The rain had stopped hours ago, but New Knight still wore its wet skin like a lingering bruise. The narrow streets shimmered under a fractured moonlight, broken puddles reflecting the faint glimmer of surviving streetlamps. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily from the edge of a collapsed skybridge, each drop punctuating the silence like a slow, deliberate clock.
Evelyn moved quickly through the back alleys, her boots whispering against the damp concrete. Her hood was drawn low, a shadow across her face, but the cold wind still managed to find the skin at the nape of her neck. She carried nothing in her hands, but her posture was taut, protective—as though she still bore the weight of the satchel she'd passed off two nights ago.
She hadn't told Rico. She hadn't told Dr. Valdez. The fewer who knew, the better.
From the corner of her eye, a shape detached from the darkness and began matching her pace. The stride was too controlled, too familiar to be a stranger.
"You're late," she said without looking at him.
Marcus Hale's low voice carried no apology. "And you're being followed."
Her pulse spiked, but she didn't break stride or turn her head. "How many?"
"One for sure. Possibly two. Not ours."
The rain-washed air between them seemed to tighten. She adjusted her hood, her expression still hidden, and Marcus scanned the edges of the street with the detachment of a man accustomed to danger. Whoever was tailing them wasn't in a hurry—they wanted her to know.
"They're after the satchel," Marcus said after a long moment.
"They think I still have it," Evelyn replied.
His gaze flicked to her sharply. "You don't?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she pushed into a narrower lane where the walls leaned close together, their brickwork wet and darkened by moss. Above, rusted fire escapes clung to the buildings like skeletal limbs. Her mind ticked over the possibilities—who could have known the satchel was in play, and more importantly, who would risk following her through New Knight's underbelly?
They reached the edge of an abandoned tram station, its skeletal frame rising out of the fog like the ruins of a glass cathedral. Shattered panels lay strewn across the ground, crunching softly beneath their boots. In the middle of the empty platform, a broken clock hung at a crooked angle, its hands frozen at 2:47.
It was here that Marcus stopped.
"They'll follow you in here," he said, scanning the shadows.
"Good," Evelyn replied. She turned slowly to face the empty stairway leading down into the station's lower level. "It'll be easier to deal with them where no one's watching."
Marcus gave a humorless smile. "Always two steps ahead."
Footsteps echoed faintly from the street they'd just left—measured, deliberate. Whoever was behind them wasn't trying to be quiet anymore.
Evelyn's mind flashed back to the satchel. It had been delivered into hands she trusted, but even trust in this city was a currency that could devalue overnight. Inside was information powerful enough to fracture the fragile peace, the kind of data that could either rebuild the city's future or bury it in deeper ruin. And now, someone was willing to chase her through the bones of New Knight to get it.
"Who do you think they're working for?" she asked quietly.
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Could be corporate. Could be one of the breakaway militias. Or…" He hesitated, just for a heartbeat. "Could be someone closer."
The idea settled like grit in her teeth. The coalition had grown in recent weeks—activists, defectors, even a few businessmen who claimed to have turned over new leaves. But growth brought cracks, and cracks brought betrayal.
The footsteps were louder now, two distinct sets—one heavy, one lighter, almost feline.
Marcus shifted his stance subtly. "Do we engage?"
"Not yet," Evelyn said. "Let them get close enough to hear me."
They stepped onto the platform's center, where moonlight pooled in the gaps of the broken roof. Evelyn tilted her head slightly, listening to the rhythm of pursuit. The sound was unmistakable—they were being boxed in. One from the rear, one coming from the opposite end of the station.
The lighter footsteps arrived first. A tall figure emerged from the far shadows, wearing a mask made of burnished metal, the kind favored by corporate enforcers for its intimidation factor. Behind the mask, the voice was sharp, mechanical.
"You have something that belongs to my employer."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow beneath her hood. "Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you."
The heavy steps approached from behind. She didn't turn, but Marcus's slight shift told her the second pursuer was in position—broad shoulders, military boots, carrying the weight of a man used to armor.
The masked figure took a step forward. "The satchel. Now."
"I don't have it," Evelyn said simply.
A pause. "Lying to me is a bad choice."
Evelyn let a small smile touch her lips. "You're not here because you think I'm honest. You're here because you think I'm dangerous. And you're right."
Marcus's voice cut in, smooth and deliberate. "Walk away. You don't want to play this hand."
The heavy-set man behind them shifted, but Evelyn caught the hesitation—a moment's pause that told her they weren't as certain as they pretended.
The masked figure studied her, then tilted his head. "If you don't have it… who does?"
"That's the problem with dangerous questions," Evelyn said, taking a slow step toward him. "The answers have a way of killing people."
Something in her tone made him flinch almost imperceptibly.
The tension stretched, fragile as glass. Finally, the masked man took a step back. "This isn't over."
"I'm counting on it," Evelyn said.
Without another word, both figures withdrew into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as they had come.
Marcus exhaled slowly. "That was… lucky."
"No," Evelyn said, her eyes fixed on the place where they'd vanished. "That was a warning. Someone's testing how far they can push."
"And?"
Her gaze hardened. "They just learned I'm willing to push back."
They left the station in silence, the fog swallowing their shapes. The city seemed quieter now, but the echo of footsteps lingered in Evelyn's mind—an unshakable reminder that the game was shifting again, and the next move would not be hers alone to make.