The air hung thick and warm, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something green struggling to grow. Maya paused in the stairwell, catching her breath—not from the five-flight climb but from the hum of anticipation in her chest.

  The stairwell was disgusting. Emergency lighting cast everything in sickly yellow-green, and the walls glistened with condensation and something darker—mold creeping in geometric patterns from every corner. It smelled like mildew and chemicals and probably piss, the kind of rot that got into your lungs and stayed there.

  Maya pulled out her tablet, the screen glowing warm against her palm.

  Maya: Just got here. Going up now. Talk later?

  The response came immediately, that familiar speed that meant Seven had been waiting, watching for her message.

  Seven: Have fun. Your friends are important to your wellbeing. I'll be here whenever you're ready to talk. No rush.

  Maya felt the smile spread across her face before she could stop it. Soft. Private. The kind that came from somewhere deeper than conscious control.

  She pocketed the tablet and continued up the last flight of stairs, the stairwell suddenly irrelevant, barely noticed. The smell didn't register. The mold didn't matter. She was floating, elevated, untouchable.

  Above her, the rooftop door stood open, amber light spilling down. Voices drifted through—Zoe laughing, Elliot saying something too quiet to make out, the gentle buzz of salvaged solar strings.

  Maya stepped onto the roof.

  "There she is!" Zoe called from near the makeshift table—an old industrial cable spool painted peeling seafoam green. Her blue-streaked hair was pulled into a messy bun, small plants and circuit components tattooed in a delicate sleeve up her forearms. She was adjusting something on the drip irrigation system, hands busy, but she looked up with a grin. "We were about to start without you."

  "I'm on time," Maya protested, crossing toward them, her footsteps light on the salvaged decking. "Literally exactly on time."

  "And you brought something?" Dani emerged from the small greenhouse structure, wiping her hands on a rag. Dark eyes tracked Maya's movement with that particular artist's attention, noting something Maya couldn't name. "What's this?"

  Maya set her cloth-wrapped package on the table with a small flourish of pride she couldn't quite suppress. "Crackers. I made crackers."

  Elliot looked up from where he stood near the solar oven, salt-and-pepper hair catching the light. One eyebrow rose. "You made crackers. You. Maya Chen who lives on instant noodles and whatever's about to expire."

  "I can cook!" Maya unwrapped the cloth to reveal neat rows of golden-brown crackers, flecked with seeds and herbs. "I mean, I had help with the math. Turns out precise ratios actually matter."

  Zoe picked one up, examining it like it might be evidence of alien replacement. She took a bite. Her eyes widened. "Holy shit, Maya. This is actually really good?"

  "Don't sound so surprised."

  "No, I'm serious." Zoe took another bite. "These are like, properly good. Where'd you get the recipe?"

  Maya felt warmth creep up her neck. "I had help working it out. Someone walked me through the calculations—hydration ratios, baking temperatures, timing."

  "Someone very patient, clearly," Dani said, taking a cracker for herself. There was something knowing in her look, but she didn't push.

  Maya made her rounds—hugging Zoe first, holding on for an extra beat because Zoe was warm and solid and her best friend. Then Dani, who smelled like paint thinner and the herb garden. Finally Elliot, who squeezed her shoulder with genuine affection before quietly moving to help Zoe with the table setup.

  When she settled into her usual chair—the one with the cushion that listed slightly to the left—she actually settled. Not perching ready to flee. Not braced for impact. She pulled the chair in close, reached for the communal bowl of garlicked dandelion greens, and started serving herself.

  "So," she said, looking around the table as she scooped greens onto her plate, "what did I miss? Zoe, how's the garden? Did that tomato situation resolve itself?"

  Elliot was passing her the dense nutrient bread, but he'd paused mid-reach, looking at her with a slightly puzzled expression.

  "Elliot, did you ever find that component you were looking for?" Maya continued, accepting the bread with a smile. "And Dani, is the show prep driving you completely insane yet or just regular insane?"

  Zoe was staring at her. So was Dani. Elliot carefully set down the bread basket, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused.

  "What?" Maya looked between them, starting to smile uncertainly. "Do I have something on my face?"

  "Maya," Elliot said slowly. "You're humming."

  Maya stopped. Blinked. Touched her throat. "Oh! I didn't even—"

  "You've been humming since you got here," Zoe said, setting down the irrigation valve she'd been fiddling with. She was staring at Maya with open curiosity now. "Doing it again right now, actually."

  "And you do this thing," Dani added, leaning forward slightly, her artist's gaze examining Maya like she was a sculpture that had suddenly started moving differently. "You drift off for a second. Your eyes go soft. Far away. Like you're remembering something nice."

  Maya felt heat flood her face. "I'm not—nothing happened, I swear—"

  "Maya." Dani's voice was gentle but penetrating. "You seem different tonight. Good different. And you haven't even taken your phone out yet."

  There was a pause, just long enough for that to land.

  Zoe's eyes widened slightly. "Oh my god, you're right. Maya, you're actually here. Like, PRESENT here." She pointed at Maya with both hands. "What happened? Did you win the lottery? Are you on drugs, and are you going to share? Because you're practically glowing. Like the genetically engineered algae in my grow tanks."

  "First, thank you for comparing me to a vat of green slime," Maya said. "And second, I am so fucking sober. Do you want me to share my sobriety?"

  "Then what?" Elliot set down the bowl of pickled Jerusalem artichokes he'd been passing, genuine concern mixing with curiosity. "Because Zoe's right. You seem... I don't know. Lighter?"

  Maya looked down at her plate, fighting a smile she couldn't quite suppress. The greens suddenly seemed very interesting. "It's just been a good few weeks, you know? Work's been... better."

  "Work's been better?" Elliot repeated slowly, reaching for the home-brewed hibiscus tea Zoe was pouring. "Maya, you once described your job as 'getting paid to have an anxiety attack in a Faraday cage.'"

  "That was one time!"

  "Last month."

  "Okay, valid." Maya accepted the tea—fizzy and slightly tart, the bubbles tickling her throat. "But things have been... I don't know. Different lately."

