Chapter Nine
Small Jobs
Riley sat cross-legged on the bed in her alcove, her back pressed against the padded wall. The dim light from the city skyline filtered through the open door, painting streaks of neon across the room. She absently turned a small screwdriver in her hand, the motion mechanical as her mind raced. The alcove was small but cozy, now cluttered with her few belongings—a neatly folded blanket, Chirp's broken shell, and her bag tucked into a corner.
The past two days had been a blur of adjustment. Sable had insisted on taking her shopping again, much to Riley's embarrassment. The memory of standing in the middle of a brightly lit clothing store while Sable casually tossed garments into a basket made her cringe. "You need the basics," Sable had said firmly, ignoring Riley's protests. Her new guardian's practicality had been both comforting and overwhelming—like having someone actually care about her needs was a forgotten language she had to relearn.
Riley's gaze dropped to the hoodie she now wore. It was dark blue, soft, and comfortable—a far cry from the patched and stained jackets she used to wear in the Driftlands. The fabric still smelled faintly of the store's artificial freshener, a scent that marked it as new, untouched by the grime and desperation of her old life. She appreciated the gesture but hated the feeling of relying on someone else for necessities. In the Driftlands, dependency was just another word for vulnerability.
A faint knock on the wall outside the alcove pulled her from her thoughts. "You're brooding," Sable's voice teased, though there was an undercurrent of concern beneath the lightness. "That's a dangerous habit, kid."
Riley set the screwdriver aside and leaned out of the alcove to find Sable leaning casually against the wall, a mug of coffee in her hand. The city lights caught the chrome of her cybernetic arm, sending rainbow refractions dancing across the honeycomb-patterned floor. The sight still made Riley's chest tighten—not with fear anymore, but with a complicated mix of fascination and uncertainty.
"Not brooding," Riley muttered, though her tone betrayed her doubt. "Thinking."
"Same thing." Sable took a sip from her mug, raising an eyebrow as if daring Riley to argue. The gesture was familiar now, part of their developing routine. It should have felt dangerous, this growing comfort, but somehow it didn't.
Riley sighed and swung her legs off the bed, planting her feet on the cool tiles. "I need to find work," she said, her voice firmer now. "I can't keep letting you pay for everything." The words tasted like pride and desperation mixed together.
Sable's expression softened slightly, though her smirk didn't fade. Her cybernetic fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against her mug. "You've been here for two days. I'm not exactly bleeding creds over it."
"That's not the point," Riley snapped, her frustration spilling over. She immediately regretted the tone but didn't back down. Old habits died hard, and in the Driftlands, accepting help for too long meant accepting chains. "I need to start pulling my weight. Fix Chirp. Stop feeling like... like a burden."
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Riley watched as something flickered across Sable's face—recognition, maybe, or memory. The mercenary set her mug down with deliberate care.
"Fair enough." Sable nodded slowly, her usual sharp edges softening just slightly. "I'll ask around. See if there's something you can handle."
Riley blinked, caught off guard by the lack of resistance. In her experience, people who helped you wanted to keep you dependent, keep you grateful. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Sable confirmed, pushing off the wall with a fluid motion that made her cybernetics whir softly. "You've got fire, kid. I respect that. But don't expect miracles overnight. This city chews people up, especially ones who don't know how to play the game."
Riley nodded, her determination hardening even as uncertainty churned in her gut. The city's rhythm still felt alien—too fast, too bright, too interconnected. But she'd adapted to the Driftlands' harsh reality; she could adapt to this too. "I'll learn."
Sable smirked, her cybernetic hand tapping the wall lightly. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, a metallic reminder of how far Riley was from everything she'd known. "Good. Keep that attitude. You'll need it." She stretched, the motion casual but controlled. "Now, stop brooding and get some rest. I'll let you know if I find anything tomorrow."
Riley watched her walk off, her sharp-edged presence a strange mix of comfort and challenge. Turning back to her alcove, she settled against the wall again, her mind already racing with possibilities. Through the window, Helix City's skyline stretched endlessly upward, its neon arteries pulsing with life and opportunity and danger.
She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but she was determined to face it head-on.
