The slum market was noisy in some areas, quiet in others. Tarps hung loose above the path, moving in the heated wind. Metal roofs pressed close together, rusted and worn. The air smelled like engine oil and something overboiled and bitter.
Riven moved through the market with his shoulders tight and his hood half-up, scanning everything around him. Sweat traced a line down his forehead.
A man shouted about filters near the east end while another bartered batteries for teeth. Riven kept walking through it.
The satchel at his side was secured tightly, the strap crossed twice over his chest. Inside, wrapped in scavenged cloth and noise-absorbent mesh, lay a water regulator core. It was still intact and pulsing, which was incredibly rare. You wouldn't find something like this lying around.
A cluster of children darted past him, barefoot and laughing in that too-sharp way kids did there. One of them brushed too close to his hip, and Riven came to a halt.
The boy backed up instantly, hands raised. "Didn't take nothin'!"
Riven stared. The boy ran.
Then someone spoke beside him: "Hey, stranger..."
It was a boy in a rust-colored bandana, boots too large for his legs, and a smile that easily revealed three missing teeth.
"You're the one askin' about terminals?" the boy asked in a casual tone.
Riven didn't look at him.
Bandana-boy grinned wider. "Not many people come into this market alone unless they're dumb, dying, or desperate. You don't look sick. So what are you?"
Riven adjusted his grip on the satchel. "Busy."
The boy snorted. "Name's Pet. I know every active relay between here and Sector Nine. So what do you need? Everybody needs something down here..."
"You know Stillwater?" Riven asked.
The boy's smile widened. "Don't say that too loud. But yeah. I've seen it."
Riven paused. He studied the boy's face: dirt pressed deep into his skin, lips chapped from sun and wind, and one eye was twitching in exhaustion.
"Take me" Riven said.
They left the market behind, and the noise faded fast. Riven walked a step behind Pet, watching how he moved. The kid seemed to walk not careful enough for someone used to places like this, which stood out to him.
Pet talked as they moved: "We cut through District 4's skeleton next. You'll want to stay close. The ground is unstable near the east sink."
Riven said nothing.
He was here because the path he'd been following had narrowed to a single lead, and this boy might be the only one left who could point the way. That was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
The corridor they passed through had once been a pedestrian tunnel. Now it was just a shell: tiles faded and cracked, old lights hanging loose from the ceiling. Someone had once tried to cover the damage with paint: blue spirals and faded symbols marked the wall, like someone had left behind a message no one could read.
Riven walked past them.
"Are you always this chatty?" Pet asked over his shoulder. "Not judging. Just makes me wonder if you're planning something... or just ignoring me."
Still no answer.
Pet sighed, lifting his hands behind his head. "People quiet like that usually have big stories... stories in which someone usually dies..."
Riven didn't flinch. He was cataloguing exits and angles. Two broken towers marked the path's edge: the rooftops were wide enough to jump between if needed, but the street ahead narrowed, and that was risky.
His eyes scanned Pet's back. He couldn't see any visible weapons on him.
It didn't matter, he tried to reassure himself. He had the core, and the lake was real. Something beneath it still responded, so all he needed was the right access point. Everything else was noise.
Like Pet.
They moved past a rusted checkpoint gate. One of the old sensor arms was still standing, charred black but upright, pointing north like a broken compass.
"Just a few more blocks" Pet said. "Hope you're not squeamish about bloodstains. We've got a place up ahead with an old map screen. You'll like it."
That was the first real tell.
"We've got." Not "I."
Riven's pace slowed slightly, and his fingers curled tighter around the strap of his satchel.
He didn't show it on his face, instead, he just nodded once and kept walking. But his mind shifted gear and started calculating. They were leading him somewhere, but not where he wanted.
They came to a half-circle wall, roofless and patched with scrap metal and dusty netting. A fire had burned there not long ago, since the soot was still fresh.
Three people waited inside: two men and one woman. All armed.
Riven adjusted his stance, centered his weight, and counted distances between exits.
