Mars Time: 22:15, February 18, 2295

  Outside Honghuang Administrative Palace, Phoenix District

  They were outside the building now, night air sharp with industrial coolant and distant cooking fires. Xin turned to her, his face illuminated by the palace's golden lights.

  "Let's do it. Sixty-forty."

  Sigrun looked at him. He did want to have sex, then? "You're taking my offer?"

  "I'm taking…" Xin swallowed and looked away. When he met her gaze again, his eyes held something raw. Desperate, even. "…a chance to see where you're taking this."

  The words hit different than expected.

  Raising her Nucleus Watch, Sigrun immediately sent Xin his share. Twenty thousand. The forty percent they'd discussed.

  [TRANSFER COMPLETE: -$20,000 AD] [CURRENT BALANCE: $877,100 AD]

  She should've made it seventy-thirty. She'd handled most of the combat in the Warren, taken the bigger risks. Twenty thousand was too generous for support work.

  But watching Xin's eyes widen behind his glasses—this was probably more money than the guy had ever had at once—something in her heart refused to regret it.

  "Twenty thousand." His voice sounded stunned. "I can buy H?kon so many steam buns now. Maybe...find a better apartment. Somewhere with twenty-four-seven heating. He wouldn't have to take lukewarm showers anymore."

  The way he said it—not expensive meals or luxury goods, just basic comfort for a baby Radi-Mon most people would kill on sight—made Sigrun's chest tighten again.

  Made her want things she'd trained herself not to want.

  "So..." Xin looked up. "Where do we...? You know, do it?"

  He seriously didn't know? The innocence in his question caught her off-guard.

  Sigrun could walk away. Transactional offer rescinded, payment complete, no reason to follow through. Smart play. Safe play, given how he'd be powerless to stop her.

  Instead she heard herself say: "Dragon District. There's a place. Somewhere that doesn't scan IDs too carefully."

  The next few minutes blended together as they took an autocab. The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable—just weighted. Through the window, Dragon District's neon sprawl grew closer. A news screen cycled past mounted on a building, Europa footage: ice fields and classified Nordic Commonwealth movements. Sigrun's reflection ghosted across it.

  For a moment, grainy and distant, she thought she saw—

  Blonde hair, tousled. That jawline she'd traced with her fingers a lifetime ago. Broad shoulders in combat armor. The way he'd stood—

  Could it be Ivar? After all these years?

  Her feet would've stopped moving if she'd been walking. As it was, her hand tightened on the autocab's armrest hard enough her knuckles went white.

  "Sigrun." Xin's voice, concerned. "You okay?"

  She forced herself to breathe. "I'm fine."

  The lie tasted familiar.

  But when she glanced at Xin, he was still looking at her with that same concerned expression, and something in her wanted to tell him it wasn't fine. That nothing had been fine for eleven years.

  Mars Time: 22:47, February 18, 2295

  Poison Dragon Flute Hotel, Dragon District, Xing Hong

  The sign announced itself in gaudy neon across a Dragon District side street: 'Poison Dragon Flute' in English, and beneath it, four Mandarin characters glowing crimson:

  The entrance was framed by traditional red lacquered pillars, paper lanterns glowing soft amber on either side. Through the glass doors, Sigrun could see silk screens painted with dragons and phoenixes, more lanterns casting warm light across dark wood floors.

  "This name is...very direct," Xin said, looking uncomfortable. "If you know what it means in my language."

  "All I know is clean sheets, soundproofing, privacy." Sigrun's assessment was nearly automatic. "Besides, they serve a type of ginger tea I like. Perfect for cold nights like this."

  She didn't mention knowing the menu by heart. Or that the ginger tea helped wash away the taste of strangers.

  The lobby was empty. No clerk, no staff, just a reception desk of dark mahogany, a holographic interface above it. Red silk panels hung from the ceiling, dividing the space into intimate sections. More lanterns, more painted screens.

  "It's all AI-operated, too." Sigrun explained, approaching the interface. "No staff. No people. Just you, me, and whatever room we book."

  "That's why you like it." Xin's voice came, understanding something she hadn't said.

  "Yeah." Her fingers moved across the holographic keys with ease. "Three hours, Room 2847, twenty-eighth floor." She raised her watch, but Xin's hand stopped hers.

