Hope surged through Sigrun's chest.

  One of the Space Rovers bore a holographic projector mounted to its hull, already powering up, blue light coalescing into a massive form that towered three stories above the street.

  Dante IV Pompeo.

  The Alliance delegate's projection flickered once, then stabilized. His features were carved stone, blue eyes sweeping across the battlefield with the satisfaction of a man watching an investment pay dividends. Even as a hologram, his wide form radiated authority, the particular breed of confidence that came from billions of accumulated wealth and the absolute certainty that money could solve any problem.

  Sigrun's stomach twisted.

  She knew that face too intimately. Knew how those stone features softened in candlelight, how that commanding voice dropped to a murmur when he thought no one else could hear. Dante IV Pompeo, Corporate Chamber delegate, one of the most powerful men in the Inner Sol—and for the past year, one of her most reliable clients, her source of Atomic Dollars. Three thousand Atomic Dollars per Leased Lily session.

  He'd proposed to her just two days ago. She'd almost said yes.

  Now here he was, three stories tall and wreathed in blue light, playing savior to a city that didn't know he'd been inside her just thirty-one hours ago.

  "Citizens of Xing Hong." His voice boomed from speakers mounted on the Rover. "The Terra Alliance does not abandon its friends. Earth steel answers!"

  Batu's blade withdrew from Sigrun's throat. He stepped back, eyes scanning the approaching reinforcements, calculating odds.

  Sigrun shoved the memories down. Later. Deal with it later.

  "Xin!" she found herself shouting. "The Genbu—get it running!"

  He was already moving, H?kon clinging to his shoulder, scrambling toward the transport's side hatch. The little Diabolisk's scales had shifted from gold to determined azure, tiny claws gripping Xin's hoodie as they ran.

  "Give me twenty seconds!"

  "You have ten!"

  "That's not how—" Xin's protest cut off as he hauled himself through the hatch. She heard him muttering in Mandarin, heard H?kon chirping something encouraging, heard the clatter of Xin trying to hotwire some sort of hardware.

  Around them, the Space Rovers' Gauss Machine Guns opened fire. Rounds tore through Bone Fiends in sheets of kinetic devastation, the heavy thudding rhythm shaking Sigrun's chest even from fifty meters away. Pack coordination shattered under the assault, the beasts that had been tightening now scattered, some fleeing into alleyways, others charging blindly toward the Rovers and dying for their trouble.

  The Vanguards pressed the advantage. They advanced in fire teams, leapfrogging forward, each squad laying down blue-beam suppression while the next moved up. Disciplined. Mechanical.

  Dante's hologram turned slowly atop the second Rover, surveying the carnage.

  "Know that the Terra Alliance answers when partners call." His voice carried. "Human defenders. Human valor. Human steel."

  His digital eyes swept the battlefield. Lingered on Sigrun for a moment—recognition? Possessiveness?—then moved past her to the Genbu's open hatch.

  To the small shape clinging to Xin's shoulder.

  "We protect our business interests."

  The way he said it made Sigrun's skin crawl.

  The rear hatch of the lead Rover opened.

  Dilinur Altai stepped out like she was arriving at a council meeting rather than a battlefield. Black silk robes, immaculate despite the dust choking the air. Her dark hair swept into that precise bun. Behind her, Seneschal Kenji Tsudo emerged with his hand already on his Shock Katana, dark eyes scanning for threats before his boots touched concrete.

  And behind him—Blackcoats.

  They poured from the Space Rovers in disciplined pairs, seven men in long black greatcoats that fell past their knees, the fabric heavy with armor weave. Gold circuitry traced traditional patterns along their sleeves and lapels. Each one carried a Kowloon-7 Gauss Rifle, held at identical angles across their chests.

  A pack of Bone Fiends broke through the Vanguard line. Six of them, pale bodies scrambling toward Dilinur's position with desperate speed. The Blackcoats raised their rifles in unison.

  Dilinur raised her hand.

  They held.

  What Sigrun recognized as a Psi Fan unfolded in the Prefect's grip: silver steel and red silk, a ruby gleaming at its apex. The ornate weapon looked delicate.

  Dilinur spoke. Devavā?ī syllables, old and sharp.

  "Maa-m-sa Sha-lya!"

  Crimson light erupted from the fan in a horizontal arc.

  The Fiends didn't die. They were unmade. One moment, six monsters charging. The next, wet red smears on cracked concrete, steam rising from the scorch marks. The smell hit Sigrun's nostrils, copper, char and vaporized bone.

  Dilinur folded her Psi Fan. Her expression hadn't changed. Not even a flicker.

  "Secure the perimeter," she said to Kenji. "Status report in five minutes."

