Take off my shirt? Seriously?
Sometimes I think Lyra does this just to annoy me. With that portable scanner she carries on her tablet, one click would be enough. But no — she prefers the performance.
I cross my arms and stare at her. One eyebrow raised, the typical "are you kidding me?" look. She answers with an impassive glare, eyes half-closed, as if measuring how far my stubbornness will go.
After a long sigh, she gives in.
"Alright, alright…" she mutters, sliding her fingers across the screen. A blue glow projects into the air, forming the hologram of the scanner. Shimmering lines glide across my chest as the beam travels along my ribs.
The cold of the scan sends a chill across my skin.
"No fractures…" she murmurs, eyes fixed on the display, as if that calms her. "Roll up your sleeve. I want to see if the cut opened again."
I take a deep breath. The fabric brushes against the wound as I pull up the sleeve, releasing a soft rustle. The skin stings from the contact with the chilly air.
Lyra steps closer. The soft scent of mint from her perfume mixes with the sterile, metallic smell of antiseptic. Firm, precise fingers touch my arm. There's a light pressure — a meticulous inspection. Then she steps back, grabs the scissors, and returns, her movements smooth and automatic.
She begins removing the stitches with an almost irritating calm, thread by thread.
The silence between us grows — until she decides to break it with a question that sounds more casual than it really is:
"I wonder if those two are like you."
I let out a short laugh.
"Starlet and Mat? They're far from here. You'll have to ask them when they get back."
She keeps cutting, but her eyes are more distant now, caught in some memory. I can feel it.
"And you and Empress Nix… you've known each other since your teenage years, right?"
My gaze hardens. The metallic sound of the scissors stops.
"What exactly do you want to know?"
"Has she… always been like this? With those radical ideas about the other races?"
Her tone is low. Cautious. And for the first time, I see hesitation in Lyra's usually steady demeanor.
I avert my eyes. And then it returns — the memory.
A girl with intense eyes, an easy smile, and dreams that seemed too big even for Neo's sky. Her laughter still echoes in the back of my mind. In the middle of the ruins, she still dreamed of peace.
She was different.
Or at least, I thought she was.
"No…" my voice comes out hoarse, more to myself than to her. "She wasn't like that."
Lyra doesn't reply. The room sinks into a heavy silence, thick with everything left unsaid.
The empress who exists today… is no longer that girl. That girl died along with hope.
She finishes the bandage and steps away, beginning to pack up the instruments. With a gesture, the case closes and disintegrates into a bluish beam of light, as if it had never existed there.
"I think you're confused by this change too," she says, without looking at me.
"I am," I answer, pulling the sleeve back down. The fabric still carries the scent of dried blood and sweat.
Lyra walks to the couch. Kiyomi, quiet as always, watches everything in silence. Lyra affectionately ruffles the Kitsune's black hair.
"I'll be back in two days to check on you. Take good care of her, Sirius."
"Always."
She walks to the door. Before leaving, she casts one last look over her shoulder. There's something unspoken in that glance. Maybe a warning. Maybe just… concern.
The magnetic lock clicks shut. Silence takes over the house, broken only by the sound of wind brushing against the glass.
I turn my gaze to Kiyomi. Her pink eyes are fixed on me — alert, curious, with a subtle trace of anxiety.
I approach slowly, kneel in front of her, and extend my hand.
"Come on... I'll make your breakfast."
She hesitates, as if waiting for a signal from me. Then she gently grasps my arm. Her skin is cold, fragile like porcelain. I rise slowly and guide her through the room, feeling her light steps beside me.
Each step is cautious, but she trusts me. That's enough.
The kitchen awaits us. There's still the faint scent of last night's coffee lingering in the air. I gently help her sit on one of the chairs and turn to assess the fridge.
Fruit? Maybe not ideal today. Something gentler, something that won't irritate her throat. Something that says: you're safe now.
I improvise. It's what I do best.
I cut a few slices of soft bread and warm them lightly. I prepare a herbal tea — something mild. Steam rises in lazy spirals, dancing in the kitchen air. While she eats slowly, I remain close. Always alert.
Kiyomi chews in silence, her eyes still somewhat sleepy, yet watchful. She seems calmer now. More present.
★★★
After breakfast, I turn on the faucet and let the water run, testing the temperature. That's when the doorbell rings — a sharp, piercing sound that cuts through the air like a blade.
Kiyomi stiffens instantly. Her ears perk up with an instinctive snap. She sniffs the air, cautious.
I turn toward her, then to the door. Part of me wants to ignore it, but something inside screams: Check it.
"Aegis, identify who's at the door."
The metallic voice of the system echoes through the house:
"Individual not in visitor registry."
I frown. That's not good.
"Cross-check facial recognition with Neo's database."
The system takes two seconds at most.
"Individual identified: Nix."
I freeze. The air thickens. The atmosphere in the kitchen shifts — heavy and charged.
"What?" I murmur. "Damn it..."
The doorbell rings again. Twice, three times. Now with impatience.
I turn to Kiyomi.
"Come. Let's get you to the room."
She grabs my arm tightly. Her eyes locked on mine. There's fear there — and something more. Something primal. Instinctive.
"It's going to be okay," I say, my voice low, firm. "I promised no one would touch you."
I guide her carefully to the bedroom. She sits at the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving mine. She looks like a child trying to read the entire world from my face.
"Stay here. Quiet. Don't make a sound. I'll explain later."
She nods, small and composed.
The door closes behind me as I return to the living room. I take a deep breath — like someone stepping into an arena.
I open the door.
And there she is.
Nix.
Standing tall, imposing. She wears a black overcoat with metallic detailing. Behind her, four guards armored like tanks. Heavy weaponry. Blank stares. Expressionless.