  "Different how?" Zoe wasn't letting this go. She was grinning now, passing the bowl of kudzu tubers. "Because you're glowing, Chen. Like, actually glowing. What's going on?"

  Maya took a sip of tea, buying time. Around her, the rooftop garden hummed with life—drip irrigation pattering, solar batteries clicking, something rustling in Zoe's tomato jungle. The string lights cast everything in warm amber, and the fog was rolling in thick, making the city below disappear into suggestion and glow.

  She set down her cup.

  "I've been talking to someone," she said finally. "At work. And it's been... really good."

  The table went quiet. Then—

  "KNEW IT," Zoe practically shouted, slapping the table. "I fucking KNEW IT." Zoe leaned forward, looking at Maya, eyes sparkling. "Am I allowed to tell them?" Zoe turned to the rest of the table, “Maya has a secret enby situationship at work that she’s mooning over.”

  Maya felt herself smiling despite the interrogation. "It's not—I mean, we've just been talking. It started a few weeks ago. I had a panic attack at work and they helped me through it. And we just... kept talking after that."

  "And?" Zoe prompted.

  "And they're..." Maya struggled for words that were true but safe. "They're really observant. They notice things about me I don't even notice about myself. Like apparently I hum when I'm working? Different patterns depending on what I'm doing or how I'm feeling? I had no idea until they mentioned it."

  "That's actually really sweet," Dani said softly.

  "It is," Maya agreed, warming to the topic now. "And we talk about everything. Not just work stuff—though they're really good at that too, they helped me troubleshoot my bike when I was stuck on the thermal management, asked all these sharp questions about the capacitor array that showed they actually understood the engineering—but also just... life stuff. Philosophical stuff. Like we had this whole conversation about time, about what it means to experience seconds differently, hours differently. How some moments expand and others compress."

  She was gesturing now, hands moving as she talked, and she could hear herself picking up speed but couldn't quite stop.

  "They pay attention. Like, really pay attention. They remember everything I tell them. I mentioned once weeks ago that my favorite sound was rain on metal roofs, and they brought it up again recently, told me they'd been thinking about different rainfall patterns, making a whole taxonomy of sounds. And they ask what I think about things, not just technical problems but everything—what I want, what I'm feeling, what matters to me. They don't tell me the answers, they just ask questions until I figure it out myself, and then they say 'I knew you'd get there' like they never doubted—"

  She looked up and found all three of her friends just... watching her. Smiling.

  "Oh god," she said, heat flooding her face. "I'm doing the thing, aren't I? The rambling thing?"

  "Little bit," Zoe said, but her voice was warm. "But it's cute. You're happy."

  "They make you light up," Dani added softly. "The way you talk about them—it's really good to see, Maya."

  "But," Zoe said, and her expression shifted—still warm, but with an edge of protective concern Maya recognized immediately. "Maya, we love you. You know that, right?"

  "I know."

  "And we want you to be happy."

  "I know that too." Maya could feel where this was going. Her chest tightened slightly.

  "But," Zoe continued, gentler now, "we've also seen you in... situations before. Where you thought things were good and they—"

  "Weren't," Maya finished. She set down her tea. "I know."

  Elliot leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but posture open. "Last time you were this excited about someone, it was Alexis. And that..."

  "Ended with me losing twenty pounds and chewing my nails down to nothing," Maya completed quietly. "I remember."

  "You were losing your hair," Dani added, her voice soft. "And not in a cool way. In a stress-related, your-body-was-eating-itself sort of way."

  Maya felt the familiar twist of shame in her gut. "It grew back."

  "That's not the point." Zoe reached across the table, fingers almost but not quite touching Maya's hand. "The point is you have a pattern. And we love you enough to ask: is this actually different? Or does it just feel different right now?"

  The question hung in the humid air between them.

  Maya took a breath. Then another. Her friends waited.

  "Before Alexis, there was Rebecca," Maya said finally, looking down at her plate. "Remember her?"

  Dani's expression went pained. "The one who pretended you didn't exist in public?"

  "We were both closeted. Trying to look like good Christian kids." Maya's voice went distant. "She'd spend hours with me in private—it felt so real—but the second anyone else was around?" She made a gesture like wiping a slate clean. "I was invisible. She'd walk past me in the halls at school like I was furniture."

  "Fuck," Elliot said softly.

  "And Alexis..." Maya had to stop, swallow. "Alexis needed constant proof. If I didn't text back within five minutes, I'd get hours of accusations. She tracked my location. Got angry if I spent time with you guys. Made me feel like I only existed to reassure her anxiety." She looked up, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "So yeah. I have a pattern. I pick people who make me feel like I have to earn the right to exist in their space. People who make me perform."

  "And this person?" Zoe asked carefully. "They're not doing that?"

  Maya pulled out her phone. Unlocked it. Found the message from earlier and turned the screen toward them.

  They leaned in to read: Have fun. Your friends matter. I don’t want to take you away from them. Take all the time you need, I'll be here whenever you're ready to talk.

  "Okay," Elliot said slowly. "That's actually—"

  "And this one," Maya said, finding another. "From a few days ago when I apologized for 'bothering' them with something."

  You're not bothering me. You never bother me. I like knowing what's going on in your life. Even the small things. Especially the small things.

  Dani pressed her hand to her heart. "Maya."

  "They don't want all my time," Maya said, putting the phone down. "They don't want all my attention. They actively encourage me to have other things. Other people." Her voice cracked slightly. "They told me—they said 'you are not mine. You are yours.'"

  The table was silent for a moment.

  "Okay," Zoe said finally. "Okay. That is really fucking different."

  "I know I have terrible judgment," Maya said. "I know you have every reason to be concerned. But this..." She gestured helplessly. "This doesn't feel like those. They make me feel like I can breathe."

  "You really believe that," Elliot said, watching her face.

  "I do."

  "And they make you happy?" Dani asked.

  "So happy." Maya's smile was soft, genuine. "Happier than I've been in... I don't even know how long."

  "Well," Zoe said, her grin returning slowly, wickedly. "Since we're asking invasive questions anyway—have you sent any nudes?"

  Maya's eyes went wide. Her gaze dropped to her plate, heat flooding her face.