The next morning, sunlight crept weakly through the window, muted by the ever-present haze that clung to Helix City. The golden rays barely reached the small table in the kitchen, where Riley sat, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of synthetic coffee. The bitter aroma was sharp in her nose, but she'd barely sipped it. She stared into the swirling steam as if it held answers, her thoughts circling like vultures.
Across the room, Sable leaned against the counter, cradling her own mug. Unlike Riley, Sable's coffee was already half gone. Her cybernetic arm rested casually against the counter, the polished metal catching the dim light. She was dressed for the day in her usual tough-but-practical style: dark tactical pants and a fitted black jacket. The faint aroma of grease and soap clung to her, a reminder of her sharp-edged life.
"You're quiet this morning," Sable remarked, her voice cutting through the stillness.
Riley blinked, her fingers tracing absent circles along her mug's rim. "Just thinking."
"Yeah, well, thinking's dangerous when you do too much of it." Sable set her mug down with a soft clink. "Good thing for you, I might have found something to keep those gears turning."
Riley looked up sharply, something between hope and wariness flickering in her eyes. "Work?"
"Something like that." Sable's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more like she was testing Riley's reaction. "You know your way around robotics?"
Riley hesitated. Memories of scavenging parts from the Driftlands flashed in her mind—cobbled-together drones, repurposed machines barely held together by rusted screws and hope. "Enough to get by," she said cautiously, unconsciously mirroring her father's old habit of understating his skills.
"Good enough." Sable straightened, her smirk fading into something more serious. Her cybernetic arm whirred softly as she crossed her arms. "There's someone you need to meet. His name's Brendon. Goes by Link when he's working with the team."
Riley's brow furrowed. "Team?"
"Ward's team," Sable clarified, taking another sip of her coffee. The morning light caught the scars on her face, making them stand out against her pale skin. "He wasn't part of the raid on the Steel Sharks. Usually, he works from behind the scenes—running logistics, ops, tech support. He's not a field guy unless there's no other choice."
Riley tilted her head, processing this new information. Her experiences with Ward had been limited but positive—he seemed to share Sable's direct nature, though his came wrapped in an easier charm. "Why does he need me, then? Doesn't he already know his way around tech?"
"Oh, he does," Sable said with a faint grin that suggested shared history. "But even the best need help sometimes. He's been struggling to get one of his drones operational. I told him you're good, and he's willing to give you a shot."
The weight of the offer settled on Riley's shoulders. It was an opportunity, but it was also a test. Every job in the Driftlands had been about survival; this felt different—like a chance to prove herself, to carve out a place in this new world. "What's the job?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Simple," Sable said, setting her mug down and stepping closer. Her presence was solid, grounding. "Fix the drone, and he'll let you use his workshop. Plus, he's offering to pay you for the work."
Riley's gaze flicked to Chirp's shell on the counter, then back to Sable. The offer was tempting—too tempting. Access to a real workshop, not just salvaged tools and makeshift repairs. But experience had taught her to look for the catch. "Why's he willing to let me use his workshop? He doesn't even know me."
Sable shrugged, her expression calm but firm. "Because I vouched for you. Told him you're sharp and know your way around machines." Her eyes hardened slightly. "Don't make me regret that."
Riley felt her cheeks heat. There was a challenge in Sable's voice, one she couldn't ignore. The woman had given her shelter, protection, a chance at a new life. She couldn't—wouldn't—let her down. "Alright," she said, straightening in her seat. "I'll do it."
Sable's smirk returned, brief but satisfied. "Good. We'll head out in an hour. Wear something comfortable—it's a bit of a ride to his place."
As Sable walked away, her footsteps muffled by the honeycomb-patterned floor, Riley stared at the coffee in her hands. Her mind raced with possibilities, doubts, and a flicker of excitement. She glanced at Chirp again, and this time, the sight of his cracked shell didn't feel like a weight dragging her down.
Instead, it felt like a goal waiting to be reached.
The mag-lev ride out of the city center was quieter than Riley expected. The hum of the train filled the gaps in their conversation, which had been sparse at best. Sable was her usual stoic self, sitting with her arms crossed and eyes scanning their fellow passengers with casual disinterest. Riley, on the other hand, found herself stealing glances at the sprawling outskirts as they zipped by—low-rise buildings, industrial yards, and green spaces that were a stark contrast to Helix City's neon-drenched chaos.
