Chapter Text
"You want who?” Luke asked, one brow lifted.
Sylus didn’t glance up from the book open loosely on his knee. “Kestrel.”
Kieran snorted. “Kestrel’s not real.”
“They’re real,” Sylus said calmly.
“In theory,” Kieran added. “Could be one person, could be a team. No one’s ever confirmed a face, a voice, anything.”
Luke leaned forward. “The one who left that protocore weapon dealer bleeding out and shut down an army of goons in three keystrokes?”
“That one,” Sylus confirmed.
“They don’t meet. They don’t negotiate.”
Sylus raised his eyes with a firmness that would entertain no further discourse. “Find them anyway.”
There was a pause. The kind that stretched between orders and disbelief.
“You think they’ll respond to us?” Luke asked, quietened.
Sylus’s voice dropped just slightly. “They’ll respond to the right kind of quiet.” He said, before tossing the book to the deep black table beside him and he stood, smooth and slow. “No comms. No trail. You’ll know it’s them when the path feels too easy and too clean. That’s how they work.”
Kieran crossed his arms. “What do we say?”
“Nothing,” Sylus replied. “Leave the offer where they’ll find it.”
Luke arched a brow. “And if no one comes?”
Sylus’s gaze sharpened. “They will.”
⸻
Three Days Later
The twins returned just after 3am, shadows under their eyes and dust from the heavy N109 zone streets still clinging to their coats. Wordless and heavy-footed. Kieran crashed out unceremoniously on a chair. Luke followed with something rare. Something physical.
A card. Sleek. Matte black. Cool to the touch. Burnished silver along the edge, catching the ambient light. One side bore a name.
KESTREL
Nothing more.
The other side, in crisp, deliberate handwriting a set of coordinates and:
17th. 10pm.
“No voice, Bossman” Kieran said. “No face.”
“No trace,” Luke added. “But this was left exactly where we hoped it might be. Like they were already watching us.”
Sylus turned the card between his fingers, once, twice. Slowly. Deliberately. A subtle shift passed through him - not surprise, not quite tension, yet he said nothing. Only tucked the card inside his coat and left.
—-
Sector 9 was the kind of place maps got nervous about. No official lighting, Just neon runoff and flickering ad panels clinging to warped metal frames. The air tasted like rust and electricity. Above, the towers leaned close, whispering secrets to each other through broken antennae and moss-choked wiring.
21:56
Sylus stood beneath the rendezvous point—an archway of reinforced concrete, tagged with symbols he didn’t recognise and instinctively didn’t trust. He didn’t pace. He didn’t scan. He simply stood, leaning casually against rain slicked brick—coat still damp from the walk he'd taken up to the building, hands at his sides, eyes calm and unreadable.
He knew he was being watched.
--
Kestrel had seen him the moment he stepped into the area.
Not on camera - she didn’t use cameras. No digital trace.
She’d chosen the perch three hours earlier. Angled just right to catch his face when he arrived. Her breath didn’t fog in the cold. She didn’t move. Barely blinked.
The man she eyed stood tall. Tension in the shoulders, but not the spine. Heavy coat, but worn like armour. A look in his eyes she recognised in very few men, the look of someone who’d lost things the world didn’t understand.
He didn’t call out. Didn’t posture. Didn’t demand.
Interesting.
--
22:02
She moved.
It wasn’t theatrical. Just a quiet shift in shadow—then the sound of heeled bootfall, deliberate and even, coming from his left. Sylus didn’t turn right away.
“Most people wouldn’t have shown up at all, not in person,” he said, voice smooth. Low.
A pause, then hers. Soft but confident in the space it took up.
“Most people don’t speak to empty air and assume I’ll answer.”
Low. Calm. Controlled. And unmistakably female. But her tone was wrapped in so much precision, it was a weapon in itself.
He turned. She was already stepping out from the alley - face not hidden behind a mask, no hood. Her coat was fitted, dark, fastened high around her neck like it framed her. No weapons visible, but he knew that meant nothing. People like that in situations like this are armed to the teeth.
“Kestrel,” he said, finally turning to face her, hands loose at his sides.
She tilted her head slightly. “That depends. Are you going to try and flatter me, or hire me?”
“I don’t flatter,” he replied.
“Good.” She came to a stop three paces away. “I’m far too expensive for that.”
Their eyes met.
Not a spark. Not a spark yet, Just gravity. Recognition. Like two stars on intersecting trajectories, too aware of how closely they’re circling.
Kestrel didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t shift her weight nor reach for a weapon.
She just tilted her head—slightly—and asked,
“Alright. What do you want?”
Her voice was unhurried. Professional. But behind it: curiosity, like someone leaning over the edge of a game she hadn’t yet agreed to play.
Sylus answered without pause.
“I want you on retainer.”
She said nothing.
“Full availability,” he continued. “No matter the location. No matter the time. When I call, you answer.”
“Anywhere?” she asked, one brow rising. “Even outside the country?”
“If needed.”
Her mouth didn’t move, but something about her gaze sharpened. Calculating. Testing the shape of the request in her mind, her capabilities, her resources.
“And what would you be needing exactly?” she asked.
“New equipment,” he said. “Specialised. Illegal. Clean.”
“And you want me to deliver personally?” Her tone wasn’t mocking, just mildly curious. “That’s not exactly how I operate.”
