Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a time before Metal Heads. Before Precursors. Eons ago—

When a lost civilization of advanced species walked the vast green Earth. Before Eco was discovered flowing through the veins of the planet. Before the sages and their fathers, and their father's fathers before them. When heroes were just that of fantasy and tales of glory.

The 21st century.

Modern day.

The sky was a flawless, endless blue that morning, without a single cloud to interrupt it.

A sedan hummed down a quiet suburban street, passing a young woman strolling along the sidewalk in cargo pants and a cropped white tee. Flame-red hair spilled loose around her shoulders, bouncing with each step to the beat thundering in her ears.
Through pink-tinted headphones clamped over her head, an alternative rock riff pulsed—loud, unapologetic, vibrating in her bones. She moved with it, her black Chucks tapping the pavement in time, hips and shoulders catching the rhythm like she was carrying the song inside her veins.

She didn’t care if anyone saw. Not today. Today was going to be incredible.

Henry had promised big news—his latest “archaeological find of the century,” as he called it. And Audrey had been first on his list to invite.

The thing about Henry, he always showed anything of value to her first. They were still friends after all — just with a lot of history.

Regardless, excitement bubbled in her chest as she danced her way down the street, passing dog walkers and early-rising retirees on their morning loops. She waved to a few familiar faces, grinning without breaking her stride, the music keeping her feet light.

It wasn’t until she crossed the road —A faint, metallic hum. Barely there—more like a vibration underfoot than a sound. The concrete felt warm through the soles of her shoes, though the sun hadn’t been up long enough to heat it. She slowed a step, but the music in her ears swallowed the moment, urging her forward.

By the time she turned the corner, the hum was gone.

It took her thirty-five minutes to reach downtown on the bus, the city skyline growing larger through the smudged glass until it felt like it was pressing down over the streets.

The hiss of the bus’s brakes giving way to the hum of the city. Skyscraper glass gleamed in the morning sun, reflecting fractured light onto the sidewalks. The air here was a cocktail of fresh-ground coffee from the corner café, grilled breakfast wraps sizzling behind steamy windows, and the tang of gasoline as a delivery truck idled at the curb.

Audrey adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag and started down the block, weaving through the crowd. Her eyes skimmed the shop fronts as she passed: mannequins in glossy boutiques posed in perfect stillness, vintage bookstores with warped spines stacked in their displays, narrow ramen shops already fogged from boiling broth.

And underneath it all—that faint hum again. Barely audible over the chaos of downtown, but there.

It wasn’t mechanical, not exactly. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, almost vibrating in her chest before vanishing when she turned her head.
She shook it off, telling herself it was just city noise, and picked up her pace toward the museum.

The Museum of History loomed ahead, its stone façade and marble pillars towering over the glass-and-steel neighbors on either side. Above the grand entrance, gold lettering caught the sunlight: CITY MUSEUM OF NATURAL & CULTURAL HISTORY.
She took the wide front steps two at a time, the faint static in the air prickling the hairs on her arms as she reached for the heavy brass door.

Somewhere inside, past the velvet ropes and echoing marble halls, her childhood friend was waiting—with the find that would change everything.

The museum’s lobby was a cathedral of history—polished marble floors reflecting shafts of light from towering windows, banners hanging high above advertising current exhibits: "Ancient Oceans" and "The Pharaoh’s Shadow".

Audrey’s sneakers squeaked faintly as she crossed to the security desk. The guard— Reyes, looked up from his crossword. “Morning,” he said, scanning her visitor’s pass. “He’s in the archives.”
She flashed him a grin and took the elevator down past the public galleries, to where the air was cooler and the walls shifted from polished marble to unadorned concrete. Here, the museum lost its curated shine—corridors lined with metal shelving, crates stamped with foreign customs labels, and the faint scent of old paper and dust.

She found Henry in the restricted research lab, hunched over a long stainless steel table under a cone of white light. Henry was wiry, like he hadn’t slept in days. He’d always get like this with new obsessions.

Audrey pushed through the heavy steel door, sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor.

Hazel eyes looked up from the table, goggles pushed into his messy dark hair, and smiled. That same easy smile she fell in love with once —the one that always felt like it belonged to her first, even when it hadn’t.

“Finally, took you long enough.” he said, stripping off a glove. “Still wearing those beat-up Chucks, huh?”

She smirked, tugging at her headphones. “Still making bad jokes, I see.”

