- 01: It Wasn't Enough -
The rain hadn't stopped in three days.
It slicked the streets of the Lavender Board like oil, turning alleys into mirrors and shadows into ghosts. Neon flickered above a crumbling plaza where four figures stood beneath a broken awning, huddled like conspirators.
They didn't speak until the drone passed—its red eye scanning the area with indifferent precision.
"She was last seen near the Roses Board" said the tallest of them, a man with a voice like rusted hinges. He tapped a cracked tablet, showing a grainy image of a woman in a long coat, pale blue hair vanishing into mist. "Before she disappeared."
A woman across from him scoffed. "Disappeared? You think someone like her just vanishes ?"
"No," said another, younger, barely more than a whisper. "She chooses to be unseen."
The fourth figure, silent until now, finally stepped forward. Her gloved hand rested on the hilt of something long and narrow strapped to her back. Her eyes, sharp and tired, scanned the image one more time.
"It won't be long until someone does find her," the woman said. "Now every Agents in every Boards is looking for her. She will be dead."
A beat of silence.
"Are we sure about that... this is the woman we're talking about?" the youngest asked.
No one answered.
Because they all knew.
The Pale Ghost wasn't just dangerous—she was a storm that walked like a person. A name spoken only in fear or reverence. She had walked away from battles that shattered city blocks. And now, she had vanished.
And she wasn't running.
One of them looked up at the sky, where no stars could be seen.
"Let's hope we find her before she killed thousands again."
___________________
They say if you have enough money, life can feel like heaven. You can throw cash at your problems until they solve themselves. Heal a broken heart. Buy a bed that doesn't fold in on itself like a dying spider. Maybe even afford one of those real eggs with yolks in the center.
But when you're broke, you get this instead: a flimsy paycheck, aching feet, and a sister with medical bills tall enough to apply for skyscraper status.
And the only thing you can do is dream of a briefcase of money hidden under your bed.
"Steven!"
I blink out of my reverie, caught leaning on the counter like a soggy mop. My manager's face is somewhere between tomato-red and aneurysm-purple.
Oh shit. Did I fall asleep again?
"Your shift's over," he snaps. "And I'm not paying for overtime daydreaming."
I clear my throat and give a small bow. "Right. Sorry."
He sighs, already over it, and shoves an envelope into my hand. "Your monthly pay."
Out back, I pull on my coat. My uniform's regulation gray, with a necktie so thin it looks more like a corporate noose. Once I'm sure the coast is clear, I open the envelope.
Seven hundred credits. Exactly what it should be.
I was hoping he'd miscount—just one or two extra would've helped. But life doesn't do charity work anymore. Not in the city. Not in the Roses Board.
A buzz rattles in my pocket. My phone's old—half-screened, no case, barely clinging to life.
Beep.
"Hey," I answer.
"Steven, are you still coming?" It's Valeria. Her voice is soft, but there's steel underneath it.
"Yeah, of course. I wouldn't want my little sister to be lonely."
Because I never do. Not when she's in that hospital room alone. Not when her body's fighting her harder than anything out here.
"Then come quick!"
Beep.
The Roses Board doesn't smell like roses. It smells like hot pavement, oil smoke, and filtered lies. But the name looks good on brochures.
I wonder if the other Boards are better than the one I'm walking through now. Do they also have skyscrapers stabbing into the clouds? Corporate logos hovering above the streets like holographic halos? Drones humming overhead like bored bees?
One of the massive screens plays an ad for the Red Tiara Association: "We're here to be your shield." A group of Agents pose, armored and weaponized, looking powerful. I've never met one, but it's common knowledge every Agent has some sort of superpower.
I wonder how much they get paid to play heroes.
Thirty minutes later, my feet drag me into the antiseptic air of Saint Albion General. The walls are too white. The quiet too heavy. Hospitals always feel like waiting rooms for fate.
The nurse at the front desk raises an eyebrow. "Miss Valeria's been harassing us about you for the past ten minutes."
I offer a sheepish shrug. "I had dinner."
She smirks and leads me to her room.
Valeria's sitting up when I arrive, staring out the window like she's trying to will the sky to change color. Her black hair spills across the sheets like ink. Her purple eyes—same as mine—light up when she sees me.
She waves with the only arm she has left.
"You're ten minutes late," she says.
"Eight," I correct, holding up my watch.
We grin at each other like idiots. Sometimes, it feels like we're the only two people in sync.
"How's school, did Teacher Bob yell at you again?" she asks.
"I'm in college now, remember? Teacher Bob was a high-school story."
"Oh, right." She waves dismissively. "Still can't believe my dumb brother managed to get in. Well, I guess anyone can be in college nowadays."
"You rude punk, I work hard to get there."
She giggles and pats the edge of her bed. I sit beside her.
After a few minutes of catch-up—me rambling about essays I didn't write and lectures I didn't attend—I ask, "So. How are you holding up?"
She glances at her chest like she can see the issue there. "Doctors say I'm stable. Whatever that means."
"Have you been eating?"
She beams. "They gave me mac and cheese today. And some mystery meat that tasted suspicious. I think they laced it with something! Brother, these doctors are trying to kill me. Help me escape and bring me home!"
She is joking, I know. I also know that she wants to be at home with me. All of the years in this hospital must've been torture for her.
I also don't want her to spend her whole childhood here.
"You have to be here, Val."
She pouts. "Tch."
If she wanted to get better she has to stay here… just a little while more.
"Anyway," I start changing subject, "a new chicken restaurant opened near my college."
And she quickly leans into it, "You went?"
I nod.
"You ate chicken and didn't bring me any? Are you trying to start a war?"
"They said I can't bring outside food," I reply solemnly.
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is still brighter.
Of course, I didn't eat chicken. Haven't in a long time. I had to lie. She needs to believe I'm doing okay out there.
"Hey, Steven…"
"Yeah?"
"I overheard the doctors talking about the bill again. Dad's paying, right?"
I hesitate—just a second.
"Of course he is."
Her shoulders sag. "That's good. I wish he'd visit."
"He's busy. Skies Board keeps him chained up, remember?"
She nods, unconvinced. "Wouldn't kill him to come once..."
"I'll talk to him," I say, rising.
"Really?"
"Sure. Scout's honor."
"You were never a scout."
"I watched a movie about them once. I know how it works."
She laughs, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears.
"Be careful going home," she says, as always.
"Always am."
As I step into the hallway, the doctor is waiting like a judgmental ghost. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. I reach into my bag and hand him the envelope.
He counts the credits slowly, like each one offends him. Then looks at me with tired eyes.
"Please," I whisper.
Not for me.
He nods. Walks away.
I know it's not enough. It never is.
But for now, he takes it.
Outside, my stomach growls loud enough to startle a passing drone. I ignore it. Home is thirty minutes away, and there's one pack of instant noodles left in the cupboard.
I'll make it stretch.
I always do.