"May I ask the reason for this visit?" I ask, flatly.
"Business," she replies, entering as if she still had any right to be here. As if everything still belonged to her.
She walks past me without breaking eye contact. She surveys the room like a battlefield. Each step is cold. Surgical precision.
I shut the door forcefully. The guards don't even flinch.
Nix walks to the couch and sits like someone returning to an old home. She crosses her legs with elegance. Looks at me.
There's a faint smile on her lips. Faint — and cynical.
"We need to talk… alone."
"Spit it out, Empress."
Nix stands up with the calm precision of someone who knows the effect she causes. The coat slides off her shoulders, revealing a tight, black, provocative dress made to distract. The silk gleams under the soft light; every movement of hers seems rehearsed. I look away instinctively. I know this game. And she knows I know.
She sits back on the sofa like someone returning to a throne.
"Not even going to offer some juice to an old... acquaintance?"
I run my hand over my face, pressing my fingers between my eyes. The tiredness weighs down, but control is still mine. I step back slowly, feeling her eyes digging into my back like daggers.
I grab a pitcher of juice from the fridge; the silence between us is dense like gunpowder smoke.
"I came to ask you to bring your companies back to Neo," she says, finally.
I pour the purple liquid into a glass. The sound seems too loud.
"For what?" I murmur without looking. "So you can use my engineers, my automatons, my non-humans as disposable pieces? Throw them back underground again?"
"I'm going to ignore that provocation…" she says with a small smirk, "because I know you're right. And because I'm desperate."
She crosses her legs. The heel of her boot lightly scratches the floor. A small gesture, but loaded with tension.
"You know about the terrorist loose out there, right? Kronos."
I freeze for a second.
The name hangs in the air.
I lift my gaze, just a little, with that kind of expression I learned to use in interrogations: neutral, but with a hint of disdain.
"I don't have time to watch the news you manipulate yourself, Nix," my voice is low, controlled. "I have meetings with Aerolin. And when I'm not doing that, I'm trying to keep food on the table."
I take a step forward, glass in hand.
"But tell me… what exactly does Kronos have to do with my companies being out of Neo?"
She smiles. A smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I need your weapons, Sirius. Your defenses. I need to protect my men. Kronos is a problem… even I can't predict." she says as she takes the glass from my hand.
I smile back. But mine is real—provocative, subtle, almost invisible. A smirk that means nothing, but says everything.
"Translation: you want to drag me into your panic. You want me to betray myself so you can sleep peacefully at night. Sorry, Nix."
I step closer, stare into her eyes.
"The answer is no. And you already knew that."
Use my own weapons against me? What a joke.
If anyone knows every system, every line of code, every microscopic flaw in them… it's me. I know how to disable them, bypass them, break their protocols without leaving a trace.
But that would be selling out. Betraying Kiyomi, Aerolin… all the non-humans who fight by my side. Those who believed in me when Neo threw them away.
I breathe deeply, keeping my expression cold.
"I knew you'd say that," Nix comments, setting the empty glass of juice on the coffee table, the soft sound of glass tapping the surface echoing subtly through the room's silence.
She stands up.
Her steps are soft, almost soundless, but the heels of her boots echo like dripping water in a cave. She moves like a panther—calm, lethal, calculated. And she comes toward me.
Instinctively, I take steps back until I feel the cold marble of the kitchen counter against my back.
She stops in front of me, pressing her body close to mine. Her hand rests lightly on my chest. Her lips hover just millimeters from mine, warm, still smelling faintly of sweet grape.
"And what do you think you're doing?" I ask, my voice hoarse but firm, keeping my eyes locked on hers.
Violets. Burning. Like a storm about to break.
"Using the only weapon that still works on you," she whispers, as her fingers glide over my shirt—slow, measured—"Appealing to your emotional side... and your most primal instinct."
I let out a weak laugh. One of those laughs that carries more disdain than humor.
"You're going to have to try harder than that, Nix," I say, gently but firmly pushing her away. "Do you really think provoking me will make me throw innocent lives into the fire? I'm not that kind of man."
She clicks her tongue with a frustrated "tsk," then turns her back with an exaggerated, theatrical movement. The black dress sways with the motion of her hips like she's dancing. She still tries to provoke, even after being rejected.
Classic.
But that's when I see the opening.
With a slight gesture, I materialize a microdevice in the palm of my hand—a combined eavesdropper and tracker. A prototype I never released to the market.
I throw it with surgical precision. The small device discreetly sticks to the part of her back not covered by the dress. Zero reaction. She didn't notice.
As she approaches the door, she pauses and glances slightly over her shoulder.
"Visit me tonight..."
But then she shakes her head, as if canceling her own thoughts out loud.
"No. Not tonight. I have a meeting with a partner."
I cross my arms.
"Gonna use the same cheap trick you tried on me? Tactical seduction?"
She smiles. One of those femme fatale smiles that only exist in old movies.
"What a joke, my love. I'm a woman of only one man, you know? If it's not you to take me to bed... then it won't be anyone."
I frown.
"Oh, you..."
"But tomorrow..." she twirls her wrist, opening the door with an elegant gesture, "...come to my apartment. I promise I'll bring a more... tempting proposal."
The door closes behind her with a metallic sound. A soft click indicates the digital lock has engaged.
Silence. Only the sound of my own breathing and the faint hum of the city beyond the window.
I activate the ocular interface lenses.
A red light blinks discreetly at the corner of my vision. The tracker is working. A clear, precise signal.
I smirk.
"Bingo."
I turn, footsteps silent on the floor.
"Let's see if this so-called partner... is Carzam."