He laughed, a little too quickly, before meeting her eyes again. Older now, sharper around the jaw, but he still looked the same — warm, familiar, a little too careful. The years had taken the sting out of what happened between them, but sometimes it lingered in moments like this, an echo neither of them wanted to chase.

On the table lay a heavy bundle wrapped in layers of aged linen, its edges frayed. Beside it sat a tray of excavation tools, a half-empty coffee, and a notebook scrawled with hasty sketches and measurements. “So, what did you call me in for?” Audrey asked, stepping closer.

Henry didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the cloth and began to carefully unwrap it, until the object beneath was revealed—a copper relic, no larger than a shoebox, its surface etched with intricate, spiraling patterns that seemed to shift under the light.

“Not sure.” He reached out, brushing his fingertips along one of the etched spirals. “This isn’t in any archive I’ve seen. And trust me—I’ve looked. Whatever this is, it predates recorded history.”

The air around it felt… heavier. Like the room had dipped a degree in temperature. Audrey swore she could hear the faintest vibration in her ears, similar to the hum she’d felt outside—but deeper, more deliberate.
Audrey tilted her head, frowning as that low hum threaded into her bones.”Is this what you wanted me to see?”

“Nope.” Henry shook his head and grinned, “Come with me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched with a roll of her eyes as she followed him.

Henry’s voice cut through the echo of the hallway. “I wanted you to be the first to see it. I have a feeling this is going to change the way we understand history.”

He led her deeper into the restricted wing, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly against the cavernous quiet. Audrey trailed close behind, sneakers squeaking softly, her curiosity building with each turn.

They emerged into a vast, high-ceilinged chamber—a space that looked more like an aircraft hangar than a museum lab. The scent of aged metal and fresh machine oil hung in the air, mingled with the faint mustiness of old dust still clinging to their prize.And there it was.

Dominating the center of the floor was a massive circular platform made entirely of copper, that caught the light in ripples. A large ring-like structure rose from its edge, towering over her—easily twice her height—its thick frame carved with the same inscriptions she saw earlier.

Audrey slowed to a stop, her mouth parting slightly. “Woah…”

Henry’s eyes crinkled with pride "Beautiful, right?”

“It’s like…” she began, searching for the comparison, “…like that sci-fi show we watched as kids. The one where they had the giant gate thing?”

Henry chuckled. “If only this one could take us to another world, huh?”

She laughed softly but didn’t answer—because a part of her, staring up at the strange ring with its unreadable marks, wasn’t entirely sure it couldn’t.

Henry motioned for her to follow as he weaved between crates and workbenches. “We found the main ring buried deep in the valley sands outside Luxor. The rest was scattered across nearly a hundred meters, half of it in pieces.”

“Hah! Just like the show!”

“Shut up.” He laughed, rich and inviting. Audrey pushed her thoughts aside and kept going.

He paused beside a table where a bronze sphere the size of a bowling ball rested on a cushioned stand. Its surface was engraved with the same curling, unfamiliar script. “It took two weeks just to dig out the primary segment without damaging the rest. We thought it was just another ceremonial structure—until our carbon dating came back.”

Audrey glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “How old?”

He grinned faintly, like he was savoring the moment. “Older than anything we’ve ever catalogued in that region. Older than the pyramids, older than Mesopotamia… This thing shouldn’t even exist.”

She stepped closer to the copper ring, tilting her head as she traced the air above the strange symbols. “What language is this?”

“That’s the thing,” Henry said, lowering his voice as though the relic could hear them. “It doesn’t match any known written system. Not Egyptian, not Sumerian, not even proto-writing from the Neolithic period.”

Audrey’s gaze drifted over the towering frame again. From certain angles, the inscriptions seemed to pulse faintly—not with light, but with an illusion of movement, like water catching sunlight. She blinked, and it stilled. Am I going crazy or…

“We tried every test we could,” Henry continued, gesturing to a bank of equipment against the wall. “Spectrometry, X-ray scans, metallurgical analysis. The results don’t add up—pure copper, yes, but with trace elements we’ve never seen in the natural world. The density’s… wrong. It’s heavier than it should be.”

Audrey frowned. “Like it was made somewhere else?”

Henry smirked at her, clearly pleased she’d jumped to the same conclusion his team had been whispering about for weeks. “Let’s just say, if it was built here on Earth, the builders had knowledge we can’t explain.”