  "Let me." He was already counting out the payment, his Nucleus Watch beeping as he raised it to the reception desk's scanner, his hands steadier now. "You already gave me twenty thousand. Least I can do is pay for the room."

  [ROOM BOOKED: Poison Dragon Flute Hotel, Room 2847] [DURATION: 3 hours] [CHECKOUT: Automated → $166 Atomic Dollars paid]

  A key card materialized from the desk's slot. Xin took it, and they walked toward the elevator.

  The elevator doors were ornate. Gold filigree over black lacquer, more painted dragons coiling up the frame. Inside, red silk lined the walls, and a single paper lantern hung from the ceiling. The aesthetic was like a traditional Imperial brothel filtered through Mars colonial lense.

  The doors closed. The elevator began its ascent.

  Silence pressed down. Floor numbers climbed. 3 → 4 → 5 → →

  "Back there," Xin said suddenly. "At Dilinur's office. When we saw that hologram."

  Sigrun's jaw tightened. "What about it?"

  "You may have noticed. How I reacted." He was staring at the floor numbers. "To Teacher Meiya."

  Teacher Meiya. The way he said it. Something intimate in those two syllables that made Sigrun's stomach twist.

  "Yeah. I noticed." She kept her voice flat. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

  "In a way, I had." Xin adjusted his glasses, that nervous habit. "I haven't seen her in twelve years. Since leaving Earth. Since she..."

  He trailed off.

  Floor 8 → 9 → 10 → → →

  "Since she what?" Sigrun asked, even though part of her didn't want to know.

  "She was my piano teacher. In Taiwan." He said it like he was confessing something. "I was twenty-nine. She was...I don't know, forty-something? She never said. But she was brilliant. The way she played, the way she understood music like it was a language…among several other things."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The elevator hummed upward. Sigrun watched his reflection in the polished doors. "I suspected as much."

  "She taught me more than piano," Xin continued, voice dropping. "She was the one who gave me my Void affinity. Made me understand what I could do. What I could become."

  Floor 15 → 16 → 17 → →

  "How did it happen?" Sigrun heard herself ask, but she already knew. There was only one way for a non-psion to gain any spell attunement. It was exactly how Aether worked in the universe.

  Xin's reflection shifted, uncomfortable. "One night, after a lesson, she kissed me. And I kissed her back. And then we…" He swallowed hard. "...we had sex. It felt good. Like, so good, I still don't know how to describe it."

  The words hung in the amber-lit space.

  "The next morning, I asked her to marry me." A bitter laugh. "Pathetic, right? Twenty-nine years old, lose my virginity to my teacher, immediately propose like some kind of..." He shook his head. "She left. Disappeared. I never saw her again. Until tonight. Her hologram."

  Floor 20 → 21 → 22 →

  Sigrun processed this. Xin's first time. Xin's teacher. Xin's unrequited—what? Love? Obsession? The way he'd gone rigid seeing Meiya Ji's hologram made more sense now.

  Made her feel something ugly and complicated.

  "So that's how she taught you Void psionics," Sigrun said. Statement, not question.

  "Yeah. I rented a few Psi Tomes over the years to teach myself. I can cast a few spells, but I don't know why they work. I wish..." He paused. "I wish I could learn more from Teacher Meiya. Everything I know about manipulating reality, about accessing the Void. She gave me that. And then she was gone."

  Floor 25 → 26 → 27 →

  "I'm sorry," Sigrun said, surprising herself.

  "Uh," Xin looked at her. "Why say sorry?"

  "Because that's..." She searched for words her damaged Intellect could grasp. "That's unfair. Someone giving you something that important, then disappearing."

  "Is it? I'm still not sure who gave, and who took."

  The elevator chimed. Floor 28.

  But neither of them moved. The doors stayed open, waiting.

  "What about you?" Xin asked quietly. "Back at Dilinur's office. When that message mentioned Europa. Someone named 'Maren' was mentioned, and you looked..."

  "Looked what?"

  "Terrified."

  Sigrun stared at the elevator's panel, at her reflection warped in the polished surface. "I had someone too. On Europa. Eleven years ago."

  The doors started to close. She hit the 'SUSPEND' button to keep them sealed. Needed to finish this.

