24991119 | 2247

  Suburbia Hab-Block 76 | Kowloon | Hong Kong Free Port

  22°19′30.00″ N

  114°10′37.00″ E

  Rain washed the blood from Kurt’s coat long before he reached the street.

  The canister in his pocket bumped lightly against his ribs.

  Cold, clinical, necessary.

  He stepped out into the open, the storm greeting him like an old friend.

  Across the narrow road, Illeana Frost was already waiting.

  She had descended the fire escape in silence.

  Her rifles all stowed into a long leather bag slung low under a rain-damp cloak.

  Neon blues and reds glimmered off the smooth curve of her helmet.

  Kurt walked over to her.

  She simply asked, “Got it?”

  “Yes.” Kurt said.

  They turned as one.

  Two hypercycles waited under the shelter of a rusted canopy.

  The sleek, silent, matte-black machines humming softly with warm idle coils.

  Illeana began stowing her gear, snapping modules into their ports, rain streaking off her visor in clean lines.

  Kurt paused.

  On the far side of the street, lit by the faint glow of the vending machine.

  The two children were still eating.

  Tiny hands around oversized paper bowls.

  Steam curling around their faces as they laughed at absolutely nothing.

  A good laugh.

  A clean one.

  A human one.

  Illeana glanced over her shoulder.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Kurt didn’t answer.

  He watched the children a moment longer.

  Two little lives too stubborn to die.

  Too small to understand how close death came tonight.

  He fished around in his trenchcoat.

  Crumpled, blood-soaked notes.

  He stared at the money.

  He turned to Illeana.

  “Give me the credit key.”

  Illeana froze mid-motion.

  The key hung from a chain at her neck.

  “Kurt…”

  He just stared at her.

  She exhaled, amused despite herself.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Smiling, she tugged the chain free and flicked it to him.

  The key slid from her glove, arcing through the rain.

  Kurt caught it without looking.

  He walked back across the road.

  The girl saw him approach.

  This time, she didn’t run.

  She straightened, bowl still in her hands.

  Wary but hopeful.

  Her little brother stared up at the tall, trenchcoated man, awed.

  Kurt crouched as he neared, his eyes level with hers.

  “Your hand,” he said softly.

  She hesitated, then placed her small hand in his.

  He slid the credit key beneath her palm and thumbed the biometric imprint.

  The device chimed, tiny blue light blooming under the rain.

  He held out his other hand to the boy.

  Another chime.

  Kurt held the key up.

  “This is yours now,” he told her, pressing it into the little girl’s palm.

  “Buy food. Real food. Don’t sell it. Don’t lose it.”

  She nodded hard, twice.

  Then, without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek—a small, quick, grateful peck—and threw her thin arms around his neck.

  For a moment he didn’t move.

  Then he gently placed her back on her feet.

  She clutched the credit key to her chest like a sacred relic.

  Kurt turned back toward the hypercycles.

  Illeana watched him approach, half a smile audible in her voice even through the modulation.

  “You just linked your account to two street kids, boss.” she said.

  “Was that wise?”

  He swung a leg over his bike.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Illeana chuckled beneath her helmet.

  A short, quiet sound, almost warm.

  “No,” she said.

  “I suppose it doesn’t.”

  The hypercycles roared to life, two silent ghosts rising from the neon-soaked street, leaving behind two children holding onto a future they never thought they’d taste.

  24991122 | 0938

  Courtyard | The Raffles | People’s Republic of Singapore

  1° 17′ 06.0000″ N

  103° 51′ 06.1200″ E

  The Courtyard breathed old-world charm.

  White colonnades, slow-turning ceiling fans, rattan chairs, polished teak floors.

  Gardens alive with cicadas hidden among orchids.

  The veranda off the Long Bar opened into the courtyard’s heart.

  Touched by soft morning light.

  The air carried ginger blossom and the faint scent of polished wood.

  Kurt and Illeana stepped off the marble lobby and into the courtyard.

  He wore a loose white shirt with the top two buttons undone, sunglasses hanging from the placket. A silver dog-tag necklace dangled loosely against his collarbone.

  Dark jeans and leather lace-up boots.

  His stride relaxed, his eyes taking in his surroundings.

  She wore tied-up white shirt left a strip of sun-warmed skin at her midriff.

  Sleeves rolled, collar popped.

  Slate-black pants. Heels clicking softly on the tiles.

  Her hair fell loose across her shoulders, catching the light whenever she turned.

  The guests stared at them as they passed.

  The girls checking up the suave, male model, bodybuilder.

  The men could not help but ogle at the swimsuit model in high heels.

  “Will you loosen up?” Illeana whispered, “you are drawing attention to yourself.”

  “Habits,” he said simply.

  “The concierge said she will be here,” Illeana said as she peered, “oh, I see her!”

  Shirley waited beneath the pavilion’s shade, standing by the corner post where palms and greenery met the old white colonnades.

  Morning light filtered through the leaves above her.

  White sundress.

  Wide-brimmed hat.

  Rosé in hand.

  Illeana spotted her and crossed the courtyard, sliding into a rattan chair opposite.

  Sunlight reflected off her porcelain skin.

  Illeana walked up to her.

  “Well, look at Her Serene Highness,” Ileana said. “Positively radiant.”

  “How did it go, Shirls?” she said as Kurt pulled a chair up, “where’s your boytoy?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said softly.

  Illeana grinned.

  Shirley lifted her glass, the pale pink wine catching the morning sun.

  A few boutique shopping bags lounged by her chair.

  Maison Astraria.

  Celestine Parfumerie.

  Liora & Vale.

  Illeana whistled, “you’ve been busy.”

  A sip.

  “I’ve had better.” Shirley murmured behind her glass.

  Illeana’s grin appeared behind the rim of her drink.

  Kurt took the chair beside her, sunglasses on the table.

  “Better?” Illeana asked.

  Shirley leaned in slightly.

  “Bigger.”

  Illeana laughed, sharp enough to turn a few heads nearby.

  “God, I love you.”

  A waiter approached, uniform crisp, posture straight.

  “Drinks for the table?”

  “Coffee,” Kurt said.

  “Singapore Sling,” Illeana added.

  “Another Rosé,” Shirley murmured, lifting her emptied glass, “Bring the bottle?”

  The waiter nodded and left.

  They settled into their chairs.

  Quiet conversations drifted from nearby tables.

  Cutlery touched porcelain.

  A jazz trio played softly from the lobby.

  A warm breeze pushed the scent of frangipani across the courtyard.

  “You got us in?” Kurt asked after a moment.

  Shirley nodded. “My boyfriend will arrange access.”

  “Where?” he continued.

  “Noon. The Regatta.” Shirley replied, “you are both my entourage.”

  Illeana let out a low whistle.

  “Good work.” Kurt said.

  The waiter returned with their order.

  As he stepped forward, his foot brushed the edge of a potted fern.

  The tray jolted.

  Glasses slid.

  A bottle of rosé tipped.

  Shirley caught it and set it gently on the table.

  “Oh— I’m terribly sorry, miss!” the waiter stammered.

  “It’s all right,” she waved him away. “Please bring my friends fresh ones.”

  He hurried off.

  Illeana watched her over the rim of her drink.

  Kurt stared at his spilled coffee.

  Shirley adjusted her hat, tilted her face toward the warm sky and breathed in the late morning air.