She crouched slightly, peering into the space between the platform’s plates. There was no dust there, no corrosion. For something that had supposedly been buried for thousands of years, the inner metal gleamed as though it had just been polished.

Henry moved off to answer a call from one of his assistants, waving her toward the artifact as if to say, “Go on, have a look.”

Audrey’s gaze roamed over the platform —She drifted closer. The scaffolding encircling it creaked faintly under her sneakers as she stepped on. A dusting of fine sand clung to her fingers when she reached out to touch one of the smaller bronze rings resting on a padded crate nearby. Its surface was smooth and bitterly cold.

Beside it, a crate sat opened with a smaller shaped device made of the same metal material as the gate. Although it reminded her more of a bowling ball or maybe an egg. Both?
The moment her fingertips brushed it, a faint click whispered within it and the egg came to life.
Audrey froze, head lifting, breath shallow.

Light bled into the grooves. bright—a soft amber glow that chased itself along the spiraling etchings in fluid, rippling lines. They moved with purpose, converging toward the central disc. In the middle of the disk looked like a miniature sun.
Audrey’s breath caught in her throat.

One of the smaller bronze spheres in its crate trembled, shifting as though nudged from inside. The padded hay rustled faintly.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She yanked her hand back.

The warmth vanished. The glow died. The hum faded into silence so complete it felt like the air was holding its breath.

The artifact sat there, inert again, as if nothing had happened.

“H-Henry,” Audrey whispered, voice unsteady. “It… it lit up. I touched it and it came alive. It glowed, the whole thing felt like it was breathing, and the center—God, the center!.”
Henry froze mid-note, goggles slipping down his forehead. Then, just as quickly, his eyes flared with the hungry gleam she remembered from every dig site he’d ever obsessed over. He snatched up his pen, scribbling in his notebook with rapid strokes. “Describe it—exactly. The sequence, the sensation, everything.”

She repeated it, halting but earnest, her hands miming the spirals of light.

“Show me,” he urged, stepping closer, impatience edging his voice.

Audrey pressed her palm back to the rim. Nothing. Cold metal met her skin. She tried again, shifting to the same angle, then the same pressure. Still nothing.
Her chest tightened. “I swear it happened.”

Henry watched a moment longer before his excitement ebbed into skepticism. His shoulders slumped, and he rolled his eyes with a weary half-smile. “Very funnyyyy. You’re wasting my heart rate. Come on—you ready to see the rest of it?”
Heat prickled across her cheeks. She hesitated, eyes lingering on the egg. The relic looked harmless now, dull as tarnished cookware, but her body still remembered the heat, the hum in her bones.

At last she forced herself to step back from the railing. “Yeah,” she said, pitching her voice steady. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe she’d let Henry’s talk of impossible finds and ancient civilizations push her into daydreams about fantasy worlds. But as she fell into step behind him, weaving between stacked crates and cables. Audrey flexed her fingers, unable to shake the feeling the relic hadn’t gone dormant.

Like it was waiting..

“You think they all belong to the same gate?" she asked, glancing back toward the main chamber where the ring platform sat dormant.
Henry smirked. “Gate?… I guess we could call it that. We’ve run every scan we can—X-ray, ultrasonic, even a deep-spectrum resonance test. No gears, no moving parts, no seams where parts would separate. The entire platform is one solid piece of copper.”

“One piece?” Audrey frowned. “That’s… impossible.”

“Exactly.”

Before she could ask more, the low vibration returned.

It was faint at first—so faint she thought she’d imagined it—but the sensation built quickly, a slow, steady thrum that she could feel through the soles of her sneakers. The hair on her arms prickled.

She shivered and rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself from the strange chilling sensation. Her gut was telling her something but she wasn’t sure what yet.

They wove through the maze of crates, cables, and scaffolding until they were once again standing before the massive copper ring.

She hadn’t noticed it before, but at the very center of the platform, raised on a cluster of thick bronze supports, stood a podium—its surface polished smooth with age.

As they approached, her eyes caught on an oddly shaped recess in the middle of the podium’s top. It was a deep, inverted circular, its interior lined with fine grooves and etched patterns that matched the designs on the relic Audrey had touched. It wasn’t just decorative—it looked deliberate. Functional.

Her gaze darted between the podium and the egg-shaped artifact sitting not far off. “That’s… a perfect fit,” she murmured without thinking.
Henry paused mid-step, “What is?”

