“Don’t use my real name.”
The man across the folding table freezes, pen hovering midair, eyes flicking up to mine like I just broke some sacred underground rule. The garage smells like gasoline, burnt rubber, and cheap coffee...
comforting scents, familiar ones, like muscle memory I never lost.
“You sure?” he asks slowly. “Once I register the alias, that’s what the circuit will know you by. No take-backs.”
I pull my hood lower, shadowing my face. “I’m sure.”
He studies me for a second longer, then exhales. “Alright. What do you want to be called?”
I don’t hesitate. I already buried one name.
“Vega Zero.”
His brows knit. “Zero?”
“Because I’m starting from nothing,” I say. “And because nothing touches me anymore.”
The pen scratches against paper.
And just like that, Luna Vega offi
