Location: Maatari, The Gullies
Time: 03:08 AM
The wind started before the rain.
It hissed through vents and gutters, carrying the tang of metal and damp stone.
Khaz stepped from the elevator into the dim hall of his complex. The door panel blinked RENT OVERDUE in a patient rhythm. He slid a half-payment through the slot; the light turned amber.
Not approval, just delay.
Inside, the groan of power thinned to a sigh and stopped.
GridLeech's watermark pulsed on the wall, a faint red ghost that said SERVICE SUSPENDED. Khaz didn't swear. He opened the window instead, letting the city's glow pour in.
Steam drifted from rooftops below like breath from a sleeping animal.
Tre'co shimmered awake beside him — serpentine, translucent, threads of dull indigo wrapping his shoulders before fading into stillness.
No candles. No chants. Just breath counted through noise.
A holo-screen from a neighbor's unit bled muffled sound through the wall. There were crowds screaming for a Tethari finalist, engines roaring under commentary.
Khaz exhaled, let the noise pass through him, and whispered, "Stillness."
The word was both order and reward.
LATER THAT MORNING...
Gray daylight pressed through low cloud. The roof tar held last night's rain in shallow mirrors that stuttered with each gust. Khaz rolled his shoulders, tested the edges of ache, and rose into stance.
Oru'mi.
Spine aligned, jaw loose, breath pulled slow through the ribs until the chain's pulse fell into step with him.
He held the last exhale a moment longer than usual. Stillness stayed. Good enough.
He headed down.
The hall panel still glowed amber. He palmed the door once, felt the dead lock buzz as if it wanted to apologize, then took the stairs to street level.
Morning traffic pushed past in layered currents of energy. Delivery carts, mag-scooters, a couple of kids running bottle pulls on the rail grate to fish for copper coil. A vendor argued with a meter that insisted her balance was a lie. Somewhere, a siren yawned and quit halfway through.
Khaz chewed the inside of his cheek, then turned toward the market strip.
The strip was already in full swing. Banners hung crooked over stalls, their ink bleeding color in the damp.
Khaz moved with the current, then slipped sideways toward a hardware blanket where a woman sat cross-legged on a crate, a knife laid across her palm like a pet.
"Looking?" she said without looking up.
"Stab-Slab," he answered.
She nudged a stone with the side of her thumb. Rectangular, dark, edges slick from oil and rain. He checked its grit with a light drag of nail. Fine. Even.
He set down two Musa notes. She didn't count them until after he'd taken the slab.
At the next stall he bought a cheap strip of Static Chews, a bitter gum that tasted like solder smoke and mint. The vendor's eyes flicked to his chain and away.
"Long week?"
"Long city."
He pushed the gum into a pocket and kept moving. Voices folded over one another: bracket odds for next cycle, Vault bonuses "on hold again," rent bots "glitching on purpose." Nobody looked surprised.
Nobody stopped working.
And that included Khaz.
Location: South Neon Verge, Maatari
Time: 12:03 PM
No conversation. The runner saw him at the mouth of the alley and made a bad choice: sprinted for the stack labyrinth, boots slapping water, bag thumping his spine. Khaz didn't run. Two turns later the kid slipped; Khaz stepped through the splash, set a palm between should blades, and lowered him to concrete like he was quieting a machine.
"I just hold it," the kid panted. "Don't even know what's inside."
"You don't need to," Khaz said, and took the bag.
He left him breathing.
Location: Vault District, Maatari
Time: 02:19 PM
The guard never put a hand on his weapon. He didn't need to. Khaz stood three paces off and watched the man's eyes calculate. The numbers weren't good.
"Tell your handler," Khaz said, "Drev doesn't send second messages."
The guard's jaw still managed to muster up a question. "Not even a day?"
"Sunset," Khaz allowed. "After that, you'll owe twice, and you won't owe it standing."
The message delivered itself through the quiet. Khaz left before the man remembered to nod.
Location: Westway Strip, Maatari
Time: 04:42 PM
The lock gave as much resistance as it could, then split under the Hunterfly's hilt. Inside smelled like GlitchPak and rain. A man sat on a crate with his jacket on wrong and his courage finished.
"Don't," he said.
Khaz closed the door behind him.
Tre'co's outline touched the light once along the wall and was gone.
"It isn't personal," Khaz said.
"You could make it personal," the man offered, as if that would balance a ledger.
Khaz stepped into the shadow the door made and ended it with a fast, soft motion that touched nothing else in the room. He left the crate where it was. He took the proof he needed.
Clean. Silent. Final.
Location: The Gullies, Maatari
Time: 07:02 PM
The Rustpan's windows fogged in the rain. Marta had her sleeves rolled to elbows and a towel over one shoulder like she was about to strangle the evening into shape.
"You look fed up," she said as soon as he slid into the back booth. "Lucky for you, I sell food instead."
"Both work."
She thumped down a plate without asking — rice, grillfish, peppered greens — and a chipped mug of java that smelled like burnt hope and history.
"You hear the one about Neon Verge last night?" she went on, wiping the next table. "Some idiot says a man lit the rain on fire. Everything's drama with these people. All I know is the price on Pulsefruit just went up and I'm gonna start charging for napkins."
Khaz ate. People around him kept their own weather. A couple argued over bracket spreads—whether a Forge bruiser could bully a Summit speedster if glyph caps changed mid-round. An old head at the counter told the server the Vault was "fixing the math again."
Marta drifted back and leaned on the booth edge, lowering her voice like the room needed a secret. "You look lighter," she said.
"Stab-Slab," he said, deadpan.
She snorted. "Cute. You know what I meant. You breathe different when you're not drowning."
He set down his fork. "City's shallow today."
"Then eat slow," she said, and tapped the table twice like a blessing. "And pay fast."
He left exact Musa under the mug.
"Bring a smile next time," she called as he reached the door. "They're free."
"Not here," he said, and the bell jingled him out.
The hall in his apartment building smelled like wet concrete and old bread. Khaz fed a few notes into the GridLeech meter as if he were tipping a bored doorman. The watermark on his wall faded from angry red to patient pink.
Progress. Not mercy.
At least for tonight.
He set the Stab-Slab on the counter, unfolded the Hunterfly, and drew steel down stone with slow, even pulls. The sound was small and exact, a zipper in the air. Sparks didn't fly; the blade simply remembered what edge meant.
When the rhythm felt right, he stopped, wiped the metal clean, and re-hilted the weapon. No flourish. Tools weren't for show.
He climbed back to the roof when the rain eased to a mist. The city's arteries glowed below, traffic like iron filings pushed by a magnet. He sat cross-legged where the tar blistered, closed his eyes, and let everything he'd taken in leak out with the breath.
In.
Out.
No glass. No candles. No prayer. Just count.
The noise didn't stop. It never did. It re-ordered. Vendors' voices softened to a band of tone. Rails laid down a low line. Somewhere, a balcony guitar tried to find a chord and nearly made it.
Khaz opened his eyes. The city blinked back.
The quiet cost what it cost.
He paid the tab tonight.