Jace Varn crouched in the shadows of a crumbling alley, the kind of place in New Cascadia where the air smelled like rust and bad choices. The slums never slept, and neither did he, not really. His latest job had him playing lookout for a black-market deal, and his nerves were already on edge. The data stick from the Docks job was still tucked in his jacket, a constant reminder of the trouble he’d stumbled into. Riko was still ghosting him, and Milo’s warnings about “players” and brain chips kept circling in his head like a bad song. But credits were credits, and Jace wasn’t about to starve waiting for answers.
The gig came from a guy named Taz, a small-time hustler who moved stolen tech for lowlife crews. Taz wasn't in the big leagues, but he paid steadily, and Jace needed steady right n