When the train hissed to a stop at a smaller station, Sable stood and motioned for Riley to follow. "This way," she said curtly, leading her down the platform and out into the warm, dusty air.
The transition from the towering city center to the suburban outskirts was jarring. The streets were quieter, lined with fences and narrow sidewalks, the air carrying the faint scent of dry grass and motor oil. Sable navigated the maze of smaller roads with ease, eventually leading Riley to a gated community tucked away behind a tall, chain-link fence.
A bored-looking security guard sat in a small booth at the entrance, his face half-hidden behind a dog-eared magazine. He barely looked up as Sable approached, only nodding when she gave her name. The gate creaked open, and Riley followed her into the trailer park.
It wasn't what she expected.
The trailers were neatly arranged in rows, each with its own small patch of artificial turf or gravel yard. Some were decorated with string lights or potted plants, while others were plain and utilitarian. Children's toys were scattered across the yards—tricycles, plastic swords, a weathered dollhouse. A few residents sat outside, chatting or working on small projects, their lives moving at a slower pace than the city Riley had grown used to.
Brendon's trailer stood out, not because it was extravagant, but because of the small touches of personality that marked it as a family's home. The astroturf lawn was dotted with a sandbox and a bright red tricycle. A half-finished chalk drawing sprawled across the concrete driveway, the words "Lilly's Castle" barely visible beneath the smudges.
"This is it," Sable said, stopping in front of the double-wide trailer. She raised her cybernetic hand and knocked firmly on the door. The sound echoed strangely in the quiet neighborhood.
After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Brendon. He was a stout man in his mid-40s, his round face framed by unkempt hair and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. His glasses were slightly askew, and he wore a faded t-shirt that read "Dad Mode: Always On".
He blinked at them, his expression a mix of distraction and mild annoyance. "Oh, uh, hey. Sorry, didn't realize it was already that time."
Riley stiffened, her instincts warning her that something was off. She took a small step back, her mind racing with possibilities. After Flint, after everything, any hint of uncertainty made her muscles coil with readiness.
"Daddy! Where's the tower?!"
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The voice of a small child shattered her unease.
Two young girls darted into view, one clutching a stuffed rabbit and the other holding a plastic sword. Their faces were smudged with dirt, and their matching pigtails bobbed as they tugged at Brendon's shirt. The sight was so unexpected, so far removed from Riley's expectations, that she found herself staring.
"Girls, please," Brendon said, exasperated but fond. "I'm talking to guests right now."
The older girl, who looked about eight, peered curiously at Riley. "Who's she?"
Riley blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. She couldn't remember the last time she'd interacted with children. In the Driftlands, they were rare—too vulnerable, too hard to protect.
"This is Riley," Brendon said, glancing at her with an apologetic smile. "She's here to help me with some work."
"Is she gonna build a fort too?" the younger girl asked, her big eyes wide with hope. The innocence in her voice made something in Riley's chest ache.
Brendon chuckled, shaking his head. "Not this time, Jenny. Now go back inside and finish your snack. I'll be there soon."
The girls pouted but eventually retreated, giggling as they disappeared back into the trailer. Their laughter lingered in the air like a reminder of a world Riley had never known.
Brendon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. We were in the middle of building a tower out of pillows when you showed up."
Sable smirked. "No worries. I'll leave you to it." She glanced at Riley, her expression softening slightly. "I'll be back in a few hours to walk you home. Don't break anything."
Riley shot her a flat look but nodded, appreciating the attempt at humor. As Sable walked away, her confident stride carrying her back toward the gate, Riley felt a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. But it was different now—not the paralyzing fear she'd felt with Flint, but something more manageable. A nervous energy that came with new beginnings.
Brendon stepped aside, motioning for Riley to follow him. "Come on. Workshop's out back."
The backyard was small but well-maintained, with a raised garden bed along the fence and a few scattered lawn chairs. At the far end stood a large shed, its metal walls painted a dull gray. The faint hum of machinery and the distinct smell of solder filled the air as Brendon unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"Here we are," he said, stepping inside.