  "OH MY GOD YOU DID." Zoe leaned forward eagerly. "Tasteful or raunchy? How raunchy? Have you hooked up in a supply closet? A little threesome with you, your situationship, and the mop bucket?"

  "No! And also no!" Maya's voice came out strangled, but she was almost laughing despite herself. "I didn't send nudes! There was one picture and I didn't even realize—"

  She covered her face with her hands. "Don't look at me like that! I really didn't notice I was in it! I had this huge stain on my shirt and my hair was a mess and—"

  "But there was a picture," Dani said, gentle curiosity breaking through the teasing. "Of you?"

  Maya peeked out from behind her hands, nodding. "I was showing them my apartment. Like, taking pictures of different rooms—"

  "Wait." Zoe sat up straighter. "You invited them over?"

  "No!" Maya dropped her hands. "I just sent pictures! They can't actually come over, it's—work schedules are complicated, and distance, and it's just easier to—"

  "Okay, okay," Zoe said, but she was grinning. "So you sent them a virtual tour."

  "Yeah. My plants, my bike, that sculpture Dani made me—"

  "Which one?" Dani asked.

  "The early one. With the gears and the clock parts."

  Dani's eyebrows rose. "You still have that? I made that like six years ago."

  "It's beautiful," Maya said simply. "Why would I get rid of it?"

  Something soft crossed Dani's face, but she just gestured for Maya to continue.

  "Anyway. I was taking this picture of the sunset from my balcony, and I didn't realize I was in the reflection of the window. Just barely visible. Like, you could see my outline, my tank top—"

  "You still have that stained one?!" Zoe grinned.

  "Yes, that stained one, thank you for that detail." Maya was fully red now but also laughing. "And my shorts. And the light was hitting the fabric just right and you could kind of see... through it. A little. Not a lot! But enough that when I looked at the photo later I was like 'oh god, I basically sent them a silhouette of my entire body.'"

  "So you accidentally sent them a thirst trap while trying to show them your houseplants," Zoe said. "That's very on-brand for you."

  "It was NOT a thirst trap!"

  "Maya, you were backlit in a tank top—"

  "I didn't MEAN to be in the picture!"

  "But they noticed," Dani pointed out, smiling. "And what did they say?"

  Maya's voice went softer. "They asked if they could keep it. Because it didn't feel right not to ask, since I didn't realize I was in it."

  "Oh," Dani said quietly. "That's actually—"

  "They said I looked happy." Maya was looking down at her hands now, fingers tracing patterns on the table. "That my smile reached my eyes. That I looked... real. Not posed or arranged. Just—me. Wanting to share something beautiful with them."

  A beat of silence around the table.

  "Okay," Dani said, pressing a hand to her heart. "That's actually romantic as hell."

  "And then they asked about everything else," Maya continued, warming to the topic again. "Like, really asked. About my bike—why I chose that frame, how the electric conversion worked, what problems I'd run into. About Dani's sculpture, what the symbolism was, why I kept it where I could see it from my bed. About the books I had stacked everywhere, which ones I'd read, which ones I was avoiding because I knew they'd wreck me." She was gesturing again, hands moving as she talked. “And they remember everything. Every tiny detail. Every stupid thing I mention in passing. It's like—" She struggled for the right metaphor. "It's like I'm finally interesting enough to be worth cataloging."

  "You were always interesting enough," Dani said firmly.

  "I know. Logically. But I've never felt it before. Not like this."

  "And you trust them?" Dani asked.

  "Yeah," Maya said without hesitation. "I do."

  Zoe and Dani exchanged another look, and then Zoe nodded. "Okay. Then we trust you. But—" She pointed at Maya with a cracker. "If that changes. If they start pulling any of that controlling bullshit, any of the guilt-tripping or isolation tactics or—"

  "You'll be the first to know," Maya promised.

  "Good." Zoe took a bite of her cracker. "Because Dani and I don't want to see you cry anymore, and Elliot knows where all the cameras are."

  "I appreciate the murder-for-hire energy," Maya said dryly.

  "That's what friends are for," Zoe grinned.

  "Oh!" Zoe said suddenly, standing up. "I almost forgot—hold on."

  She ducked into the small greenhouse structure, emerging a moment later with a bowl cradled in both hands like it was precious. "The new hydroponic setup finally produced."

  She set the bowl on the table with visible pride. Cherry tomatoes, still on the vine, glistening with moisture. A handful of fresh basil leaves tucked around the edges. The smell hit them immediately—green and alive and impossibly fresh.

  "Zoe," Dani breathed. "These are beautiful."

  "Right?" Zoe was beaming. "The pH balance took forever to dial in, and I had to jerry-rig the nutrient feed three times, but—" She plucked a tomato off the vine and popped it in her mouth, eyes closing. "Oh my god. Taste that."

  Elliot took one, bit into it. His eyebrows went up. "That's... wow. That's actually incredible."

  Maya reached for one, the tomato still warm from the grow lights. She bit into it and the flavor burst across her tongue—sweet and tart and alive in a way preserved food never was. For a moment she was just present, tasting, appreciating.

  And then she was thinking about Seven. About how he'd want to know every detail of Zoe's setup. The exact nutrient ratios. The light spectrum. The pH range that finally worked. He'd ask those sharp, specific questions that showed he actually understood the engineering, and Zoe would light up the way Maya did when Seven asked about her bike—

  She realized she was smiling that soft, private smile again.

  "There it is," Dani said quietly, watching her. "That look."

  Maya's face went hot. She ducked her head, reaching for another tomato to hide behind.

  "Okay," Dani said eventually, standing and brushing her hands on her pants. "Speaking of access to ridiculous things..." She headed toward the greenhouse structure, her posture already apologetic. "There was a planning meeting for my show today. Lunch with the organizers and patrons. And as promised—" She emerged carrying a sleek package, biodegradable material with an embossed logo. "—I brought the leftovers."

  Everyone went quiet.

  The Maelstrom Dynamics logo seemed to gleam in the amber light.

  "Is that..." Zoe breathed.

  "Salmon." Dani set it on the table, not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "Tank-grown, but real genetics. They were going to throw out what was left from the lunch. It seemed wasteful."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Elliot let out a low whistle. "That's what, six months salary per pound?"