  "It shall be done." Kenji bowed.

  Sigrun turned back to Batu.

  The Draug hadn't moved. His blade remained raised, but she could see him calculating. The Space Rovers. The Vanguards. The Blackcoats now fanning across the street. The odds shifting with every second.

  "You or me." Sigrun said. She rolled her shoulder—the one he'd cut—and felt the wound scream in protest. Didn't let it show.

  "You can barely stand—" Batu remarked, those red eyes fixed on her.

  Behind her, the Genbu's engine coughed. Sputtered. Roared to life.

  The siege tank lurched forward, steadied, its roof turret swiveling with a mechanical whine. Xin's voice crackled through the vehicle's external speakers, nervous and breathless: "Okay—okay, I think I've got it—everyone! You might want to step back—"

  Then another voice cut through. Higher. Smaller. Delighted.

  "HAW-koon smash button! Turtle go boom-boom-boom!"

  The Genbu's turret opened fire.

  Controlled bursts tore into the Fenris line on the far side of the street, joining the Space Rovers' Gauss assault in a devastating crossfire. Bone Fiends caught between the two salvos simply ceased to exist—torn apart, scattered, reduced to twitching fragments.

  The Fenris line buckled. Broke. Scattered.

  Sigrun allowed herself a grin. That ridiculous man and his ridiculous Diabolisk, somehow turning a siege tank into a children's game.

  She'd bedded senators. Corporate executives. A delegate of the Chamber itself. Powerful men with powerful connections, men who could buy and sell entire districts.

  And here she was, catching feelings for some broke Rigger who couldn't even afford rent.

  The universe had a sick sense of humor.

  "There he is. The Draug of Blades!"

  Kenji's voice rang out as he strode toward them, seven Blackcoats at his flanks. Their greatcoats billowed in the pre-dawn wind, gold trim flashing, Kowloon-7 rifles raised in perfect synchronization.

  The Blackcoats fired.

  Seven gauss rounds tore through the space where Batu had been standing. But the Draug was already moving, Radi-Mon reflexes carrying him sideways in his chitin and organic body. The rounds missed punched into concrete, spraying dust and fragments.

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  "Betrayer of the Blackcoats." Kenji tracked him with his own Breacher Shotgun—a black custom-made variant—firing twice. Both shots went wide as Batu wove between rubble. "Defiler of countless daughters. Wanted since 2288."

  The Blackcoats adjusted, spreading to cut off escape routes. But Batu wasn't retreating toward the alleys. Instead, he circled.

  "Hold fire!" Kenji's command came through gritted teeth. Three Constables stumbled in the crossfire zone, one dragging a bleeding colleague. "Reposition—Vanguards, support us—"

  Batu used the hesitation. His blade caught a stray Vanguard laser on its edge, deflecting the beam into a storefront window as he vaulted over a collapsed pillar.

  Sigrun lifted Járn. The thermal core sputtered and flickered, quantum-blue light dancing along the edge. Not much left. Enough for one good swing, maybe two.

  She hurled herself into his path. Their blades met once. Twice. Her exhausted arms screamed in protest. Batu's red eyes flicked past her.

  "This isn't over, Third Princess." He parried her third swing and kicked back with a chitinous feet. "Skarn will have you. Today, tomorrow, eventually."

  She dodged but hit the ground hard. By the time she rolled upright, Batu was already sprinting, faster than any Constable, faster than the Blackcoats could track. Gauss fire chased him into the pre-dawn dark, rounds sparking off distant rubble.

  Gone.

  Across the street, Ysolde disengaged from Marcus with a slash that drove him back three steps.

  Before the Valoran warrior could recover his guard, the female Draug intoned, once more in J?turmál: "Fr? úr skureinum mínum!"

  White fluid erupted from between her legs, the Web of Seeds spreading across the concrete in viscous strands, blocking the Vanguards' firing angles and filling the air with that bleach-ammonia stench.

  Sigrun saw Marcus stumbling. The man's Libido wasn't high enough for the pheromones to sedate, but his eyes watered, his posture faltered.

  Ysolde seized that moment to crawl away, platinum hair streaming as she cleared over a dozen meters in a single leap.

  "We'll meet again, handsome one." Her voice drifted back like perfume. "I do hope you survive until then."

  Then she too vanished, following Batu into the shadows while the Vanguards continued firing, the web dissolving into foul-smelling steam as it caught the blue laser.

  Sigrun found herself smiling as she dashed near the lead Alliance Rover, catching her breath against its white armored hull. Her legs trembled. Her arms felt like dead weight. But she was alive, and the monsters were running.

  Voices drifted from nearby. Dilinur, Kenji, and Dante's flickering projection, huddled in conference while Alliance Vanguards secured the perimeter.

