Sun City smelled different up close: perfume layered over brine, flowers fighting algae, incense trying to suffocate rot.
Morningstar led Ethan through the cleaner streets first—white stone, polished brass, guards who stared at him like they were memorizing his face. As they crossed toward the administrative quarter, her mood kept ticking upward, bright as a blade catching sun.
“You’re going to meet my sister,” she said for the third time.
Ethan adjusted his hat. “You’ve mentioned.”
“Because you need to understand what you’re walking into.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Silvermoon is… dangerous.”
“All Infiltrators are dangerous.”
“Not like her.” Morningstar hissed. “She smiles and men volunteer to die.”
Ethan gave her an innocent look. “Is this professional concern, or sibling jealousy?”
Morningstar shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve shaved wood.
“Both,” she said instantly. Then, softer—annoyingly sincere—”Just don’t let her wrap you around her finger. Promise me.”
“I’m immune to pretty smiles,” Ethan lied.
Morningstar opened her mouth to argue—
—and a scrap of paper fluttered down from above like a leaf that had forgotten how to fall.
It wasn’t a leaf.
A little paper doll—crudely folded, inked with runes—spiraled straight toward Morningstar’s face.
Her hand snapped out. She caught it midair.
The paper doll trembled in her fingers, then jerked upright as if it had lungs.
In a thin, eerie voice, it screeched, “Found you!”
Morningstar’s expression changed immediately. The warmth vanished. The killer came back.
She crushed the paper doll in her fist and looked up.
A man in a captain’s cloak pushed through the crowd, moving with the urgency of someone who’d been running on bad sleep for too long. He had a noble’s posture and a soldier’s eyes—hard, focused, and tired.
“Morningstar?” he asked, voice rough.
“That depends,” she replied, eyes narrowed. “Who’s asking?”
The man exhaled. “Qi Heng. City guard. Perry, if you prefer.”
Morningstar stared at him for a beat—then gave the smallest nod. “I know who you are.”
Qi Heng’s gaze flicked to Ethan, then back. He didn’t care about introductions. He looked like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “About Silvermoon.”
Morningstar went still.
“No,” she said, flat. “She’s with you.”
Qi Heng shook his head once, hard. “She isn’t. She vanished the night of the assassination.”
For the first time since Ethan had met her, Morningstar looked genuinely rattled.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
Qi Heng swallowed, eyes darting down the street like he expected someone to be listening. “Not here.”
Morningstar turned on her heel. “Then we walk. The station’s close.”
Ethan fell in beside them, silent.
Whatever this was… it wasn’t just a missing person.
It was a hole someone had punched into the city—and if Silvermoon had fallen into it, the drop was going to be deep.