"This him?" the woman asked. Her voice was low, rough, and too calm.
Pet nodded. "Didn't say much, but he's got the kind of satchel you don't ignore."
One of the men was sharpening a blade on a flat piece of bone. The other leaned against a crate, chewing something bitter that stained his teeth gray.
Riven stood still.
The woman stepped forward, hands relaxed at her sides. "You were looking for Stillwater. That's dangerous talk around here."
Riven said nothing.
She smiled. "Lucky for you, we know the place. We've been there and even got out. We don't make a habit of guiding strangers, but you… You look like you've got something to offer."
Her eyes dropped to the satchel.
Riven's grip didn't change.
The man chewing spoke next. "Why don't you show us what you're trading?"
Riven scanned the structure. The rooftop looked too unstable to climb, so there was only one exit left besides the path they came from: high ground on the left.
"After you show me the route" he said.
They laughed.
"There's no map" the woman said. "Just our judgment."
Then the sharp scrape of a blade broke the air.
Riven turned just as the man behind him closed the distance. Steel flashed. He reacted on instinct, but not fast enough, because the blade sliced beneath his collarbone, and pain flared hot across his shoulder. He staggered, dropping to one knee as the weight of it pulled him down. Sand filled his mouth and throat before a heavy boot drove into his ribs, knocking the breath from his chest.
He twisted, clutching the satchel, dragging it with him as he rolled through dust and grit. Every muscle tensed as another footstep approached.
He braced for the worst, but only silence followed, a pause that seemed to stretch on forever.
Then a voice, warm and amused, slipped into the dust:
"Three on one? Really? I expected more creativity."
The man above Riven hesitated with the blade still raised, caught between motion and instinct.
A shadow stepped into the broken station.
Cassian.
He moved with an ease that didn't feel real: long strides, a half-smile on his lips, one hand buried in the pocket of a torn coat while the other twirled a knife with lazy precision. The sun had slipped behind him, lighting the edges of his red hair in gold and throwing flickers of fire through the settling dust.
No one spoke.
Cassian stepped forward, and the floor creaked beneath his boots.
"Oh no" the woman muttered, adjusting her stance as her hand moved to her weapon. "Not you."
Cassian tilted his head, smiling brighter. "Me" he said with a sweetened voice. "And here I thought we were done playing house."
One of the men lunged at him, but Cassian moved faster, slipping to the side just as the blade sliced through empty air. In the same breath, he brought his elbow down hard in one precise strike to the skull that sent the man crumpling with a grunt.
The second man had already drawn a rustgun, but Cassian's knife was in motion before the barrel had lifted. It spun through the air in a clean arc, striking metal with a sharp crack and knocking the shot wide.
Riven held his breath.
Cassian was already closing the distance, cutting through space like wind through wire. Another sharp movement, another man dropped before he could react.
The woman didn't run.
She hesitated and weighed her chances. Then she moved fast. The blade cut through the air toward Cassian's side.
He met it with his bare arm, deflecting the edge with a twist of his wrist before ducking under her reach. He spun behind her and kicked her legs out from under her.
She hit the ground hard, a burst of dust exploding around her as she gasped for air.
Cassian crouched beside her, already holding the knife again. The blade rested against her throat.
"You want to try that again?" he asked softly.
She didn't move.
He smiled gently. "Didn't think so."
He stood, brushed the grit from his sleeve, and turned back toward Riven, who was still half-kneeling with one hand pressed hard over his bleeding shoulder.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Not even a 'thank you'?" he asked.
Riven didn't answer.
Cassian smiled again, this time with more teeth.
"Fine. Play the quiet card." He stepped over the unconscious man on the floor, then paused at the exit. "But you're leaking. Might want to patch that before you pass out and someone less charming finds you."
He started walking. Then, over his shoulder: "Sector Nine's quieter tonight. If you're smart, you'll head that way."
And just like that, he vanished into the ruins, laughing faintly, like he was the only one in on the joke.