  "—all intelligence extracted from the Zephyrium points to Ume, an individual imprisoned in an Imperium facility on Venus—" Kenji's voice was clipped, but his words were clear as crystal. "—data suggests Skarn's enhancements originated from similar DNA pools. His weakness may lie in that same place. Once we're done here—"

  "Venus." Dante's hologram rippled with undisguised distaste. "That pleasure-soaked rock. Half brothel, half swamp."

  "Nevertheless." Dilinur's tone carried no emotion. "If that's where we find the means to stop Skarn, that's where we must go."

  "Fine." The word came through Dante's teeth. "The Alliance will provide transport and military escort for your expedition. We have interests on Venus that could use... attention."

  "And in return, Delegate Pompeo?"

  "In return, Prefect, you remember who answered when Xing Hong called." A pause. The hologram's eyes hardened. "The Alliance doesn't forget its friends. We don't forget payments due either."

  Venus. The word lodged in Sigrun's mind. Skarn's weakness. An Imperium facility.

  A direction. Finally, a direction.

  But the thought couldn't settle. Couldn't take root. Because her mother's voice was echoing through her skull—allowed it, eleven years, preparing you—and Skarn's grinding laugh—Ivar, the Prince of Frozen Deception, he was called—and she needed to move, needed to fight, needed to do something before the thoughts consumed her.

  "MARCUS! JABARI! Still alive?"

  The Stalwart hauled himself upright, Titanium Shield rising despite the blood soaking his silver armor. Jabari drew Sankofa, the Moonstone Cutlass catching glare.

  "As alive as you." Jabari's grin was exhausted but real.

  They hit what remained of the Fenris line together. Three human fighters running on fumes and fury, crashing into stragglers. The Alliance fire had shattered enemy formation. The Genbu's turret scattered reinforcements. And the Bone Fiends were dying faster than they could regroup.

  Sigrun cut them down with efficiency. One. Three. Five. Her arms were sore. Her legs burned. But she kept moving, kept killing, kept fighting because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant—

  Your mother allowed it.

  Another Fiend. Járn carved through its skull.

  Preparing you.

  Three more flanking. She spun, thermal edge trailing blue fire.

  Ivar is alive. But why would he lie? What was the lie? What had he done to my memory?

  Her vision flickered.

  "SIGRUN!"

  A hand closed on her shoulder. Strong grip, too strong—bionic fingers digging into her coat. She spun, Járn rising—

  The Valoran man with his short cropped wheat-color hair caught the axe haft with his other hand. His face was caught between relief and anger.

  Thomas Mendoza. Short-cropped wheat-colored hair. Square jaw tight with something between relief and anger. The head of security at Prairie Commons, the man who knew about her night work and kept it anyway—now wearing Alliance tactical gear over his usual uniform, sergeant's stripes fresh on his shoulder.

  "Stand down." His voice was low, intense. "I didn't falsify that Record of Inquiry so you could get yourself killed out here."

  "You…I…" Words escaped Sigrun.

  His grip tightened. "You hear me? I didn't lie to Dilinur, didn't put my job on the line, so you could throw yourself at every monster until one of them gets lucky."

  She stared at him. Thomas from Prairie Commons. The head of security there. The man who knew her Leased Lily secret and kept it anyway.

  "Tom." She stared at him, trying to process. "How the fuck did you…"

  "Alliance veteran. Both arms." He released her shoulder, flexing the bionic fingers. "Delegate Pompeo needed local leadership who knew the terrain. I got the call right after the attack started." A grim smile. "Sergeant duty, field promotion. Probably temporary, but right now, I'll take it."

  Behind him, the Genbu rolled past, turret still tracking. Through the vehicle's side window, Sigrun could see Xin hunched over the controls, H?kon perched on some dashboard above him, chirping like the world's smallest gunnery officer.

  Thomas followed her gaze.

  "That's the Rigger, isn't it? The one with the three-point-seven rating?" He said it casually, no mockery in his tone. "Delegate Pompeo mentioned him in the briefing. Him and that little Radi-Mon of his."

  Sigrun's chest tightened. "He got the Genbu running."

  "I can see that." Thomas turned back to her, eyebrows raised. "Didn't say otherwise. Just surprised, is all. Dante made it sound like the guy was some kind of security risk. Wanted eyes kept on him."

  Of course Dante did. The Corporate Chamber delegate had stared at H?kon like the little Diabolisk was a stock portfolio.

  "Xin's fine. More than fine." she said. The words came out sharper than intended.

  Thomas studied her face for a moment. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or understanding. He'd known her for years. Knew the men she let into her bedroom, the walls she kept up.

