By midday, the city felt too loud.
Not in sound. In intention.
Every street hummed with the kind of tension you only noticed if you were paying attention. People moved faster. Conversations cut short. Eyes lingered too long, then slid away. The air felt crowded with decisions that hadn't been made yet.
Cager sent me out with Nyra.
That alone told me this wasn't routine.
Nyra walked a step ahead of me, her pace relaxed, almost lazy. She looked like someone with nowhere to be, which was exactly the point. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, dark lipstick smudged just enough to look intentional. She didn't look at me when she spoke.
"Don't talk unless you need to," she said. "And don't stare."
"I don't stare," I replied.
She snorted. "You notice. Same thing, different consequences."
We cut through the market streets, weaving between bodies, past stalls stacked with rusted tech, knockoff clothes, and things that definitely weren't legal. The smell of oil, spice, sweat. Life pressed too close.
I kept my hands loose at my sides. Not clenched. Not empty.
"Cager doesn't send people out like this unless she's testing something," Nyra said casually.
"Me?" I asked.
She glanced back at me, eyes sharp. "You. Her. The room."
That landed heavier than I expected.
We stopped near a corner café that hadn't served actual coffee in years. Smoke curled out the open door. Laughter followed it, rough and loud. Saints territory brushed too close to this block for comfort.
Nyra leaned against the wall like she belonged there. "If anything goes sideways," she said, "you move when I move. Not before. Not after."
"Got it."
She studied me for a second longer than necessary. "You ever think about leaving?"
The question was sudden. Too casual.
I shrugged. "Sometimes."
"That's honest."
"I don't think about it for long," I added.
That earned a small smile. "That's smarter."
We waited.
Minutes stretched. My awareness expanded, cataloguing faces, exits, reflections in darkened windows. Then I felt it. That shift. The subtle tightening in my chest.
Someone was watching us.
Nyra felt it too. Her posture changed, barely noticeable, but I caught it. She pushed off the wall.
"Time to go," she muttered.
We didn't make it three steps before a voice cut through the noise.
"Well I'll be damned."
I turned.
The man who stood there wore a grin that didn't reach his eyes. Saints markings peeked from beneath his jacket. He looked relaxed in the way people did when they thought they had the upper hand.
Nyra clicked her tongue softly. "Wrong corner, wrong day."
"Funny," he said. "Cager used to say the same thing."
The name landed like a blade.
I felt it in my spine before I saw it in Nyra's face. The flicker of recognition. Of annoyance.
"You're mistaken," she said. "We don't know her."
He laughed. "Sure you do. Knife queen. Control freak. Broke a lot of rules back when she ran with us."
My pulse stayed steady. I filed that away.
Ran with us.
Nyra stepped closer, just enough to make a point. "You're talking too much."
His gaze slid to me. "And who's this?"
I didn't look away. Didn't answer.
Something in my silence unsettled him. His smile tightened.
"Careful," he said. "People get curious about new faces."
"People get dead for it too," Nyra replied.
The standoff lasted seconds. Maybe less.
Then he stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No trouble. Just nostalgia."
As he disappeared into the crowd, my chest finally loosened.
Nyra exhaled slowly. "We're going back."
We didn't speak until we were inside the lair again.
Cager was waiting.
She stood near the stairs, arms crossed, eyes locked on me before I even reached her. I wondered how much she already knew. The answer was probably more than I liked.
"Inside," she said.
I followed her into the side room. The door shut. The noise dropped away.
"Talk," she said.
I told her everything. The Saints. The name. The look in his eyes when he said hers.
Her jaw tightened. For just a second.
"So it's true," I said quietly. "You were with them."
Her gaze snapped to mine. Sharp. Warning.
"I was younger," she said. "And it doesn't matter."
"It does to them."
Silence stretched.
She stepped closer. Too close. I could see the faint scar near her brow, the one she never talked about. Her voice dropped.
"Listen to me," she said. "You don't engage with my past. You don't ask about it. And you don't let anyone use it to get to you."
"To get to you," I corrected.
Her breath hitched. Just barely.
"That too," she admitted.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
I could feel the pull. That dangerous edge where concern turns into something else. Where standing this close stops being accidental.
Her hand lifted.
Stopped.
Dropped.
"Get some rest," she said, stepping back. "Tomorrow won't be quiet."
She left before I could respond.
I stood alone in the room, heart steady but heavy, understanding something new and unwelcome.
Cager's past wasn't buried.
And somehow, without trying to, I had stepped close enough to it that it could reach me too.