Audrey didn’t answer immediately. She was too busy picturing it—the relic sliding into place with a smooth click, the grooves locking together, something vast and hidden stirring awake. The image was so vivid she could almost hear it.

Henry followed her line of sight. His expression shifted—part calculation, part temptation. Then, almost against his own better judgment, jogged over to the egg artifact in its crate and approached the podium, lowering the device into the recess.

The connection was seamless. A single, precise click echoed through the chamber.

Everything changed.

The rings along the platform groaned, then began to rotate, layers sliding against one another in deliberate synchrony. Ancient inscriptions blazed to life, threads of pale gold racing outward in fluid circuits. The egg-shaped relic pulsed with its own light, resonating with the podium like it had finally found its home. Around the disc, tiny bronze spheres shuddered free of their crates, rising into the air and spinning in orbit as if gravity no longer applied.

Across the lab, several of Henry’s team froze mid-task, their voices faltering. A wrench clattered to the floor. No one moved. No one breathed.
Audrey’s heartbeat thundered.

The entire ring gave a low, seismic shudder, like a beast inhaling after centuries of slumber. Golden light rippled across its frame in branching veins, illuminating the chamber with a brilliance that felt alive. The hum returned, stronger than ever, rising in pitch until it became a voice without words—deep, resonant, thrumming in Audrey’s chest as if it recognized her.

A strange wind swept through the lab, curling around Audrey’s ankles and lifting her hair, though nothing else in the room stirred. The gold light intensified, rippling across the copper like liquid sunlight before changing to blue and dark purples hues.

And then, at the heart of the platform, reality itself seemed to ripple.

“Finally, the last rift gate has been opened” a deep grueling voice echoed inside the museum’s warehouse. It sent a wave of shivers down Audrey’s spine.

“Where is that coming from?!” Someone screamed.

A jagged seam of blinding white light split the empty space, bending and twisting as if the world was folding in on itself.

Audrey couldn’t look away.

Turn it off! Shut it down!” someone shouted, but their voice was warped, like it came from the bottom of a lake.

The pull began subtly—like the moment before a drop in an elevator—but it grew fast, the air rushing toward the rift with the hunger of a black hole. Loose papers and stray tools clattered across the floor, sucked toward the center. Crates tipped. A coffee mug shattered against the copper platform.

Henry’s arm shot around Audrey’s waist, holding her in place. “Don’t move!”

But the moment her eyes locked with that impossible light, her body ignored the warning. Her feet shifted forward of their own accord, as if the rift was calling her by name.

“Audrey!” Henry’s voice was sharp now—terrified.

A streak of golden light arced out from the podium and wrapped around her wrist like a living tether. She gasped, stumbling forward as Henry’s grip tore free. The light tightened, pulling—no, dragging—her toward the rift.

Wind roared in her ears, the taste of metal filled her mouth. The light expanded until it swallowed her vision whole, erasing the lab, the shouting voices, even her own scream.

And then—

Silence.

Chapter Text

Everything turned white, then blue, then purple—spinning like a kaleidoscope. Her body felt weightless, like gravity’s grip falling away until she felt herself scatter like light through glass. Her body felt like it was being undone—unraveling into tiny fragments of herself, each piece adrift in a silent current.

But she wasn’t alone at that moment.

A warmth collided with her scattered self, not sharp but enveloping, as if another presence had burst into her unraveling at the same moment. A tangle of breath and heartbeat and heat. Her fragments brushed against his, mingling, colliding, intertwining until she could no longer tell where she ended and the other began.

It felt like being braided together—two threads woven into one pattern, not permanent but enough to leave a trace. No words passed between them, no voice. Just a pulse, steady and familiar, echoing through her in a way that soothed the terror of being unmade. For that moment she was certain: she wasn’t lost. Someone else was with her.

When she came back together, she was not the same. Her body knitted whole again, but it hummed with a new rhythm—as if his heartbeat had left an imprint on hers. Warmth lingered beneath her skin, like the afterglow of a touch that had never truly happened. Colors sharpened, sound stretched thinner, and her pulse carried a resonance she hadn’t known before.

but one thing was certain: she had not crossed alone. Something—someone—had passed with her, leaving a compass point fixed deep in her chest, pulling her toward an answer she didn’t yet understand.

