The new hideout was marginally less terrible than the last. Marginally.
Fewer holes in the walls. Fewer rats the size of tactical drones. Still too much ambient static, but Kairo said it was “good for reverb.” He had claimed a corner for his gear, already looping signal through his ancient decks. Rayne sat on an overturned crate, reading a battered paperback he’d found in a supply box. The pages were warped, the text half-erased, but he lingered on each line as though memorising the rhythm of another century.
Onyx sat at the edge of a low rusted platform, hands braced on his knees, teeth gritted as his vision flickered—not outwardly, but inward. That tell-tale glitch again. His neural feed skipping frames, catching on a loop that made the room feel like it was rattling.
Soahn’s voice came softly, almost behind the moment. “You’re twitching.”
Onyx didn’t respond right away. Then, low: “Yeah. Noticed.”
Soahn knelt in front of him. “Port spike?”
“Lag drift,” Onyx muttered. “Sensor feedback’s catching on my ocular.”
Soahn nodded. “I can fix it.”
That earned a brief pause, just the minutest tightening across Onyx's shoulders, long enough for anyone who didn’t know him to miss it entirely.
Then he inclined his head, giving permission.
Soahn moved with deft precision, fingers tracing behind Onyx’s right ear to uncover the neural port’s fine line of titanium beneath the skin.
“Your calibration’s off by 0.02,” he said. “That’s enough to desync if your stress load spikes.”
Onyx gave a quiet huff. “That explains the double vision.”
Soahn tapped once. A soft click. A faint reddish glow from beneath the skin.
“You’ve been running high voltage through a cracked stabiliser,” he murmured.
“I didn’t have time to fix it.”
“You never do.”
Silence.
Soahn adjusted the angle slightly. His thumb rested just above the interface socket, grounding Onyx as the recalibration sequence began.
Onyx didn’t move, but something shifted in the way he held himself, like stillness was an effort, like vulnerability was a system process he didn’t quite know how to shut down.
“I don’t need babysitting,” he muttered.
“I know you don’t,” Soahn said. “But I’m here anyway.”
The glow dimmed. The glitch eased. The loop broke.
Soahn’s fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Not touch. Just presence.
Then—
“Are you two syncing or syncing,” Kairo called from the other side of the room, “because I can grab headphones or leave.”
Onyx stood instantly. “We’re done.”
Soahn smiled. “We’re not, actually. You need to patch the stabiliser tomorrow or it’ll start again.”
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 longer than usual, just long enough to clock the recalibrated port. He absently brushed a fingertip against the edge of the burn scar on his wrist.
“I’m just saying,” Kairo grinned, “neural port recalibration is the new foreplay.”
Onyx walked past him with the flat expression of a man choosing non-violence with dignity. “I will rewire your brain through your mouth.”
Kairo laughed. “Love you too, broody.”