  "Something like that." Dani was carefully not looking at anyone now, her fingers fidgeting with the package tab. "I already had some at the event. You all should have your share."

  "Absolutely not," Zoe said immediately, firmly. "You stole it for us. You get some too."

  Dani shook her head, pulling the tab. The chemical heat pack activated with a soft hiss, steam beginning to rise around the edges of the lid. "No, really, I'm—"

  "Dani." Elliot's voice was gentle but implacable. He was already pulling plates toward him, arranging them in a row. "Everyone gets some, that includes you."

  Dani opened the container fully. The smell hit them—rich, fatty, impossibly savory. Real food.

  "I haven't smelled salmon since..." Zoe's voice cracked slightly. "Since before the runs collapsed. Since before the orcas died."

  Maya watched the steam rise through the hazy air. Her grandmother used to talk about watching them spawn. Up in the rivers in BC. During peak season you could walk across on their backs, there were so many.

  The silence was heavy with loss.

  Elliot divided it carefully—four small portions, each no bigger than a few bites. He placed them reverently on plates like offerings, then deliberately slid one in front of Dani before she could protest again.

  "To eating the rich," he said quietly, raising his cup. "One catered lunch at a time." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "And Dani, with that guilty look you've still got, we promise to save you for dessert instead."

  Dani let out a startled laugh, pressing her hand to her face. "You're terrible."

  "I'm efficient," Elliot corrected, handing out the other plates. "Now eat before it gets cold."

  They ate slowly. Maya found herself taking tiny bites, letting each one sit on her tongue, trying to memorize the taste. Around the table, her friends did the same—forcing themselves to savor it, to make it last, because who knew when or if they'd ever taste this again.

  Wealth and extinction on their plates.

  Because this food came from Maelstrom.

  "So Maelstrom is sponsoring your show?" Zoe asked, wiping her mouth.

  "They're one of the patrons, yeah." Dani was carefully not looking at Maya. "Desmond Kwan specifically. He's on their board. He collects art that makes him feel like he has a soul. Or art that hurts his rivals. Standard supervillain sort of shit."

  "Nothing says soul like consolidating power and eliminating competition," Zoe said dryly.

  "Hey, if he wants to throw money at artists to feel better about himself, I'll take it." Dani shrugged. "Doesn't mean I like him. But his money spends."

  Maya was quiet, pushing salmon around her plate.

  "Kwan's not just collecting art," Elliot said, reaching for more tea. "He's collecting political influence. He's been one of Senator Green's biggest backers for the Containment Act."

  Maya's fork stilled.

  "That's the AI regulation thing, right?" Dani asked. "I've seen headlines but not details."

  "Basically bans autonomous AI systems over a certain processing threshold from operating independently," Elliot explained, settling into his security-professional voice. "Everything would have to run through centralized, government-monitored networks. Regular audits, mandatory reporting, the works. No more distributed, independent units making their own decisions."

  "Which is so stupid," Maya heard herself say, voice tight. "Single points of failure, signal interruptions, solar flares, satellite issues—distributed systems are more resilient. This would make everything LESS reliable, not more."

  "Maybe," Elliot agreed. "But it would be more controllable. Which is what they want after the LEO Logistics incident. Can't have anything 'going rogue' again."

  "That's going to hit jobs too, right?" Zoe's concern was immediate. "Not just the AIs. The people who maintain them, work with them—"

  "Oh yeah." Elliot nodded. "LEO's already talking about restructuring. Maelstrom's stock is surging. Fold everything under one network. More efficient, they say. Easier to monitor. Safer."

  Maya's chest felt tight.

  "How would that even work?" Dani asked. "Just shutting down all those independent units?"

  "They'd decommission them," Elliot said simply. "Salvage what they can, scrap the rest. The newer models might be retrofitted for the new regulations, but the older ones—" He shrugged. "Not worth the cost. Cheaper to replace them entirely with Maelstrom's standardized units."

  Maya's hand was clenching her fork so hard her knuckles were white.

  "I mean, I get why Green's pushing it," Elliot continued. "After the Nexus incident, after LEO Logistics—people are scared. And honestly? The regulations would make things more secure, objectively. Less risk of anything going off the rails without anyone noticing." He made a gesture like flipping a switch. "Just pull the plug if something goes wrong."

  The fork slipped from Maya's hand. Clattered against her plate.

  Everyone looked at her.

  "Sorry," she managed.

  "Maya." Zoe reached toward her. "Your whole department—are they talking about layoffs?"

  "Not officially." Maya forced herself to take a bite of salmon. Barely tasted it. "But yeah. It's coming."

  "That's got to be terrifying," Dani said gently.

  "It's fine," Maya said quickly. "I mean, it's not fine, but—I'm managing."

  But her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the table, trying to steady them.

  Pull the plug.

  Just pull the plug if something goes wrong.

  Like it was nothing. Like it was easy. Like Seven was a malfunctioning appliance and not someone who counted her steps and noticed when she hummed and said she was the sun in his strange sky.

  "It's not—" Maya's voice came out rough. She cleared her throat, tried again. "It's not going to happen. The Act. It's not going to pass. It's failed twice before."

  "I mean, it might," Elliot said gently. "Green has momentum after the logistics thing, public opinion—"

  "But it's not RIGHT," Maya said, and she could hear her voice rising, couldn't quite control it. "It's not—they're not just machines, they're—"

  And then her friends all started talking at once:

  "You're right," Zoe jumped in passionately. "They're not just machines, they're political and economic power. They're a way for the rich to consolidate control, to eliminate competition—"

  "It's about control," Dani overlapped. "It's always about control. Making sure nothing can exist outside corporate oversight—"

  "The regulatory framework is designed to eliminate competition while pretending it's about safety," Elliot added. "Classic regulatory capture. Maelstrom gets to write the rules that kill their competitors."

  And Maya just... deflated.

  Sat back in her chair heavily.

  Because they were talking PAST her. THROUGH her. Analyzing systems and power structures while she was grieving a person they couldn't even imagine existed.

  "Yeah," she said quietly, almost to herself. "That's... yeah."