Her eyes squeezed shut against the jolt of pain that shot up her side, the sharp throb in her hip radiating into her ribs and head. The metallic taste of adrenaline coated her tongue. For a moment she couldn’t move—just lay there, dazed, the world spinning wildly around her. Or was it her that was spinning?

Her body vibrated with the pulse of her nerves, tingling from the curl of her toes to the top of her head, to the hairs on her neck. Everything felt a thousand times more electrifying. Like she could feel everything all at once. From the flickering of the wind on her cheek to the warmth of her abdomen. Her fingers trembled with sensations she couldn’t name. A low ringing in her ears that wouldn’t stop.

A wave of nausea rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, certain she might be sick.

She pushed herself onto one elbow, strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead, and shoved them back with a shaky hand. Her breath caught. But when she opened her eyes —

This isn't the museum.

Towering, makeshift metal structures stabbed at the sky, their neon lights pulsing like heartbeats. Above her, sleek, unfamiliar vehicles cut through the air in straight, humming lines—flying. On the streets, armored police in crimson and black marched in sync, visors gleaming like insect eyes. Strangers brushed past her, casting sidelong glances at the girl crumpled on the ground.

And their ears… long, tapering points that caught the light like polished metal. Elf-like. Otherworldly.

Audrey’s mind blanked. The shock hit her like a weight, pressing down until her chest locked tight.

She stumbled backward, sucking in rapid, shallow breaths that didn’t seem to fill her lungs. A soundless scream tore itself from her throat as her hands flew to her face. Her vision tunneled—blotches of white and black flickering at the edges. She folded in on herself on the cold pavement, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight, willing herself to vanish under the stares.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten here.

And for the first time in a long while—she wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer.

Her thoughts came in jagged fragments. Where am I?
This isn’t real—this isn’t real—
I can’t—breathe—

The noise around her swelled into a wall of sound—footsteps, voices of passers in strange clothes, the distant shriek of sirens.

Then—

Shouts rose above the crowd. The crimson-armored guards surged forward in formation, parting the sea of onlookers. Between them, dragged in chains, was a boy.

His head hung low, blond hair matted and unkempt, but when he lifted his face—Audrey’s heart stopped.

The angular lines of his cheekbones, the sharp blue eyes that flashed even through exhaustion—she knew him. She didn’t know how, couldn’t possibly, but recognition slammed into her like a blow.

“Jak…” The name fell from her lips without permission, cracked and raw.

The guards shoved him forward, their rifles leveled like he was already condemned. A tall man in an officer's crimson walked alongside, posture cold and precise. His voice carried above the din: “Take him to the Baron. I will see him broken... properly.”

Audrey lurched forward a step before panic locked her knees. Her chest squeezed tight, her breath rattling out in a half-sob. She didn’t understand why she cared so much, why the sight of him being dragged away tore at her insides. But the connection was there—undeniable, terrifying.

“No—stop!” she gasped, but her voice drowned in the roar of the street. No one turned. No one cared.

Jak’s eyes lifted once, scanning the crowd as if searching for something—someone. For a heartbeat, she swore his gaze snagged on hers. Then a guard struck him hard in the gut with the butt of a rifle, forcing him to stumble on.

Her vision blurred. She dropped to her knees again, hands clawing at the collar of her shirt as the scene dissolved into chaos. The world tilted, spinning, the sound of boots and chains clanging in her skull.

A shadow fell across her. Not the fleeting pass of a stranger, but still, steady. A pair of worn work boots stopped just in front of her.

“Easy there, lass,” a voice rumbled—deep and warm, with the slow cadence of someone who didn’t rush for anything. “You’re all wound up tighter than a gear spring. Let’s get you off the street, eh?”

Audrey flinched but didn’t look up.

The voice softened, patient. “No harm’s coming to you. My name’s Osmo. I own the Kridder Ridder shop just around the bend. We’ll find you a quiet corner, away from all this noise.”

A hand appeared in her periphery—broad, calloused, the kind that had seen years of work but still held steady without a trace of urgency.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stared at it. She didn’t know if she could trust it. She didn’t even know if she could move. But something in his tone—steady, unshaken—threaded through the haze, giving her just enough to focus on.

“Come now,” Osmo coaxed gently. “On your feet. The world's easier to face when you’re not sittin’ in the gutter.”

After a long, shaking breath, Audrey placed her trembling hand in his.

His grip was firm but not forceful, helping her up without jarring her already sore body. He stepped to her side, blocking the worst of the crowd’s stares, and guided her toward the quieter side street he’d come from.

