Outside, the heavy thrum of an Enforcer dropship vibrated the glass. The hunt was closing in. Elias downed the whiskey, the burn familiar and grounding. He reached for the chip.
The door hissed open, admitting a gust of damp air and a woman in a high-collar kinetic duster. She didn’t look like the girl Elias had gone through the Academy with ten years ago. Her eyes, once a soft brown, were now a piercing, calibrated electric blue. She slid into the booth. "You look old, Elias."
Sloane smiled, a flicker of her old self returning. "Deal. Let’s go, Detective."
Elias looked at the chip, then at his old friend. He was a retired Enforcer; she was the city’s most wanted hack-activist. In the old days, they were a team. Now, they were a conflict of interest. "Why me?" he asked.
"Because," she leaned in, her optics whirring softly as they focused, "you’re the only one left who remembers my real name. And I need someone I can’t hack to hold the line."
"Fine," he muttered, standing up and checking the charge on his pulse-pistol. "But if we survive the night, you’re buying the next round. And no 'Vex' nonsense. It’s just us."