He could tell him to stop. He could pretend not to notice.
Instead, he offers a half-truth.
“A rival crew moved south of us. Claimed they wanted an alliance against Natural Order. Turns out they were already with them.” His fingers curl at the memory of the leader’s grin, the gun lifting toward his chest. “I got hit. Better me than anyone else.”
“I’m glad no one else got hurt,” Rafael whispers, fidgeting with the edge of the med kit. Kane’s mouth opens to respond when Rafael adds, “Do you…get injured often?”
A short, rough laugh escapes Kane. “Not often.”
But as he recalls the past few days, his confidence wavers.
With Natural Order’s power escalating, Kane has grown more involved than ever. Not that he owes an explanation to Rafael. The words come out anyway. “I’ve been on the front lines more lately. Someone has to be.”
Rafael’s frown deepens. “What about your lieutenants? Like Wren? Echo?”
Kane snorts. “They do what they can…” He should stop. His uncle never complained or let on that he was struggling. But he goes on, “Each has their limits. Some too green, others too defiant. Not everyone can be trusted with the big calls.”
“At the hospital…” Rafael starts, then pauses, tapping his fingers on the kit. “The head surgeon would sometimes…let residents learn from their mistakes. Like yesterday with those kids…You seemed…different.”
Kane’s shoulders stiffen. When he saw that recruit’s terrified face—so much like his own at that age—a part of him wavered. The same impulse that drove him to Glass Alley instead of spending his few spare minutes on strategizing or planning. That lapse unsettles him more than the injury.
“They’re young,” he defends. “Why’re you here, anyway? Thought you’d be in the med bay by now.”
Rafael peers down at the kit. “Oh—I…Pixie came to get me, but she was called away before we left. Said she was needed for backup.”
Sounds like Viper causing a panic. But Pixie could’ve taken a minute to drop Rafael off. Kane taps his wristlink, sending a message to his lieutenant, when Rafael says, “She’ll be here soon, right? I was making something for her to eat. She lives on those awful ration packets.”
He eyes the spread of various ingredients across the counter, the precise cuts in the vegetables. His gaze drifts to Rafael, remembering their conversation at the marketplace. “So…you’re a part-time chef too?” Kane blurts.
“I wouldn’t say a chef,” Rafael mutters. “More like…I enjoy cooking.”
“Why not switch careers?” Kane asks as he eyes the message pulsing from his wristlink.
[VIPER: PIXIE ETA. 5 MIN.]
Time to cut this short—like he should have the moment his arm was fixed. He starts to rise, but Rafael finally answers.
“It’s more of a hobby. Something that helps me…decompress, I guess.”
Decompress.The word lingers. Kane’s stomach knots.
“My mom’s a nurse, dad’s a technician,” Rafael continues. “Following them into VitaCorp just made sense.”
The story, his defeated tone. He’s heard both too many times to count in Shreveport. Against his better judgment, Kane’s instincts kick in. “If you want to be a chef, be one,” he starts, voice firm. “Terra’s probably got programs. Figure it out. ‘Hard’ isn’t a reason to give up your dreams.”
Rafael blinks at him. “I—” He swallows, then squares his shoulders and offers a fake smile. “No. I’m a nurse. That’s what I trained for. Cooking’s just…a hobby.”
Surrender. Again. Not his place. Kane should walk away. But he can’t stop himself: “At least you didn’t want to be a cyber gladiator.”
A half-chuckle escapes Rafael. “Really?” His tone is so earnest that Kane allows himself a half smile.
“Obsessed since I was a kid. Whole family was,” he explains. “When I was old enough, I tried everything—sneaking in, pawning stuff—just to see a live match. Then one day, my uncle came home grinning. Someone at Premiere Corp owed him big. Got to see my first real game. No V-link replay.”
Echo hasn’t even heard this story. With most people, Kane would weigh every word. With Rafael, the words flow easier, lighter somehow.
But the lieutenant’s words from a few days ago come back to him.
“You push the nurse until he spills his guts. Meanwhile, when any of us try to add our two cents…you practically take our heads off. Even when you asked for it.”