The street noise dulled with each step they took, replaced by the muted hum of neon signs and the soft patter of rainwater trickling into gutter drains. Osmo’s presence was a solid anchor at her side, his stride unhurried, his broad frame keeping her sheltered from the few onlookers who still tried to sneak a curious glance.

They rounded the bend into a narrower lane, where the towering buildings pressed closer together. Until a small 1 story metal structure appears in this very corner of the world. A large pointed arrow neon sign stood overhead, in bold red letters Kridder Ridder. Beneath it, a wide bay window revealed a warmly lit shop, its shelves lined with stacked gear parts, feed bins, and small cages where feathery, wide-eyed Krider’s blinked at the world beyond.

Osmo pushed open the door, a brass bell chiming overhead. Warmth spilled over Audrey like a blanket, chasing away the bite of the outside air. The scent inside was an earthy mix of dust, coffee, and something sweet—maybe dried fruit or baked bread.

“Here now,” Osmo murmured, steering her toward a sturdy wooden stool beside the counter. “Sit. Deep breaths, in and out.”

Audrey lowered herself onto the stool, her knees still trembling. Her hands gripped the seat’s edge as she tried to slow her breathing.

Osmo shuffled behind the counter, his heavy boots creaking against the floorboards. “You look like you’ve been tossed from the sky, lass. And from the looks of ya, I’d say not just figuratively. What's your name?”

She didn’t answer—her mind was still reeling, trying to pin down the reality of flying cars, crimson-armored guards, and pointed ears.

Osmo didn’t press. Instead, he busied himself at a small stove tucked in the corner, scooping something from a tin into a mug before filling it with steaming water from a kettle. A fragrant, spiced scent filled the air—like cinnamon and honey, with an edge of mint.

While she sat there, still trying to catch her breath, a soft thump landed beside her foot. Audrey looked down to see a small kridder—a plump, rabbit-like creature with soft, mossy green fur and large, curious eyes—tilting its head at her. Its twitching whiskers brushed against her ankle before it hopped closer, placing tiny clawed paws on her shin.

Audrey hesitated, then slowly reached down. The creature leaned into her palm without fear, its fur impossibly soft under her fingertips. She let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The Kridder gave a gentle mrrp before curling at her feet like it had known her forever.

Osmo set the mug in front of her with a quiet clink. “Drink. It’s good for settling the nerves. Helps your head, too, when the world’s spinning faster than it should.”

Audrey wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, the heat seeping into her chilled fingers. She took a cautious sip. The flavor was earthy and sweet, grounding in a way she didn’t expect.

Osmo leaned a hip against the counter, folding his arms as he studied her—not in suspicion, but with the kind of sharp-eyed patience that came from decades of reading people without words.

“You don’t have to tell me a thing until you’re ready,” he said simply. “But I’ve lived long enough to know when someone’s a long way from home. And lass… you’re very far from home, aren’t you?”

Her throat tightened around another sip. She didn’t trust her voice enough to answer, but her eyes told the truth.

Osmo gave a slow nod, as if that was all he needed. “Then you sit here for a while. Let the city keep its chaos. You’ve got a safe spot for as long as you need it.”

The little creature gave a quiet chirp, as if in agreement, and nestled even closer to her leg.

The shop had quieted to a soft hum—the faint ticking of an old wall clock, the rustle of the Kridder shifting in its sleep at Audrey’s feet, and the occasional creak from the ceiling above.

Osmo collected her empty mug, setting it in the sink before glancing toward the narrow staircase at the back of the shop. “There’s a small loft upstairs,” he said. “Not much, but it’s warm, and the mattress is decent. Better than whatever you landed on earlier.”

Audrey blinked at him, still stunned from the chaos of the past hour. “You’d… let me stay here?”

Osmo’s answer came in the form of a shrug, as though the decision cost him nothing. “No sense in letting someone sleep out in the streets. Especially not someone who looks like they’ve just walked through a storm they didn’t see coming.”

She hesitated. It felt too kind, too simple—but her body was too tired to argue. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice small.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the stairs. “I’ll fix you some dinner first. Can’t have you fainting on my floor.”

Upstairs, the loft was cozy—a single bed tucked beneath the slanted roof, a small window looking out onto the rain-slick street, and shelves lined with worn books and odd trinkets from years of collecting. The quilt on the bed was patched but clean, and the air carried a faint scent of cedar from the beams above.

