Jack sat on the edge of his motel bed, fingers hovering over the holo-dial. The number glowed faintly in his hand like a promise, or maybe a mistake waiting to happen. For a long moment, he stared at it, lips pressed tight, chest heavy. Layla's face surfaced in his mind—her laugh, her stubborn glare, the way she had once been his anchor. A part of him wanted to throw the number away, bury it, tell himself that he didn't need anyone. That he could keep fighting alone.
But the silence of the room pressed in, thick and suffocating. His body still ached from the battle with Luther, his mind replaying each blow, each near-death second. He wasn't just hungry for food,he was hungry for distraction, for company, for something that reminded him he was alive.
"Fuck Layla," he muttered under his breath, bitterness seeping into the edges of his voice. "Fuck true love. I need someone tonight. I need… something."
His thumb hit the call icon.
The line didn't even ring once.
"You've been waiting," Jack said, leaning back, trying to sound casual.
A laugh spilled through the speaker, low and playful. "Don't kid yourself."
His lips tugged into the ghost of a grin. "Meet me at the Ember table.Somewhere decent. One hour."
"Name the place," she said, and the line cut.
The system interface blinked open before him, pulling him back into its cold numbers. He hadn't assigned the stat points yet. Time to fix that.
[Available Stat Points: 5]
He exhaled slowly, making choices with more instinct than calculation.
+2 to Luck, making it 5.Maybe fate would finally lean in his favor.
+1 to Charm and +1 to Charisma. Making both 5.He figured he might as well polish the social edges—people might look at him differently now.
+1 to Endurance. Making it 6.Because bleeding out in alleys wasn't on his bucket list.
The screen shifted:
[Level: 6]
[EXP: 2000 / 3200]
[Credits: 40,700]
Jack whistled low. "Not bad."
He showered quickly, slipped into clean clothes—simple, dark, sharp enough to pass in public. When he stepped out of the motel, the night air hit him, cool and alive with the buzz of neon. His destination wasn't one of the glitzy upper-tier restaurants where everyone wore suits and a single plate cost ten thousand credits. No, this was a three-star place tucked just out of sight of the wealthier streets. Clean. Respectable. A place you didn't need to sell your soul to sit down in.
And there she was.
Elena Curtis sat near the window, her hair catching the glow of the city lights, her smile poised like she'd been born to disarm. She wore something simple, a touch casual, but on her it looked deliberate—like she was mocking the very idea of elegance while embodying it.
"You kept me waiting," she teased as Jack walked in.
Jack spread his hands. "Hard place to find."
Her eyes skimmed his face, sharp and lingering. "Nice to see that handsome face again. No mask this time. You've earned quite a reputation, Void Walker."
Jack stiffened a little at the nickname. It was too new, too raw, but it carried a strange weight. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"Of course not," she said, leaning forward. "But I do believe what I see. And I saw you fight. That wasn't normal."
Jack's jaw tightened. "That's not important."
Elena tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Boundaries, then. Fair enough. Everyone has them." She paused, eyes gleaming. "But if you ever want to tell someone… I'm here."
Jack looked away, pretending to study the menu. "Yeah."
In his head, the words twisted differently. Not a chance.
The waiter came with water, and from the moment she laid eyes on Jack, it was obvious. She lingered too long, her smile too sweet, her hand brushing his shoulder as she poured. At one point she "accidentally" spilled a little on the table, leaning in far too close as she cleaned.
"Can I see your manager?" Elena's voice snapped sharp.
The waiter froze. "S-sorry, ma'am. That won't be necessary." She retreated quickly, leaving the table alone.
Elena smirked, sipping her drink. "That face of yours is dangerous. A real attention magnet."
Jack frowned. "Maybe it's just the light."
She shook her head knowingly. "No. It's you."
Jack sat back, silent, though in the corner of his mind, the system's numbers glimmered. Charm 5. Charisma 5. Figures.
Their food came—warm, rich, better than anything Jack had eaten in weeks. They talked for hours between bites, conversations weaving between light and heavy.
Elena told him about her middle-class family, her Academy in the higher zones, the constant tug between wanting more and wanting freedom.
Jack listened, then she flipped the question back. "What about you? School? Where'd you study?"
Jack's fork hovered midair. School. The orphanage. Chalk dust and cracked desks. He hadn't set foot in one since the System changed everything. For a second, he felt the weight of what he'd lost. Then he swallowed it down, forced a shrug. "Doesn't matter. That was… a lifetime ago."
She didn't press. Just smiled softly, like she understood.
The credits ticked down in his watch after dinner—[40,500]—but Jack didn't care. For once, he wasn't rushing, fighting, bleeding. For once, he was just talking, laughing, almost… normal.
When they finally left, the city had quieted. Neon signs hummed lazily, streets slick from a half-hearted rain. Elena's apartment wasn't far. The walk stretched in comfortable silence, broken by the occasional quip, a shared glance.
And then they stood before her door. She unlocked it, pushed it open, and stepped aside with a little tilt of her head.
Jack hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough to feel the weight of choice.
Then he walked in.
The door clicked shut behind them.