  "His name was Ivar. My boyfriend. He gave me this watch." She held up her wrist, the silver-blue Nucleus Watch catching the lantern light. "Right before the Fenris Horde attacked. My mother's Radi-Mons, overseen by some asshole named Skarn. Maren Fjeld's grand plan to breed an army from Nordling women."

  Xin's eyes widened. "Your mother did that?"

  "Yeah. Some big plan to make ugly, man-eating monsters from women like me." Sigrun's voice was flat. Deadpan. "Ivar held them off. Held off Skarn himself so I could escape in the last cryo-pod to Mars. I've always thought he died that night."

  "Thought?"

  "I can't explain why. I just...feel like he's still alive." The words came out fiercer than intended. "Somewhere. And earlier, on that news screen—" She stopped. "I thought I saw him. In the footage. Just for a second. Could've been anyone. Probably was anyone. But..."

  "But you need to believe?" Xin finished.

  She met his eyes. Nodded.

  The elevator hummed, waiting. They were still on floor 28, doors closed, suspended.

  "It's so painful," Sigrun heard herself say. The words felt pulled from somewhere deep. "How the ones we love most are always out of reach."

  Xin's expression shifted. "Teacher Meiya. Your Ivar. Both of them, just gone."

  "Yeah."

  "But we're here."

  "Yeah." Sigrun looked at him and just saw him. Xin. Lonely man in his forties with a baby Diabolisk at home and twenty thousand Atomic Dollars he'd spend on steam buns and heating. Who'd lost his virginity to some Imperial woman he'd loved and lost. Who was now looking at Sigrun like she was more than a transaction.

  Like she was someone who understood.

  "Let's go," she said, hitting the 'OPEN' button on the panel.

  Mars Time: 23:23, February 18, 2295

  Floor 28, Poison Dragon Flute Hotel, Dragon District, Xing Hong

  Room 2847 waited at the end of a corridor lined with more silk panels. The door was red lacquer with brass fittings.

  Xin's hand trembled slightly as he held the key card to the lock. It beeped. Green light flashed.

  The room continued the aesthetic: dark wood floors, red silk panels dividing the space, more paper lanterns. A king-sized bed dominated the center, covered in deep crimson sheets with gold embroidered dragons. Traditional Chinese screens painted with mountain scenes. A small table held the plate of ginger tea service she'd always liked, the ceramic pot still warm.

  Through an open door, she could see the bathroom: dark tile, another lantern, what looked like a proper shower.

  She'd been here before. With over a hundred different men. Different rooms, same feeling.

  But this time felt different.

  Xin stood in the doorway, frozen.

  "You coming in?" Sigrun asked, already shrugging off her trench coat. The ballistic weave settled across the chair.

  [- Unequipped: Ballistic Trench Coat, Nordling fit, Inner Sol variant]

  "Yeah. Yes. Sorry." He stepped inside, closing the door with excessive care. Set his beige puffer jacket beside her coat. Kept his green hoodie on.

  Sigrun sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her military boots, pulling them off one at a time. The wooden floor was cool against her socked feet.

  [- Unequipped: Víking Treads, combat boots, Nordling female fit, Mars Walker variant]

  "It's just..." Xin was looking everywhere except at her. "This is happening. This is really happening."

  "What, you chickening out?"

  "No! No, I just..." He turned to face her finally. "I want to do this right. I want you to…"

  "To what, Xin?"

  "To not regret it."

  The way he said it made her chest ache, but she dismissed it. When was the last time a client cared about her regrets?

  Never. And Xin was a client.

  Wasn't he?

  "If you're nervous," Sigrun stood, reaching for the zipper of her deep navy turtleneck. "I can help."

  She pulled the turtleneck over her head, folded it with automatic precision, placed it on the chair. Underneath, a simple black sports bra.

  [- Unequipped: Ballistic Turtleneck, Valoran fit, Psi Lynx certified weave]

  Her hands moved to her belt, undoing the buckle. The tactical belt with all its equipment—Járn's holster, utility pouches, everything that made her dangerous, joined the growing pile.

  [- Unequipped: Tactical Rigger Belt, Nordling female fit, Psi Lynx variant]

  [- Unquipped: Járn, Thermal Axe, one-handed, Nordling variant]

  [- Uneuipped: Skuld, Breacher Shotgun, custom Alliance frame]

  "Wow." Xin's voice, barely audible.