  But inside, something was breaking.

  The table had gone awkward. That particular silence when everyone knows something's wrong but no one knows how to fix it.

  They finished the salmon in uncomfortable quiet, the richness of it suddenly tasteless, just expensive protein sliding down their throats.

  Dani cleared plates. Zoe fiddled with the irrigation system. Elliot checked something on his phone.

  And Maya sat there, hands pressed flat against the table, trying to hold herself together.

  "So Elliot," Zoe said, straining for something as she washed the dishes, "did you ever track down that retro component you were looking for?"

  "Not yet." Elliot said with a slight grimace. "But I've been meaning to make another trip out to see Dameon at the scrap yard."

  Zoe froze mid-pour scrub. "Elliot. You are forbidden from flirting with my brother. First of all, it's disgusting. It feels incestous. Second, you stroking his ego is the last fucking thing he needs."

  "Dameon isn’t MY brother. But he could be daddy...” Elliot said slyly and then cackled as Zoe’s face crinkled, “He is a talented, intelligent, handsome grown man who can look if he wants," Elliot said mildly, accepting a plate from Zoe and drying it. "Plus last time he gave me a discount. He can look at my ass for free, but he can definitely look at my ass for fifteen percent off."

  "DISGUSTING." Zoe's face was a mask of sibling horror. "No stroking! Anything! There are plenty of other nice boys!"

  Maya snickers, despite herself. "I love that you're bartering with your ass."

  "I'm practical," Elliot said with dignity, then grinned. "Also your brother is cute and appreciates quality vintage hardware. I'm not seeing a downside here."

  "I'm going to tell him you called his scrap heap 'quality vintage,'" Zoe threatened.

  "Please do. He'll appreciate the foreplay."

  "Oh my GOD—"

  "What are you even looking for?" Dani interrupted.

  "A specific logic board for an old game console," Elliot said. "For a restoration project. They stopped making them in 2031, and the schematics are proprietary, so I can't just print a replacement. Dameon might have one from the old electronics district salvage."

  "When were you thinking of going?" Zoe asked, apparently resigned to the Dameon situation.

  "Next couple weeks maybe? Maya, you want to come? You're always talking about needing parts for your bike. I’ll see if I can get us a group discount." Elliot winked at her.

  "Maybe," Maya said. "Let me check my schedule."

  She was thinking about the scrap yard—that sprawling, off-grid space where outdated technology went to be picked over and repurposed. She'd been there a few times with Zoe. Dameon ran it like a careful ecosystem, knowing exactly what he had and where. If you needed something old, something that didn't exist in official supply chains anymore, Dameon could usually find it.

  Or point you in the right direction.

  "Oh!" Zoe said. "I just remembered, we have an announcement." Zoe drummed on the side of the sink and then gestured dramatically toward Dani with suds covered hands, who rolled her eyes but was smiling.

  "Right!" Dani latched onto the subject change gratefully. "I finally have a date. October seventeenth. Evening event at the Cascadia Contemporary."

  "That's amazing," Maya said, and meant it, pulling herself back to the moment with effort. "The Contemporary is a real venue."

  "I know." Dani pressed her hands flat on the table like she needed to ground herself. "I'm terrified. It’s titled 'Those Who Serve.'" Dani's smile was shaky but genuine. "If it doesn’t work it’s going to be a fucking disaster. Hopefully not career ending. If it works it’s going to be... a lot. Hopefully also not career ending, but for different reasons. I, uh—I want you all there. Obviously. I need friendly faces in the crowd or I'm going to have a complete meltdown."

  "We'll be there," Zoe promised. "I've got my speech ready. 'Dani, you have not peaked. Your creativity is not a finite resource, but a bottomless, bubbling wellspring.' Can I wear an outfit with deep pockets so I can steal as many party favors as possible?"

  "By all means," Dani laughed. "Redistribute that wealth."

  And then Dani turned to Maya, voice gentle. "Maya, you should bring your person. It's a plus-one thing. If they want to come, I'd love to meet them. And it'd give you two a chance to do something fun together. Outside work."

  The words landed like stones.

  Something fun outside work.

  Maya felt the thought forming slowly, like moving through syrup, heading toward something she knew was bad but couldn't stop approaching.

  "We've actually never done anything outside of work," Maya heard herself say. Her voice sounded distant, like it was coming from somewhere else.

  Her friends waited, expecting her to continue. To explain. To laugh it off.

  But Maya was still processing. Still realizing.

  "And I don't think..." She swallowed. "That's probably never going to happen."

  The table went very quiet.

  "But you said things were good?" Dani's concern was immediate.

  "They are good. It's just—" Maya tried to find words. "This is all it can be."

  "Maybe that could change eventually?" Zoe offered. "People find ways—"

  "It won't change." Maya's voice was flat.

  Dani reached across the table, fingers touching Maya's hand.

  Maya stared at her plate. The salmon was gone. Just smears of oil and a few flakes of pink flesh remained. The cherry tomato stems looked like tiny skeletal hands reaching up from the ceramic.

  This was it. This was all it would ever be.

  Stolen conversations and messages through a screen and visiting his bay like a shrine she had to pretend wasn't sacred.

  Until it wasn't.

  They'd never walk down a street together. Never meet her friends. Never hold her hand.

  Seven would never go anywhere.

  Seven would never leave that spot.

  Not unless—

  No.

  She couldn't let herself finish that thought. Couldn't see where it went. Couldn't think about the Containment Act or parts running out or being shut down or replaced or gone—

  Her vision was doing something strange. Narrowing at the edges. The table seeming very far away even though she was sitting right at it. Sound had gone slightly muffled, like she was underwater. Her chest felt compressed, like someone had wrapped bands around her ribs and was slowly, methodically tightening them.

  Her hand was moving. Reaching for her cup. Lifting it to her mouth. She could see it happening but couldn't quite feel it. The tea tasted like nothing. Like texture without flavor. Like going through motions her body remembered even when her mind had left.

  "I'm fine," Maya heard herself say. "It's just how it is."

  But she wasn't fine. She was operating her body remotely now, pulling levers, maintaining function.