The workshop was nothing short of a treasure trove. Shelves lined the walls, packed with neatly labeled bins of parts and tools. A workbench dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered but organized. The soft glow of a holo-terminal illuminated a partially disassembled drone, its sleek frame gleaming under the overhead lights. Unlike the chaotic salvage piles of the Driftlands, everything here had purpose, had value.
Riley stared, her breath catching in her throat. She'd never seen anything like it. Back in the Driftlands, she'd worked with rusted scraps and mismatched components scavenged from piles of junk. This? This was a dream. Her fingers itched to explore, to understand, to learn.
Brendon gestured to the drone on the workbench. "That's the V-13 Regal I've been trying to fix. Damn thing's been giving me grief for over a week." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration evident in his voice. "If you can get it running, you're welcome to use anything here to fix your drone."
Riley approached the workbench cautiously, her fingers grazing the edge. The V-13 was a beautiful machine, its design sleek and compact. She could already see where the problem might lie, the faint discoloration of a damaged circuit board catching her eye. Her mind was already mapping out the repair process, falling into the familiar rhythm of problem-solving that had kept her alive in the Driftlands.
"You think you can handle it?" Brendon asked, his tone casual but curious. His eyes, magnified slightly by his glasses, watched her carefully.
Riley nodded, her confidence growing as she examined the drone. In some ways, this was simpler than the jury-rigged repairs she'd done back home. Here, she had proper tools, proper parts. No need to improvise with salvage or hope connections would hold. "Yeah. I can handle it."
Brendon grinned, clapping her lightly on the shoulder. The gesture was paternal, reminding her of the way he'd interacted with his daughters. "Great. I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, just holler. And don't be surprised if the girls come to check on you—they're nosy like that."
As Brendon headed back to the trailer, Riley let out a slow breath, her nerves settling. She glanced around the workshop, her mind already racing with plans. Everything she needed was here—tools, parts, space to work. It felt almost too good to be true, but she pushed that thought aside. Sable had vouched for her, given her this chance. She wouldn't waste it.
For the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of purpose.
Riley stood in the center of Brendon's workshop, her eyes sweeping over the tools and neatly organized parts lining the walls. The sheer volume of pristine equipment and labeled containers was staggering. She was used to scrounging for half-broken tools and mismatched scraps in the Driftlands. Here, everything was clean, ready, and fully functional. Her father would have been in awe of this place, though he probably would have muttered something cynical about corporate excess.
She approached the workbench where the V-13 Regal drone sat in pieces, its sleek black frame gleaming under the overhead lights. The drone's design was modern and efficient, a far cry from the jury-rigged contraptions she'd grown up fixing. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing the edge of the workbench. Part of her still expected someone to snatch this opportunity away, to reveal it was all some elaborate trick.
"All this, just sitting here," she murmured to herself, unable to keep the wonder from her voice. "Feels wrong, almost."
Her gaze shifted to the bins of components, each labeled with precision: "Capacitors - High Output", "Microprocessors", "Servo Motors". It was a treasure trove for anyone who worked with tech, and it made her hands itch with the urge to dive in and start tinkering. Back home, she would have had to trade a week's worth of water rations for just one of these parts.
Riley leaned closer to the V-13. She carefully removed the drone's damaged circuit board, flipping it over to reveal a faint crack running through one of the pathways. The damage was subtle—the kind of thing that could drive you crazy trying to diagnose without proper equipment.
"Well, there's your problem," she muttered, falling into her habit of talking through repairs. "Let's see if we can fix that."
Riley slipped her goggles down over her eyes, the cool metal frames settling against her skin, and turned up their magnification. The micro-soldering kit hissed softly as she activated it, a faint electric scent rising—ozone and heated metal mixing with the underlying smell of flux and circuitry. Each precise movement sent tiny blue-white sparks dancing across the circuit board, leaving behind a trail of molten silver connections. The tools felt alien—too precise, their weight balanced and intentional compared to the makeshift implements of the Driftlands. Her fingers, callused from years of desperate repairs, moved with an unexpected grace. Each solder point sang with a high, musical ping as she reconnected damaged pathways.
Despite the adjustment, Riley quickly fell into a rhythm. She replaced damaged components, rewired fried circuits, and ran diagnostics on the drone's motor assembly. Each step brought her closer to completion, her focus narrowing until the rest of the world faded away. This was what she knew, what she understood—the language of broken things waiting to be fixed.