  Sigrun's hands moved to her pants, undoing the button. Black combat fatigues slid down her legs, and she stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Black underwear, simple and practical, matched the sports bra.

  [- Unequipped: Combat Fatigues, Nordling female fit, Psi Lynx certified weave]

  She stood there in her underwear and socks, and her reflection caught in one of the room's strategic mirrors. The tactical half-up ponytail—Valkyrie configuration, combat-ready, warrior stance.

  Wrong for this. Wrong for…whatever this was becoming.

  Her hand moved to the back of her head, finding the Programmable Hair Clip.

  [+ Engaged: Hamr, Programmable Hair Clip, Nordling variant. Configuration: 'Valkyrie' → 'Freyja']

  The familiar sensation of nanomechanical adjustment. Hair shortened, restructured, falling to just shoulder length in a styled bob. Softer. More feminine. The kind of look that said fashion magazine rather than battlefield, civilian date rather than combat operative.

  The kind of hairstyle that also couldn't be grabbed during sex. Couldn't be pulled if she and her man did doggystyle. Couldn't be used against her if a client turned violent.

  She caught Xin's expression in the mirror—he'd noticed the change. Something in his eyes shifted. Not the way men usually leered at her Freyja config. Not that hungry, possessive assessment. Something gentler?

  "Your hair," he said shyly. "It's different."

  "Yeah." She turned to face him, the bob swaying slightly with the movement. "More appropriate."

  But for what? For sex work? For a transaction? For pretending this was just business? She didn't say that part out loud.

  "Alright. Your turn," she approached him.

  Xin stood frozen as she reached for the hem of his green hoodie. "I can—"

  "Let me." Her voice came out softer than intended.

  She lifted the hoodie slowly, giving him time to raise his arms. The fabric pulled away, revealing a simple white t-shirt underneath. She folded the hoodie, placed it with his jacket.

  "Sigrun, I—"

  "Shh." She reached for his t-shirt next. "Just let me."

  The t-shirt joined the hoodie. Underneath, Xin was much slimmer than his layers suggested, his ribcage sticking out against the olive skin.

  Her hands moved to his belt.

  "I haven't done this in twelve years," Xin said quietly. "Since Meiya. Don't know if I remember how."

  "There's no right way." Sigrun's fingers worked the belt buckle. "No wrong way, either." She paused, looking up at him. "Just be honest. And relax."

  The belt came free. His pants followed. He stepped out of them awkwardly, and she folded them, added them to the pile.

  Xin stood in his boxer shorts and socks, glasses slightly askew, looking at her.

  Vulnerability. That's what it was.

  Sigrun reached up, adjusting his glasses carefully. Her ivory fingers brushed his cheek, and he leaned into the touch unconsciously.

  "This Meiya. She really meant something to you," Sigrun said. Not a question.

  "Yeah." Xin's voice was rough. "But she's not here."

  "And Ivar's not here either." Sigrun's hand dropped. "Maybe never will be."

  They stood there, three feet apart, mostly undressed, in a room designed for transactions that felt nothing like a transaction anymore.

  "It sucks." Sigrun said, the words feeling true in a way that hurt.

  "Yeah." Xin's hand came up, hesitant, then touched her shoulder. Just resting there. "But you're not out of reach."

  "Neither are you."

  The moment stretched. Amber light from the paper lanterns. Distant sound of Dragon District through the soundproofing. Two people standing in underwear and socks, trying to figure out what this was.

  Then Sigrun felt that familiar defense mechanism clicking into place. This was getting too real. Too much like before, when she'd let herself believe in futures that didn't exist.

  She stepped back, and Xin's hand fell away.

  "Let's shower first." Her voice shifted, professional again. "A gentle wash before sex helps prevent the spread of bacteria. Or something like that."

  Xin blinked, the moment breaking. "Oh. Yeah. That makes sense."

  She held out her hand. He took it. His palm was slender but warm, and slightly sweaty.

  She led him toward the bathroom, and tried not to think about how much that simple touch meant.

  Tried not to notice how her heart was pounding.

  Tried to convince herself this was just another job.