Echo offers a smile. “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Gibson.” She rests a hand on Kane’s shoulder, making him stiffen. “Boss man just likes to know who’s sniffing around the neighborhood and what they’re saying. Helps us keep the peace.”
“Okay…” Mrs. Gibson exhales slowly. “I didn’t meet them myself, not directly. But folks say they’ve been asking questions—about how your crew recruits around here. What happens to the ones you take in…And about the past. How you ended up in charge. It’s got people talking.”
Kane’s jaw clenches. Not much to work with. Could be curious newcomers or locals hoping to join up. Could be NCPD or corpo enforcers fishing for leverage.
Or worse—Athena’s crew feeding her intel. Though she should already know most of this, unless she’s been gone longer than he realized or forgotten everything.
“Look into this,” he tells Echo, checking the time again. Five minutes left. “Mrs. Gibson’s grandson will be working with Coda for the next two weeks. Maybe longer. Get with him and work out the details.”
Echo nods. “Got it.” She sets a hand on Mrs. Gibson’s shoulder. “Let’s meet this grandson then, shall we?”
While Mrs. Gibson leads Echo over, Kane turns and heads for the exit. If he keeps up the pace, he can return home with just enough time.
As he strides through the market, a few residents track his movements. His overlay tags some as locals he recognizes at a glance, but others flash ID: UNKNOWN. He nods to the ones who meet his eye, but their reactions set him on edge. Some turn away too quickly. A few stare him down. Most offer expressions he can’t quite read.
The tension follows the rest of his walk home.
A family he’s known for years shuffles out of his path in silence. At the corner, an HOV biker slows to watch him before peeling out.
When Kane pushes through the doors of Dragoon’s Rest, conversation inside cuts off in an instant.
His gut coils tight.
Something’s off inShreveport.
The thought sticks from the bar to the stairs.
By the time he reaches his quarters, it’s coiled enough to snap. He shuts the door, opens his wristlink, and sends a single encrypted ping to Coda.
Then he drops onto the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down his face.
Rafael.
Even the name steadies him. The unease doesn’t vanish, but he forces the feeling aside for later.
If there’s a threat, he’ll deal with it.
For the next few hours, there’s no Chrome Baron. Only Kane.
He grabs the V-link headset off the table, strips off his visor, and sets both devices side by side on his bed. They sync instantly, Coda’s mod routing his connection through the Veil.
That extra layer of security is the only reason he can risk this at all. Without it, his assigned V-link ID would light up every corpo board in Midtown.
“Connect to V-link.”
The dim apartment dissolves, replaced by an empty purple chamber. No VitaCorp tag hovering in his periphery. No session ads crawling across the floor. Just a stripped-down menu and a handful of Veil notifications from the few stories he follows.
“Start chat with dulcechef2186, room 4256.”
The air hums as the world around him flashes and reshapes.
In seconds, the void transforms into a bustling city street from the late 1900s. Antique shops and vintage cafés line cobbled streets while an accordion player collects tips from simulated spectators on the corner. Old cars drive past, rendered in typical VitaCorp perfect detail.
One of the pedestrians nearly brushes Kane’s shoulder. Hesidesteps and heads for a café at the end of the street. Inside, he requests a table from the sim host, who seats him on the patio.
As the hostess steps away, a flicker of light catches his attention. Rafael—or rather, a perfect virtual version of him—materializes a few feet from the café. Kane is on his feet in an instant.
“Kane, this is—” He cut Rafael off, pulling him into a kiss. As firm and real as V-link allows.