The meeting spot was tucked away in the back of a rundown club, where the music thumped just loud enough to drown out any unwanted eavesdroppers. It smelled of stale liquor and desperation.
The kind of place where deals were made and broken in the same breath.
Myst followed Shade through the narrow corridor, past flickering lights and half-conscious drunks slumped against the walls.
The room they entered was small, barely furnished. Just a table, two chairs, and a flickering screen that barely functioned.
A man was already waiting for them. He was thin, wiry, with sharp eyes that darted between them like he was already calculating the risks.
He went by Kieran, one of the many information brokers slithering through Arkadia-7's underground. His contacts were decent, his prices steep, and his loyalty nonexistent.
Kieran leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the table. "Didn't expect you, Shade," he mused. "Figured Echo would send someone friendlier."
Shade didn't sit. He merely tilted his head, expression unreadable. "You don't need friendly. You need incentive."
Kieran chuckled. "And what kind of incentive are we talking about?"
Shade reached into his jacket and tossed a small drive onto the table. "Government patrol schedules. Last three weeks."
The air in the room shifted. Kieran's easy expression flickered with something sharper—greed, curiosity. His fingers drummed against the table before he finally leaned forward, swiping the drive.
"Tempting," he admitted, plugging it into his worn-down terminal. A few taps, a quick scan, and his lips curled. "Damn. You always bring the good stuff."
Myst watched as Kieran worked, but her focus kept shifting back to Shade. He hadn't moved, hadn't said another word. He was just watching. Studying. Waiting.
There was something unnerving about it.
She had been on missions before, had seen Cipher work through firewalls with ease, seen Blaze or Nyx taunting their enemies at fights. But Shade was different.
With him, there was no excess. No wasted words. No openings.
Kieran's hands moved quickly over his terminal, his gaze flicking between screens. "Alright, let's see what I've got for you—"
Then he hesitated.
Shade's head tilted. "Problem?"
Kieran's fingers hovered over the keyboard. His expression twitched—just for a second—but Myst caught it. That tiny hesitation, the momentary shift in posture.
Something was wrong.
She stepped forward. "What is it?"
Kieran glanced at her, then at Shade, then back to the screen.
"Nothing." Kieran hesitated, fingers twitching over the keyboard.
Myst shifted slightly, preparing to push him further. But before she could speak, the door slammed open. The sound ricocheted through the cramped room, cutting through the tension like a knife.
Two men strode in, armed. Myst's stomach knotted.
The first man with broad shoulders, a scar tracing down his jaw—walked with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. His partner was leaner, quieter, but the grip on his sidearm spoke volumes.
Kieran shot up from his seat, nearly knocking over his chair. "Shit."
Shade didn't flinch. Didn't even move. But Myst felt the shift in him. His presence sharpening, his entire stance subtly adjusting, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
The man with the scar clicked his tongue. "Kieran," he drawled, his voice smooth but edged. "You really should be more careful about who you dig up information for."
Kieran's face was pale. "Listen, I didn't—"
The man pulled a gun, aiming it straight at Kieran's head. "Too late for that."
Myst tensed. Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
Shade exhaled through his nose—slow, measured. His hand hovered near his own weapon, but he didn't reach for it yet.
Myst caught the slightest glance from him. A silent message.
Stay sharp.
Kieran swallowed hard, lifting his hands. "Okay, okay. Look, I don't want trouble. But if you're here, then you already know what I found."
The scarred man's lips twitched into something resembling amusement. "Oh, I know exactly what you found." His gun tilted slightly, still aimed, but casual. "And now you're going to tell us who you planned to sell it to."
Kieran's eyes darted toward Myst and Shade.
The leaner man followed his gaze. "Well, well." His voice was softer, but no less dangerous. "Looks like you already have buyers."
Myst forced herself to keep breathing. Think. Stay ahead.
Shade, still calm, finally spoke. "If you knew that, you would've come in shooting." His voice was steady, almost bored. "You're stalling."
Scar smirked. "Or maybe I just like making people sweat."
Shade tilted his head slightly, his own smirk razor-sharp. "Really?"
Myst caught the tension in the air—coiled tight, like a trigger waiting to snap.
Then Kieran made a mistake. He moved.
Too fast. Too obvious.
Scar turned his gun instantly. And Myst reacted before she thought.
She lunged, shoving Kieran aside. A gunshot exploded through the room, splintering the chair where he had been standing.
Shade moved at the same time—swift, precise. His gun was out in a blink, his shot cutting through the space between them.
Scar's partner grunted, stumbling back. Blood bloomed at his shoulder. Chaos ignited.
Myst twisted, slamming her elbow into Scar's wrist, forcing his aim off. The gun went off again, the bullet burying into the wall just inches from her head.
Shade took advantage of the opening. He was on Scar in an instant, a brutal strike sending the man staggering back.
Kieran scrambled, gasping. "Holy shit—"
Myst grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward the exit. "Move!"
Another shot rang out, but Shade was already steering, keeping the attackers off balance.
Myst shoved the door open, shoving Kieran through first. Shade was right behind her, a final gunshot echoing as they bolted into the alley.
They didn't stop running.
Not until they were sure no one was following.