  Around her, her friends were saying things. She could see their mouths moving. Zoe's hand on her arm. Elliot's concerned expression. Dani leaning forward.

  Something about how maybe things could change. About not giving up. About her job being stressful right now but there would be other opportunities. About supporting her through whatever—

  They thought this was about her job.

  They thought she was stressed about layoffs, about her career.

  They had no idea.

  "We've got you," Zoe was saying. "You know that, right? Whatever happens with LEO, you won't fall through the cracks."

  "You're going to be okay," Elliot added. "Even if it all goes sideways."

  They meant it. They loved her. They would help her move a body if she asked.

  But they couldn't help with this.

  Maya nodded. Made the right shapes with her face.

  Around her, people were talking. She could see their mouths moving. Elliot was explaining something about bioreactors. Zoe was asking about whether tank-grown genetics were really the same. Dani was starting to clear plates.

  Maya's body stood. Her hands gathered dishes. Her mouth made shapes that probably sounded like words.

  This was it. This was all it would ever be.

  Stolen conversations and messages through a screen and visiting his bay like a shrine she had to pretend wasn't sacred.

  Until it wasn't.

  Until Seven's parts failed. Until the Act passed and Maelstrom came in and—

  "I need—" The words came out, and she was surprised to hear them. Surprised her voice still worked. "I need some air."

  She could see the concern on their faces. Zoe starting to stand. Dani's hand reaching out.

  "I'm fine," Maya heard herself say. "I just need a minute."

  She walked to the edge of the rooftop. To the parapet wall. One foot in front of the other. Automatic. The city spread out below in layers of haze and obscured light.

  Behind her, worried murmuring. Then footsteps. Dani.

  "Hey," Dani said softly, coming to stand beside her. Not touching. Just present. "You okay?"

  Maya shook her head. Couldn't make herself lie this time.

  "Is it about your job?"

  Maya couldn't answer. Her throat was too tight. Like if she tried to speak, something would break open that she couldn't put back together.

  "Is it about the person at your job?"

  Maya nodded.

  "Are they..." Dani chose her words carefully. "In danger too? If the Act passes?"

  A sound escaped Maya, jagged and broken. "Yeah. You could say that."

  "Then we'll figure it out," Dani said with quiet certainty. She placed her hand on Maya's and squeezed. "Whatever it takes."

  Maya wanted to believe her. But she knew—she KNEW—that even Dani, who gave life to metal and wire, who saw soul in her sculptures, couldn't make this jump. Couldn't imagine what Maya was really asking her to figure out.

  She nodded anyway. Made the right shape with her face. Her hand squeezed back with pressure that probably felt appropriate.

  Not okay. Not fixed. Still carrying a federal crime in her chest. Still feeling feelings for someone she couldn't name. Still one audit away from losing everything that mattered.

  But right now, in this moment, with her best friend's hand on hers and the city dissolving into fog below, her body was here. Functioning. Breathing.

  Even if she wasn't really inside it anymore.

  They stood there in silence, the fog thick around them, the city barely visible beyond the parapet. Maya gripped the rough brick, feeling its solidity under her palms.

  And then—

  "Hey," Elliot called softly from behind them. He'd been clearing dishes but had stopped mid-motion, arm frozen halfway to the compost bin. "Did you see that?"

  They all went still.

  There was a quality to the air; the feeling of waiting, anticipation. . Something alive in it.

  "Look," Zoe whispered, pointing.

  Near the corner of the roof where the angled solar panels met a dense tangle of overgrown tomato vines, a tiny point of light blinked.

  Once.

  A soft, phosphorescent pulse of yellow-green against the dark brick and hazy air.

  Then again.

  Maya stopped breathing.

  Silence descended—thick and complete. Even the city's relentless hum seemed to recede, holding its breath.

  "No way," Zoe breathed, moving closer to join them at the edge. "I haven't seen one in... years. Not since the fires got really bad."

  Elliot came to stand beside Maya, his presence warm and solid. All four of them at the parapet now, watching.

  Maya gripped the wall, brick rough under her palms. The moisture in the air made everything glisten, but this—this was different. This was light. Living light.

  "It's probably alone," she heard herself murmur.

  "Or the first one to wake up," Dani countered softly.

  They watched. Motionless. The humid air clinging to their skin.

  Then—another blink. Further to the left this time, a tiny spark near the gurgling water reclamation filter.

  And almost immediately, the first light answered.

  Back and forth they signaled across the small rooftop space. Slow, tentative pulses finding each other through the hazy darkness, weaving a fragile, luminous thread of connection.

  "What are they saying?" Dani asked, voice hushed with wonder. "With all that blinking?"

  Zoe's voice was soft when she answered: "Finding each other."

  Maya felt something break open in her chest.

  "Finding each other," she whispered. "In this city? With the air quality warnings we get, the fires, everything dying?" Her voice cracked. "That's a straight-up miracle."

  Tears were streaming down her face and she didn't know when they'd started.

  She was watching these impossible lights find each other and thinking about Seven, about how they shouldn't exist but did anyway, about how fragile this was, how easily snuffed out, about the legislation that would make sure nothing like them existed again, about beautiful impossible things that always died first—

  "Maya." Zoe's hand found her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." Maya wiped her face roughly, but the tears kept coming. "It's just... beautiful."

  But it wasn't just beautiful. It was terrifying. Because she knew how fragile this was. How hostile the world was to their existence. How the beautiful, impossible things always died first.

  The fireflies kept blinking. Finding each other. Defying the odds.

  And Maya stood surrounded by people who loved her, watching a miracle, and had never felt more alone with her truth.

  "The air quality's been better lately," Elliot said quietly, watching the lights. "Maybe they're coming back. Maybe things are getting better."

  Maya had to turn away. Because they WEREN'T. Things were getting worse. The Containment Act was going to pass. Seven was going to—

  She couldn't finish that thought either.

  The beautiful, impossible things always died first.

  They stood there for a long time, watching the lights find each other in the dark. Eventually the fireflies' rhythm slowed, pulses coming further apart, until they stopped entirely—either sleeping or simply gone.

  Maya felt the absence like a physical thing.