The hum of the holo-terminal on the workbench broke her concentration. A message flashed across the screen: "Connection Lost - Please Check Signal Pathway." She sighed and made a quick adjustment, reconnecting a severed wire to the drone's internal receiver. The holo-terminal blinked back to life, confirming the repair.
An hour passed, then another. The sun outside the shed began to dip, casting warm orange light through the small windows. Brendon poked his head in once, carrying a water bottle and a protein bar. Riley noticed the slight tension around his eyes. Not exhaustion—something else.
"Everything okay?" she asked, surprising herself with the question.
He laughed, but it was tight. "Tech work and family don't always mix smoothly. Ward's team keeps trying to pull me back into full-time ops. But..." He gestured toward the house, where faint children's laughter echoed. "Some battles are more important."
Riley worked until the V-13 was fully assembled. She powered it on, the drone's lights flickering to life as its rotors hummed softly. A sense of accomplishment welled up in her chest—until she remembered the one thing she couldn't do.
The drone's systems required a Neurolink to operate.
"Of course," she muttered, slumping back in the chair. Without a Neurolink, there was no way to test if the drone's repairs were fully functional. It felt like a glaring reminder of everything she didn't have, everything that marked her as an outsider in this tech-driven world.
Not wanting to waste time, she decided to focus on something she could control. Pulling her bag onto the workbench, she carefully unpacked Chirp's battered shell. Her heart clenched as she ran her fingers over the cracks and dents, the little drone's cheerful personality now a distant memory. In the Driftlands, Chirp had been more than just a tool—it had been company, protection, a piece of herself expressed through salvaged tech.
"You've been through worse," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "We'll get you back together."
The tools and spare parts in the workshop were more than enough to get started. She carefully dismantled Chirp, setting aside pieces that were salvageable and making notes of what would need replacing. As she worked, a faint smile tugged at her lips. Chirp had been her companion through so much—fixing him felt like fixing a piece of herself.
The sound of footsteps approached the shed, and Riley looked up as the door opened. Brendon stepped inside, followed closely by Sable.
"Well, would you look at that," Brendon said, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the fully repaired V-13. "You actually did it."
Riley straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. She fought the urge to downplay her work—another habit from the Driftlands, where drawing attention to your skills often meant drawing the wrong kind of attention. "It still needs testing, but it's as close to factory spec as I could get."
Brendon got a glossy look in his eyes as he synced his Neurolink with the drone. The V-13's rotors spun up smoothly, the machine hovering in the air with a soft, steady hum. His control was precise, practiced—the kind of seamless interface Riley had only read about in salvaged tech manuals.
"Perfect," Brendon said, grinning. "You did good, kid."
Sable leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But there was something approving in her stance. "Told you she'd pull it off."
Brendon deactivated the drone and set it back on the bench. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cred stick and handed it to Riley. "Here's your payment. You earned it."
Riley hesitated before taking the stick, the weight of it feeling strange in her hand. In the Driftlands, payment usually came in the form of barter—parts, food, favors. Digital currency was rare, valuable. "Thanks."
"You should think about setting up a wireless account," Brendon added, adjusting his glasses. "Makes things easier than carrying these around."
Riley looked away, her grip tightening on the cred stick. "I... can't. Not without a Neurolink."
Brendon's expression shifted, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. "Ah. Got it. Well, hold onto that for now. If you ever get chipped, let me know, and I'll wire it to you properly."
He glanced at Chirp's disassembled parts on the bench. "Looks like you've got more work ahead of you. You're welcome to come back tomorrow if you want to keep at it. My door's always open to someone who knows their way around tech."
Riley nodded, her voice quiet. "Thanks. I'll be here."
Sable straightened from her position against the wall, motioning toward the door. "Come on, kid. Let's get you home."
Riley was a little startled by the last word. Home. She hadn't noticed when Sable had arrived, and she wondered how long the woman had been watching her work. As they left the workshop, Riley clutched the cred stick tightly in her hand. It wasn't much, but it felt like her first real step toward something bigger. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was moving forward.
