The Rust Yards

The rain in Sector 4 didn't wash things clean; it just accelerated the rot. It hissed against the corrugated metal roofs and pooled in the gutters, an acidic, neon-reflecting sludge that ate through boot soles if you stood still too long.

Kael didn't stand still.

He moved through the shadows of the abandoned metro station, his breathing shallow to filter the metallic taste of the air. His target was close. He could smell the expensive synthetic jasmine of her perfume cutting through the stench of ozone and mold.

There.

A flash of white silk near the broken turnstiles.

Kael vaulted over the ticket booth, his boots hitting the concrete with a heavy, wet thud. He drew his stun-baton, the electric arc crackling blue in the darkness.

"End of the line, Princess," he rasped.

Seraphina Vance spun around. She didn't scream. That was the first surprise. Most bounty targets screamed, or ran, or begged.

Sera just looked at him. She was small, drowning in a white dress that was now hemmed with gray mud. Her hair was wet, plastered to her skull, but her eyes—pale gray, like the sky above the smog—were steady.

"You're young," she said. Her voice didn't tremble.

"I'm expensive," Kael corrected. He stepped forward, closing the distance. "Hands where I can see them."

Sera raised her hands slowly. On her wrist, a diamond bracelet glittered, worth more than Kael had eaten in five years.

"I can pay you," she said, noticing his gaze. She fumbled with the clasp. "Take it. It’s platinum. Real earth-mined diamonds. You can sell it on the black market for twenty thousand credits."

"Fences take a sixty percent cut," Kael said flatly, pulling the magnetic shackles from his belt. "And your father is offering fifty thousand for your return. Do the math."

"You don't know what you're sending me back to," Sera said. She didn't pull away as he grabbed her wrists. Her skin was warm, startlingly soft against his calloused, grime-stained fingers.

"I don't care," Kael lied. He snapped the cuffs shut. The magnetic lock hummed, binding her hands together. "You're a paycheck. That's it."

"He's selling me," Sera whispered, the fight draining out of her shoulders. "To the CEO of OmniCorp. I'm livestock to them."

Kael holstered his baton. He grabbed her arm, perhaps a little tighter than necessary. "Welcome to the real world, Princess. We're all livestock. Some of us just have better stalls."

He keyed his comms unit. "Tracer 4-9 to Dispatch. Package secured. Requesting extraction at coordinates Delta-Nine."

*“Copy, 4-9,”* the static-laced voice of the dispatcher replied. *“Extraction bird is inbound. ETA two hours. Storm interference. Sit tight.”*

Two hours.

Kael cursed under his breath. Standing in the open for two hours in the Rust Yards was a death sentence. The local gangs would skin them both for that bracelet.

"Move," Kael ordered, pulling her toward the maintenance tunnels. "We have to hide."

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