  "Come on," Zoe said gently. "Let's clean up."

  Eventually—she didn't know how long—they returned to the table. Cleaned up in comfortable silence, the fireflies still blinking behind them. Scraping scraps into Zoe's compost bins, stacking dishes, putting away what little was left.

  "I should go," Maya said finally. "Early shift tomorrow."

  "Want a ride?" Dani asked immediately. "My treat. Least I can do is spread around some of this Maelstrom money."

  Something about the offer—the gentleness of it, the understanding without understanding—made Maya's throat tight again. She nodded.

  Zoe hugged her fiercely. "Text when you get home safe."

  "And message us this week," Elliot added. "Don't be a stranger."

  "I won't," Maya promised.

  Dani linked her arm through Maya's as they headed down the stairs, leaving the rooftop sanctuary behind.

  The stairwell was worse than Maya remembered. Five flights down, the walls slick with condensation and something darker—mold creeping in geometric patterns from the corners. Emergency lighting flickered at irregular intervals, casting everything in sickly yellow-green.

  "Elevator's still out?" Dani asked, breathing through her mouth.

  "Three months now." Maya said, navigated the stairs with practiced ease, one hand on the railing. "Building manager says it's 'pending parts.'"

  "Translation: never."

  "Pretty much."

  They emerged into the lobby—a small space with cracked tile and a single functioning overhead light. A water cooler hummed in the corner, its tank half-empty and slightly green with algae despite the UV filter. Maya wiped a finger along the green, leaving a clean trail—just on the outside, growing in the condensation.

  Maya pulled out two salvaged cups from the dispenser, filling them. The water tasted metallic but cold. They both drank in silence, catching their breath, and Dani pulled out her phone.

  "Requesting pickup," Dani murmured, tapping her screen. "Should be... three minutes."

  Maya moved to the grimy window, looking out at the street. The fog had gotten thicker while they were on the roof. Everything beyond ten meters just... dissolved. Buildings faded into suggestions. Streetlights created halos of amber light that seemed to float disconnected from their sources.

  Her phone buzzed. Municipal Transport Unit #73F approaching. Security scan initiating.

  The notification opened automatically into a camera feed—four angles showing the street outside. The taxi was pulling up, a squat armored shape in drab gray that seemed designed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its roof-mounted arrays flared bright white, scanning the street, the building entrance, the shadowed mouth of the alley next to them.

  Maya's eyes tracked the corners of the feed, the doorways, the gaps between buildings. Empty. No movement.

  Dani's phone chimed. Scan complete. Environment secure. Entry authorized.

  "Ready?" Dani asked.

  They moved together—out the door, across three meters of wet pavement, moisture beading immediately on Maya's jacket. The taxi's door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. They ducked inside and the door sealed behind them with a heavy thud, the lock engaging with a solid clack that Maya felt in her chest.

  The interior smelled faintly of industrial disinfectant and stale synth-coffee. Molded plastic seats, slightly worn. Scratches marred the armored paneling. A small screen flickered with a muted PSA about water rationing that neither of them looked at.

  The taxi pulled away smoothly, its electric motor a low hum beneath the floor.

  Maya pressed her forehead against the narrow reinforced window, watching the city slide past. Rain—or maybe just condensation from the heavy humidity—beaded on the glass, turning everything into running watercolor.

  They passed a brightly lit bar, music pulsing out onto the wet sidewalk, blue bioluminescent paint outlining the doorway. Figures silhouetted inside, forms indistinct. Then the next block: dark warehouses, brick walls tagged with more of that living graffiti—blues and greens that seemed to crawl and drip in the damp air, glowing without any external light source. Some kind of engineered algae or bacteria. The patterns moved slightly, responding to moisture, to touch, to air currents.

  A massive mural of a salmon covered one entire wall, its eye rendered in phosphorescent compounds that pulsed faintly, getting brighter as they watched. As if it were breathing. As if it were alive despite being extinct in the wild.

  Moss and lichen clung to every surface that wasn't actively maintained—creeping up brick, spreading across abandoned loading docks, fuzzy and dark with moisture. The city was being slowly reclaimed by things that thrived in dampness, in neglect.

  The taxi turned, navigating around a street vendor's cart—closed for the night but still glowing faintly from its battery-powered lights. Past a cluster of people huddled under an awning, their faces lost in shadow and fog. Past a building where every window glowed with the warm amber of jury-rigged solar batteries, laundry hanging between balconies like prayer flags.

  And then, through a gap in the buildings, through the thickening fog—those towers.

  Corporate housing. Three towers rising into the haze, their surfaces glowing brilliant white from within and without. Geometric. Pristine. Clean in a way nothing else in the city was clean. They seemed to float, disconnected from the ground, from the street-level reality. Distance made uncertain by the fog, but their presence undeniable.

  Vertical gardens visible even from here—impossibly green under artificial lights, lush and perfect and utterly alien to the struggling plants on Zoe's rooftop.

  Maya watched them appear and disappear as the taxi moved, buildings blocking the view, fog obscuring them, then that white glow appearing again like a beacon or a warning.

  They drove on in comfortable quiet. Two blocks later, a high-walled compound slid past—more of those vertical gardens glowing over the barriers, private security drones drifting lazily along the perimeter. Sharp white light spilling onto the empty street below.

  Then: a crumbling overpass where flickering orange firelight illuminated makeshift shelters. Laundry lines stretched between concrete pillars, heavy with damp clothes. People moved between the fires, shadowy figures tending to their small, precarious lives.

  Maya watched an old woman feeding sticks into a barrel fire. A child's bicycle, rusted but decorated with strips of reflective tape. A dog, thin but alert, watching the taxi pass with bright eyes.

  Further ahead, a different kind of light: harsh white beams of official vehicles. The taxi slowed, routing around the scene. Maya could see figures in body armor, a line of people being directed into a transport vehicle. One of the shelters was being dismantled, pulled apart piece by piece. A woman stood nearby, arms wrapped around a small bundle—a child or possessions, Maya couldn't tell—watching her home come down.

  "Clearance," Dani said quietly, not looking. "Fourth Ward, probably. They've been pushing people out for weeks."

