As far as Onyx was concerned, the new hideout was marginally less terrible than the last. But only marginally.
There were fewer holes in the walls, for a start, and fewer rats the size of tactical drones. That was good. But there was still too much ambient static. He’d pointed it out when they arrived, but Kairo had said it was “good for reverb” before claiming a corner for his gear, and apparently that was the end of it. Typical.
Minjae was collecting supplies at The Hollow, which meant it was a little quieter than usual. And Rayne was present, settled near the far wall, still enough to be missed if you weren’t paying attention.
Onyx sat at the edge of a low, rusted platform, his hands braced on his knees and teeth gritting as his vision wavered. It was that telltale glitch again, where his neural feed skipped frames and got caught in a loop that made the room feel like it was breathing. Usually, if he waited long enough, it went away.
Only tonight it seemed intent on staying.
“You’re twitching.”
Soahn was one presence Onyx constantly had to account for. The guy was so quiet and unassuming; it rarely failed to catch Onyx off guard in ways none of the others did.
“Yeah,” Onyx said, rolling his head on his shoulders to dispel the dull throb that’d formed at the back of his neck. “I noticed.”
“Port spike?” Soahn asked, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Tonight, his hair glowed a mild green like seagrass in shallow water, flecks of gold rippling along the strands. But his eyes were alert. Onyx often forgot that Soahn was more capable than he looked.
“Lag drift,” he said. “Sensor feedback’s catching on my ocular.”
Soahn nodded. “I can fix it.”
Hesitation was a familiar response. A system check that always ran before trust, and one Onyx had never quite managed to shake off. He supposed it was just hardwired into him, a stubborn, automatic leftover protocol from before he left Busan. But things were different now. Different from anything he could’ve imagined.
Soahn was watching him, silent and unmoving.
After a long moment, Onyx inclined his head, giving permission in the only way he knew how.
Soahn leaned closer, but he didn’t immediately touch the port. Instead, he brought up a diagnostic overlay, the thin, translucent lines reflecting off his wrists as he traced the data stream paths in the air between them. One of the feeds blinked slightly out of phase with the others. Onyx glared at it.
“There,” Soahn said quietly. “Your ocular feed is fighting the neural sync. They’re not agreeing on timing.”
He could see that, but he didn’t say anything.
Slowly, carefully, Soahn reached up and placed two fingers against the titanium neural port just behind Onyx’s right ear, leftover hardware, outdated enough to give him grief from time to time — like now. Onyx held very still.
“Your calibration’s off by point-zero-two,” Soahn said with a light frown. “It’s not too bad, to be honest, but with this much ambient interference, it’s enough to desync if your stress load spikes.”
“That explains the double vision,” Onyx mumbled, annoyed that he couldn’t take care of this on his own. Needing help was not something he often acknowledged. Usually, if something broke, he repaired it. If something fell out of sync, he realigned it.
Except when it came to himself.
Soahn adjusted his grip, the contact firm but light. “Your stabiliser’s cracked. You’ve been compensating by pushing more voltage through it.”
“I didn’t have time to fix it.”
“That’s because you’re always too busy fixing everything else.”
Onyx didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, but his hands clenched involuntarily against his thighs.
If Soahn noticed it, he chose not to react; he just tweaked the angle slightly, his thumb resting above the interface socket, grounding Onyx as the recalibration sequence began.
Onyx closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in, then out, then in, then out. And there, a subtle shift inside, like an off-tempo beat finally setting back into place. The sensation took him by surprise — he didn’t think Soahn would fix it so quickly. Annoyance rose again; he should’ve been able to do this himself.
“I don’t need babysitting,” he murmured.
“No, you don’t,” Soahn said, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary. “But I’m here anyway.”
“Hey, are you two syncing or syncing,” Kairo called from the other side of the room, “because I can grab headphones or leave.”
Pushing Soahn’s hand away, Onyx stood instantly. “We’re done.”
Soahn smiled, rising to his feet. “We’re not, actually. You need to patch the stabiliser tomorrow, or it’ll start again.”
Just then, Minjae appeared in the doorway, cradling a hacked audio deck like it was a wounded pet. “What’d I miss?” His eyes lingered on Onyx for a second, clocking the recalibration port, and he absently brushed a fingertip against the edge of a burn scar on his wrist, a habit Onyx had noticed many times before.
“I’m just saying,” Kairo grinned, “neural port calibration is the new sexy.”
Onyx shot Kairo a glare; it took all he had to maintain dignity. “I will rewire your brain through your mouth.”
But Kairo only laughed. “Love you too, broody.”