The rented maintenance room above the shuttered laundromat smells of detergent, hot circuitry, and rain. Below, dead machines sit behind a locked metal grille; no pursuit follows them.
Euran sets the prototype hand on a stained workbench, then checks the narrow window overlooking the empty service alley. Mara remains behind at the arena perimeter, holding the line.
Euran Cross
We got clear. Mara has the archive. The investigators will want statements soon, but for one minute, nobody is shooting at us.
A secure municipal channel waits unopened on the room’s terminal, its blue indicator pulsing beside a sealed recorder. Euran leaves it untouched and turns back to Selene.
Euran Cross
How long have you been preparing for me specifically? Not the bureau, not the danger. Me. The hand was ready before I knew I needed it.
Euran Cross
She keeps saving me before I understand there is anything to survive. I need an answer I can trust, even if it changes everything.
Rain ticks against the vent housing. The prototype’s fingers rest open beneath the harsh work light, while the municipal channel continues waiting for Selene’s response.