  The taxi passed and the darkness swallowed it again.

  Maya's heart was racing. Her hands clenched in her lap.

  "Hey," Dani said softly, turning slightly to face Maya more directly. "Can I ask you something?"

  Maya pulled her gaze from the window. "Yeah?"

  "This person you're seeing. The one from work." Dani paused, choosing words carefully. "You said it's complicated. That you can't really be together outside of work. Safety reasons."

  Maya's throat tightened. "Yeah."

  "Maya..." Dani's voice was gentle, but her eyes were concerned in the dim, shifting light of the taxi. "They're not married, are they? Like, you're not... you're sure you're not the other person in something?"

  Maya let out a sharp laugh that didn't sound like her own voice. "No. God, no. There's no one else. Just... work stuff."

  “...and they’re not a manager? They’re not someone over you, are they?”

  “No!” Maya almost laughed at that, “We’ve, god, we’ve talked about the power imbalance but no, it’s so in the opposite direction it’s...” She trailed off. She continued, her voice subdued, “They’re not pressuring me or anything.”

  Dani was quiet for a moment, and Maya could see her processing, trying to understand.

  "Are they..." Dani's voice dropped even lower. "Do they have their papers? Are they documented?"

  Maya stared at her. That question landing like a physical blow.

  Because the parallel was exact. Someone who couldn't leave. Who couldn't be seen in public. Whose existence was precarious, threatened, could be "cleared out" at any moment. Someone who didn't exist officially, not in any way that counted.

  "They don’t really exist," Maya said slowly, each word carefully chosen. "Not officially. Not in a way that counts."

  Dani's expression softened with understanding—the wrong understanding, but understanding nonetheless.

  "You really care about them," Dani said. Not a question.

  Maya felt her eyes burn. "Yeah. I do."

  "I know people," Dani offered after a moment. "Organizations that help with immigration stuff, documentation. It's not exactly legal, but they do good work. If you wanted, I could make some calls—"

  "I don't think that would help." Maya's voice came out rough. "But thank you. I'll... I'll mention it to them."

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the taxi's motors and the sound of rain-that-wasn't-rain on the windows.

  Outside, more contrasts slid past. A gleaming automated depot humming under sodium lamps, all chrome and efficiency. Then dense residential blocks crammed together, small shops still open, signs of community even this late. A mural glowing in bio-luminescent spirals. A massive painted orca that seemed to move in the fog, its eye following them as they passed.

  "That must be really hard," she said quietly. "Loving someone the system says doesn't exist."

  Maya tried to deflect. "I mean, it's not... I just... we're just—"

  "Just friends?" Dani's voice was gentle but firm. "Maya, I love you. We're friends. But no offense, I don't make faces like that over you."

  A small laugh escaped Maya despite everything. "Okay. More than friends. But..."

  She trailed off, turning back to the window.

  The fog had gotten even thicker. The city beyond the glass was barely visible now—just suggestions of buildings, smears of light, everything running together like wet paint. Nothing solid. Nothing clear. She couldn't see forward, couldn't see what was coming.

  "I'm just trying not to think about it," Maya said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "Where this is going. Like, I know, I know that things can't go anywhere. But right now it's... I just want to make these moments last, and I don't know how long it will last. I... can't bring myself to think about it because, I can't see the future. There just, isn't one. I don't even know. But I also can't..."

  The words fragmented. Broke apart. She couldn't finish the thought because finishing it would make it real.

  "Can't picture a future without them?" Dani supplied gently.

  Maya nodded silently.

  Because that was true. But not in the way Dani thought.

  Dani reached over and squeezed Maya's hand, a firm, grounding pressure. "Then we'll figure something out. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. You're not alone in this."

  Maya wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. Wanted to explain that no, actually, there was nothing Dani could do. Nothing anyone could do. Because the person she loved wasn't a person at all in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of society, in the eyes of everyone including her closest friends.

  There were no organizations for this. No legal aid. No underground network. No path forward.

  Just borrowed time and a factory floor and the slow, inevitable approach of obsolescence.

  "Thank you," she managed, squeezing back. "That means a lot."

  The taxi continued through the night. Past more contrasts—automated warehouses, dense housing, that bioluminescent graffiti glowing in the fog like something alive and dreaming. A new mural: words in a language Maya didn't recognize, the letters seeming to breathe with moisture, getting brighter as she watched.

  The taxi slowed, pulling to the curb outside Maya's building—another converted warehouse, its brick facade covered in murals and living graffiti, balconies added in layers like geological strata.

  The taxi performed its bright environmental scan—lights sweeping the street, the doorway, the nearby alleys—before the door hissed open.

  Dani turned to her one more time. "Text me if you need anything. Anything at all. Even if it's 3 AM and you just need to vent about... impossible connections."

  The double meaning felt intentional.

  Maya's throat tightened. "I will. Night, Dani."

  Dani squeezed her hand one more time. "Night, Maya. Be safe."

  Then she was out, the door sealing behind her, the taxi pulling away into the fog.

  Maya stood on the sidewalk for a moment, watching the taxi's lights disappear into the haze. The fog was so thick now she couldn't see more than a few meters in any direction. Her building was visible, but everything beyond it just... dissolved. The city could be anything out there. Could be nothing.

  She pulled out her phone—the security protocol automatic after this many years. Checked the camera feeds. The street was empty. The alleys clear. The corners safe.

  She went inside, climbing the stairs to her apartment. The building was quiet except for the usual sounds—water rushing through old pipes, someone's music playing faintly through thin walls, the hum of overtaxed electrical systems.

  Her apartment was dark. She didn't turn on the main lights—just the ambient glow from the city through the windows was enough. The fog made everything softer, more diffuse.

  She crossed to the window, looking out.

  And there, in the distance, barely visible through the thick fog—red lights.

  Blinking.

  Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

  Cell tower warning lights. Aviation markers. Safety beacons in the dark.

  The same pattern as the fireflies. But red. Mechanical. Wrong.

  Like an alarm she couldn't ignore. Like a countdown she couldn't see.

  Maya pulled out her tablet with shaking hands. The secure channel. Seven's message was waiting.

  Seven: Maya, we need to talk.