The bounty doesn’t feel real until I see her read it.
Not the number.
Not the Syndicate seal.
Not the words alive preferred like a civilized lie.
It’s the way Luna’s face goes still.
No panic.
No flinch.
No tremor.
Just… focus.
Like the moment before a green light drops.
We’re holed up in an abandoned rail maintenance bay—concrete thick enough to swallow sound, ceiling beams rusted into ribs above us. Snow presses against the broken windows, light bleeding in like the city itself is wounded. Zee’s burner phone lies on the workbench between us, screen still glowing with the bounty notice she cracked from a Syndicate relay.
Seven figures.
My name isn’t on it.
Hers is.
Luna Vega.
Alive preferred.
Dead acceptable.
I expect anger. Fear. Some sharp, defiant joke.
Instead, she e