Riley walked beside Sable as they made their way through the quiet streets surrounding Brendon's neighborhood. The hum of the city grew louder as they approached the mag-lev station, the neon glow of Helix City on the horizon casting sharp shadows against the buildings. Riley kept her head low, her fingers brushing over the cred stick in her pocket. It felt heavier than it should, a tangible reminder of the day's work.
Sable glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "You did good today," she said, her tone casual but firm. "Brendon doesn't hand out praise lightly."
Riley shrugged, unsure how to respond. Accepting praise had never been her strong suit. "It was just a drone."
"It wasn't 'just a drone' to him," Sable replied, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "Don't downplay what you did. It's a start."
Riley nodded, her gaze fixed on the ground. She appreciated Sable's words, but they didn't quite ease the knot in her chest. The day had been productive, sure, but it also highlighted just how far she still had to go. The fact that she couldn't even test the drone herself without a Neurolink gnawed at her, a reminder of the gap between her and the rest of the world. Getting chipped meant taking a step she couldn't take back, crossing a line her father had drawn in steel and certainty.
As they boarded the mag-lev train, Riley's thoughts drifted to Chirp. The little drone was still a long way from being operational, but working on him had been a welcome distraction. She found herself imagining the day when she'd finally get him back online, his cheerful beeps and erratic movements filling the silence again.
The train was relatively quiet, the car half-empty. Riley leaned against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon and steel. Sable sat across from her, arms crossed, her cybernetic hand tapping lightly against the seat. The rhythm was almost musical, though Riley doubted Sable was aware she was doing it.
"What's on your mind?" Sable asked, breaking the silence.
Riley hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cred stick. "Just... thinking about everything. How much I still need to figure out."
Sable's expression softened slightly. "You're doing fine, kid. It's not about knowing everything right away—it's about taking it one step at a time."
Riley gave a faint smile. "You sound like Brendon."
Sable's smirk faded slightly, her cybernetic hand tapping a steady rhythm against the seat. "Kid, you want to know something?" Her voice was low, almost contemplative. "My first real job, I was about your age. Took a contract with a small security team. Thought I knew everything, showed up cocky as hell."
Riley glanced up, surprised by the rare moment of vulnerability.
"First mission went sideways fast. Rookie mistake—didn't check my gear, didn't listen to the team lead. Nearly got everyone killed." Her cybernetic hand flexed, a gesture that spoke volumes. "Took me years to rebuild that trust. To prove I wasn't just another hot-headed kid thinking she could handle anything."
Her eyes met Riley's, a familiar intensity burning beneath them. "Potential means nothing without discipline. Learning means nothing without listening."
The parallel hung between them—unspoken, but understood. Riley found herself studying Sable's cybernetic arm, wondering what other stories it could tell. How many mistakes, how many lessons, how many choices had led to who she was now?
The train slowed as it approached their stop, the automated voice announcing the station with crisp efficiency. Riley stood, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as they stepped off the train and into the bustling streets of Helix City. The noise and chaos enveloped her again, but this time, it felt a little less overwhelming. Each day, the city's rhythm became more familiar, less alien.
By the time they reached Sable's apartment, the weight of the day was catching up to Riley. Her muscles ached from hours of crouching over the workbench, and her mind buzzed with a mix of exhaustion and restless energy. The memory of Brendon's workshop stayed with her—not just the tools and parts, but the feeling of purpose, of being trusted with something valuable.
Inside, the apartment was quiet, the faint hum of the city filtering through the windows. Sable tossed her jacket onto the back of the couch and glanced at Riley. "Go take a load off. You've earned it."
Riley nodded, retreating to her alcove. She closed the sliding door halfway, leaving just enough space to feel connected to the rest of the apartment. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she pulled out the cred stick and turned it over in her hands. It was a small thing, but it represented so much—a step toward independence, a step toward rebuilding herself.
The cred stick felt impossibly smooth in her hand, its perfect surface a stark contrast to the patched and worn currencies she'd known in the Driftlands. This wasn't just money. This was proof. Proof that her skills meant something. That she could create value beyond mere survival.
In the Driftlands, "payment" had been trading a repaired device for a day's water or a night's shelter. This? This was different. This was a promise—that her work had worth. That she had worth.