“I know.”
She studied him for a long, silent beat. The sounds of the sector drifted by; distant hissing vents, the low thrum of night machinery, a siren far off.
“You have that kind of cash?”
Sylus didn’t smirk. Didn’t blink.
“I have what I need to get what I want.”
Kestrel’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not in skepticism. In interest. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t postured. This was just another deal.
Her arms folded loosely across her chest, one gloved finger tapping rhythmically against her sleeve the only indication of her thoughts, a soft measured countdown only she understood.
Then, without flourish:
“Upfront retainer: one hundred million. Non-negotiable. That buys my availability, not my soul.”
She took a single step closer, not threatening, just closer. Enough that he’d smell the trace of gun oil and citrus on her coat. He noticed her nails, short and sensible, hands that work, with traces of oil and gunpowder evident on the cuticle. Enough to make it clear she wasn’t hiding behind an organisation, behind shadows - she WAS the shadow.
“Each call-out costs an additional one million. Weaponry billed on top—scope, rarity, risk, and travel priced accordingly.”
She paused, eyes glinting beneath the low neon haze.
“Personal delivery is limited between here and Skyhaven. Anything beyond that depends on how fast you need it, and how much you’re willing to make me care.”
Then came the smile. Small. Ironic. Dangerous.
“I am, after all, a simple weapons dealer. Not a quantum sprinter. You want a weapon 5 hours away from me in 5 minutes, you’re going to have to compromise.”
Sylus didn’t flinch at the numbers, didn’t scoff at the smirk. If anything, his gaze grew more focused, like he’d been waiting for her to draw her blade so he could show her his. He let the silence stretch—just long enough for her to wonder if he’d balk.
“I accept your terms.”
A beat.
“But I have conditions of my own.”
Kestrel arched a brow. “Do tell.”
“No subcontracting,” he said. “I deal with you. Not a proxy, not a relay, not a message through six relays in a heat-shielded port. You.”
She said nothing. Waited.
“And if I need a piece modified,” he continued, “it’s done to my specs. I don’t care if it’s military grade or myth. If I say it needs to kill quietly or level a mountain, it does.”
Still no protest.
“But most importantly…” He took a small step forward now—matching her proximity, her calm. “…if I say now, it means now. Not two hours, not two planets. You find a way.”
Her mouth twitched—just a little. Not annoyance. Not insult. Interest. Challenge.
“You’re asking a lot,” she said.
“You’re charging a lot.”
She didn’t blink at his terms. Didn’t argue.
She was still considering, still watching him with that measured interest of hers, the kind reserved for things too rare to dismiss and too sharp to trust, when he added, casually:
“Oh. One last thing.”
Kestrel tilted her head.
He didn’t move closer this time. Didn’t need to.
“Dinner,” he said.
Her brows drew together—just slightly. She didn’t interrupt.
“Once a month,” he continued. “Neutral ground. No weapons drawn, no wires tapped. We discuss updates to our… business relationship.”
There was just the faintest hesitation before he said it. Not because he was uncertain, but because he knew she’d catch it. That beat. That subtle shift in phrasing.
'Business relationship', It hung in the air between them, deliberate and unapologetic. Her smile returned, slightly wider now. Not warm. Not cold. Just… knowing.
“And if I decline your generous culinary addendum?”
“Then my poor feelings will be terribly hurt…” he placed a hand over his heart and smirked.
She gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re negotiating emotional taxation into the deal.”
“No,” Sylus said. “I’m making sure I see you somewhere without blood on your hands.”
And there it was, the real clause. Not just a test. Not just a tease. A glimpse of something quiet and careful and impossibly difficult to fake. Kestrel studied him for a moment more, the tapping of her finger ceasing. Then, with deliberate grace, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small, flat object - A second card, but steel-grey, etched with a symbol that shimmered faintly when tilted—somewhere between circuitry and wings. She handed it to him without ceremony.
“Direct access,” she said. “Use it only when you mean it.”
Sylus accepted the card with the same calm he’d held the first. No flicker of triumph, no change in his voice.
Kestrel’s lips curved, not quite a smile but not quite not.
“I accept your terms,” she said.
She took one slow, deliberate step back.
“I’m sure it’ll be a great pleasure to do… business with you.”
The pause was brief. Enough to make the word pleasure rest between them like a hand on the chest. Then another step back and she blinked out of existence. No burst of light. No visual distortion. Just absence. She’d pulled herself out of the moment the same way she’d entered it - quietly, completely, and on her own terms.
Sylus didn’t move for several seconds. He turned the card over in his hand carefully like it might disintegrate at any moment
⸻
Minutes later, he returned to the secure unit where Luke and Kieran sat surrounded by open displays and scrambled feeds.
“She didn’t ping anything,” Luke muttered. “No ID trace, no comms log, no heat signature. Even the backup audio line cut out.”
“She phased past our scans,” Kieran said, tapping frustrated fingers against the desk. “Only reason I know she existed is because you walked back in here with that look.”
Sylus didn’t answer.
He placed the card down gently on the console. It slid across the glass with a whisper.
Luke stared at it. “Who the hell is she?”
Sylus didn’t look at them when he said:
“She’s Kestrel.”
And that was all the explanation they got.