  "I've never heard you comment on someone like that before." He said.

  "No, I mean, we did stuffs together. That's all." She replied, shrugging, feeling heat rising in her cheeks.

  "Alright." He let it go. Simple as that. "Your Aether's depleted. I can see it in your swings. Let someone else finish the sweep."

  "Hey, I'm fine. Don't need to—"

  Movement. Past Thomas's shoulder.

  A cluster of Bone Fiends had broken through the eastern perimeter. Four of them, pale bodies scrambling toward a collapsed storefront where—

  Civilians. Huddled in the rubble. A family, maybe—she could see small shapes pressed against larger ones. Survivors who'd hidden when the corruption spread, now trapped between debris and death.

  "They need help!"

  Thomas saw her expression change. His jaw tightened.

  "Sigrun. Don't."

  She was already running.

  The Fiends saw her coming. Four of them, turning from easy prey toward a new threat. Needle teeth gleaming in the dawn light.

  Járn carved through the first before it lunged. The second caught her shoulder—pain flared, distant and unimportant—and she drove the thermal edge through its throat. The third she kicked aside, buying space for the swing that split its skull.

  The last died on a backhand stroke that nearly took her with it.

  She stood over the corpses. The civilians behind her were crying, screaming thanks or warnings. She couldn't hear them over the ringing in her ears.

  Her vision blurred. "Just tired. Just need to catch my breath."

  She took a step. Her legs didn't respond properly.

  The ground rushed up.

  Hands caught her before she hit concrete. Two sets—one callused and strong, the other softer, trembling.

  "Easy, babe!" Jabari's voice came from somewhere above. "You've done enough. More than enough."

  "The Fiends—"

  "Handled." Xin's face swam into focus. His glasses sat crooked, his green hoodie stained with blood that probably wasn't all his. "The Alliance people are finishing the sweep. It's over, Sigrun!"

  "Over," she repeated. The word felt foreign.

  Her Nucleus Watch was screaming. Text scrolled across the display:

  [CRITICAL WARNING: Aether reserves at 2%]

  [CRITICAL WARNING: Physical exhaustion beyond safe parameters]

  [CRITICAL WARNING: Cardiac rhythm irregular]

  [CRITICAL WARNING: Immediate medical intervention required]

  "Sky Lady!"

  Small claws scrabbled at her collar. H?kon had climbed down from Xin's shoulder, and was pressing himself against her chest, his tiny body trembling.

  His scales had gone pitch black. The darkest she'd ever seen them.

  But his voice wasn't panicked. It was fierce. Determined.

  "Sky Lady rest now!" His small claws gripped her coat like he could anchor her to consciousness through sheer will. "Haw-koon stay. Haw-koon protect. Sky Lady wake up soon, okay? Okay?"

  "We need to get her to Chakraborty's. That clinic in Eagle District." Jabari was already scanning for transport. "It's closest. Where's—"

  "Here." Xin's voice cracked. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. "I've got her. H?kon, stay close."

  The little Diabolisk pressed tighter against her chest. His scales were still black, but his tail had curled around her wrist—a tiny anchor, holding on.

  Somewhere nearby, voices carried through the dawn:

  "—take the bloody Medi-Vap, Stalwart. You caught a tusk to the shoulder—"

  "Your sword arm needs it more. You'll be useless in a fight without—"

  "I'll be useless watching you bleed out, you stubborn—"

  "Sergeant. Please."

  "Don't you 'please' me, Mister Marcus. Sit down before I make you sit down."

  Marcus and Haylen. Somehow arguing like…a couple? Neither was giving ground.

  Sigrun might have smiled at that, if she'd had the strength.

  Dawn was breaking over Dragon District. Real dawn—gold and crimson spilling across damaged streets, scattered corpses, exhausted survivors. The fires were dying. The gunfire had stopped. Somewhere in the distance, Dante's hologram was still projecting, though his voice had faded to background noise.

  The city had survived.

  She had survived.

  Ivar is alive.

  The thought surfaced one last time before the darkness rose. A direction. A purpose. Something to fight toward when she woke.

  If she woke.

  Xin's face hovered above her. Terrified. Desperate. His hand squeezed hers like he could hold her in the waking world through touch alone.

  "Stay with us." His voice was barely a whisper. "Alright, Sigrun?"

  H?kon's black scales pressed against her heart. His tiny voice, fierce but frightened: "Sky Lady come back. Okay? Okay?"

  She wanted to answer. Wanted to tell them she wasn't going anywhere.

  The words wouldn't come.

  The last thing she saw was Xin's face—gentle olive in the dawn light—and one small Diabolisk whose scales were the color of grief, holding on with everything he had.

  Then nothing.