You know who I work for, and you know I do it to bring some sort of order to this chaos. This city likes to claim independence, but it’s still under the thumb of corporations. Arasaka’s got their fingers in everything. The only way that’ll change is if something major happens.”

I snorted. “So you want me to be your useful idiot? 6th Street’s not enough? Reed, you might have sold your soul to the FIA, but I haven’t. And you may tell yourself differently, but that loyalty you talk about only runs one way. Myers left you out to dry at the end of the last war, remember?

His face shadowed, but he stayed quiet.

“Actually, scratch that,” I said. “Leaving you to die would’ve been one thing. But she went further. She sold you out to Arasaka. And then painted you as their rat. Told your entire team you turned. And then? She stole your protégé and forced her to break one of the few pieces of international law anyone still pretends to care about. She’s making Songbird risk her freedom and her life. For what? Every trip Songbird makes behind the Blackwall eats away at her, and it’s not for the NUSA or any higher cause. It’s all about Myers. She’s after power, plain and simple.”

Reed’s expression tightened, but he kept listening.

“If word got out that Myers had someone breaching the Blackwall for her personal agenda, Netwatch would be all over her. Corps, too. They’d tear her apart for that kind of shit. And if things got bad enough, the NUSA would probably have to ditch her to survive. Can you honestly say she’d step down from office, willingly, to save the NUSA from the kind of fallout we’re looking at here?”

Silence hung between us, thick and heavy. Reed’s jaw was clenched and his face was unreadable. This wasn’t the Reed I knew from the video game. This wasn’t the Reed who saw V as a useful merc who could help him get to the bottom of everything that happened in the DLC. This was the Reed who saw me as a potential threat. It was like a cold weight in my chest, seeing that guarded look. I half-expected him to defend Myers, justify all the mess she’d dragged him and Songbird through. Or maybe he’d simply decide to eliminate the threat to the NUSA and FIA; kill the man who knew too much and had stolen some valuable hardware in the process.

But he didn’t do either. He just sat there, absorbing everything I said.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice softer than before, almost resigned. “Noah. You’re right about Myers. She’s pulled some shit since I’ve met her. And maybe I did sell my soul. But we both know that in this city, everyone’s got a price. Everyone.”

I was about to respond when Deng’s voice cut in unexpectedly, pulling us both out of our verbal battle. “Reed, was it?” He glanced at Reed with an oddly curious look. “How old are you?”

Reed blinked, caught off guard. He came to do battle with me, and now some rando was asking him questions. He opened his mouth to answer, but Deng kept talking, giving him a once-over.

“You look younger than me, but if the kid is right – and he usually is – you’re high up with an alphabet agency. That doesn’t happen overnight. So…were you around for the Quiet War?”

Reed’s face twisted a little, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer. Before he could respond, I spoke up. “What was the Quiet War?”

Deng shot me a look, half-surprised I hadn’t heard of it with all the times I’d badgered him about tales of Night City from long ago. “Back when the U.S. was starting to lose its grip globally, the European Economic Community was gaining momentum. The U.S. tried to claw back some of its power and influence with…let’s call them ‘creative’ solutions. One of the things they did was manipulate the stock markets in Asia and Europe. Financial sabotage, destabilization tactics. When the world caught on and got wise to everything that was happening, shit spiraled out of control. Countries started slapping embargoes on the U.S. left and right. By the end, almost every nation had cut us off.”

“It’s what started the Collapse,” Reed added quietly, watching Deng with a slight curiosity.

“Uh…hate to be that guy, but what was the Collapse?”

Deng’s eyes settled on me and he chuckled a bit. “The Collapse was the U.S. hitting rock bottom. When the embargoes slammed us, the economy crumbled. Essentials like food, medicine, fuel? All of it became scarce. Inflation skyrocketed, and the government was just barely keeping it together. And that was just in the first few days. When the dust settled, the U.S. was history. The Collapse is why there’s an N in NUSA.”

“So…the Collapse wiped the slate clean?”

“Not exactly,” Deng’s gaze grew darker. “It wiped out the government’s credibility. With the U.S. too broken to stop them, the corporations jumped in and took control wherever they could. The megacorps saw a golden opportunity: they had the resources, the influence, and no one powerful enough to stand in their way. They started taking over, bit by bit. And then you had the first corporate war where all these companies realized war could be good business. That leads to Militech and Arasaka vying for power, the Nomad clans forming because the government left middle America to rot, entire cities crumbling. Everything you see around you now, that’s the fallout of the Quiet War and the Collapse.”

The pieces started to click together, every part of the city’s rough, corporate-driven grit making a little more sense. This entire world had been shaped by the Quiet War and the Collapse, like some scar that never fully healed.

Deng crossed his arms and eyed Reed and me carefully. “Look, I don’t know much about this Blackwall, or President Myers,” he started, his tone gruff. “Never voted for her. I don’t know you either, Reed, or what you did to end up where you are or what keeps you loyal.” He paused, his eyes settling on me. “But if Noah’s right, and corps and governments would be out for Myer’s head if they found out what she’s up to…it sounds a hell of a lot like the start of the Quiet War. And we all know where that road leads to.”

Reed was silent. I could see him processing what Deng had said, his gaze turning inward, mind shifting from defensive loyalty to something deeper. He slowly leaned back in his chair, no longer looking at us, just staring off into the middle distance, brow furrowing as he worked through it.

I wanted to let him mull it all over, let his thoughts land where they may, but I couldn’t leave it there. I needed Reed on board. I had a plan for what the gang should be working on next, and he could help with it. I leaned forward, holding his gaze when he looked back my way.

“Songbird’s still got a chance, Reed. Those deep dives she’s taking? They’re tearing her apart. But I know a way to stop the damage. There’s something here in the city that could actually reverse what the Blackwall’s doing to her. Question is, would you be interested in helping me find it?”

Reed’s face didn’t shift. Not right away. He was still as a statue, weighing my words. The silence stretched so long I thought he might turn me down, but then he nodded, slowly, almost to himself.

He pushed up from his chair, and when he turned back to face me, his expression was as unreadable as ever. “You won’t need to worry about Gunner. He won’t be talking about your implant.”

He held my gaze for a beat longer, then gave a final nod and walked out, leaving me with the smallest ember of hope that I could pull off something truly epic.