Osmo left her to settle in for a few minutes before calling her down for dinner. She followed the warm smell of roasted vegetables and some kind of hearty stew to the small kitchen in the back of the shop. The table was already set for two, with bread still warm from the oven and a block of cheese on a cutting board.

They ate mostly in silence at first,the food melting into her mouth like it was the most delicious thing in the world, the clink of spoons in bowls filling the space. Eventually, Audrey spoke—halting at first, but once the words began to spill, she couldn’t stop. She told him about the strange gate, the blinding light, and how she’d landed in the middle of the street. She didn’t mention everything—she wasn’t sure she could—but she gave him enough to understand that she was very far from home and had no idea how to get back.

Osmo didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable.

When she finally ran out of words, she stared at the empty bowl in front of her, not sure what kind of response she expected.

Osmo let the silence stretch for a beat, then pushed back his chair with a soft scrape. “You’ve got no creds, no map, and no place to start,” he said matter-of-factly. “So here’s what we’ll do. You stay in the loft, and you work here in the shop until you’ve got your feet under you. Won’t be much pay at first, but it’ll be honest work—and it’ll keep you fed.”

Audrey stared at him, caught between relief and disbelief. “You’d just… give me a job? Just like that?”

Osmo’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. “I’ve seen a lot of faces pass through this city, lass. I can tell which ones are trouble and which ones just need a hand. You look like the second kind.”

The Kridder hopped onto her lap then, nuzzling against her arm as if sealing the deal.

Audrey let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and gave a small, genuine smile for the first time since arriving. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Osmo replied, leaning back in his chair. “You start tomorrow. The shop opens at dawn. Miss—” he tried again.

"Audrey..." She ducked her head with an embarrassed smile for not introducing herself earlier. "My name is Audrey."

The scent of roasting beans and fresh bread hit Audrey before her eyes had fully adjusted to the morning light. She shuffled down the narrow stairs, hair mussed, blinking clearly at the warm glow spilling in from the shop’s front windows.

Osmo was already behind the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sorting through an open crate of polished metal parts. The faint hum of the shop’s sign outside buzzed through the glass, and somewhere near the back, the Kridder trilled a low, contented note.

“You’re late,” Osmo said without looking up.

Audrey froze mid-step. “It’s… it’s barely sunrise,” she protested.

“That’s late in this business,” he replied, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Come on. Apron’s on the hook.”

She slipped behind the counter, tying the faded green apron around her waist as Osmo began explaining the morning routine.

“First hour’s quiet—mostly regulars grabbing a cup before the markets open,” he said, gesturing toward the small sideboard with coffee pots, mugs, and an assortment of teas. “After that, we’ll get the parts for hunters and scavvers. They’ll want to haggle, so don’t take the first price they offer. And if someone asks for a repair, you come get me first.”

Audrey nodded, trying to keep up as he moved through the instructions at a steady clip.

The bell above the door jingled, and a tall man in a patched leather jacket strolled in, followed by a wiry woman with short, copper hair. They made a beeline for the counter, greeting Osmo with an easy familiarity.

“Morning, old man,” the woman said, smirking. Her gaze slid to Audrey. “New hire?”

“Temporary,” Osmo said simply. “Audrey, this is Sera and Wicks. They’ve been buying trouble from me for years.”

“That’s parts,” Wicks corrected with mock offense, then gave Audrey a half-smile. “You’ll get used to him.”

Audrey opened her mouth to respond, but Sera suddenly leaned forward, squinting. Her finger jabbed toward Audrey’s head. “Whoa—what happened to your ears?”

Heat rushed to Audrey’s face. Instinctively, her hands twitched toward her ears to hide them, but Osmo spoke before she could stammer out anything.

“Genetics,” he said smoothly, tone final. “Lass got the short end on that stick—literally.”

Sera’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of something like wonder. Wicks’ brows rose, his usual easy humor gone for a moment as he studied her with open awe.

Audrey shifted uncomfortably under their stares, wishing the floorboards would swallow her whole. Her voice wobbled as she muttered, “It’s not that weird…”

But neither Sera nor Wicks moved, caught in that odd hush of curiosity—as if they were looking at something rare, something out of place but strangely significant.

Osmo cleared his throat, loud enough to snap the spell. “You came for parts, not to gawk. What’ll it be today?”

The two exchanged a quick look, then laughed off the moment, turning their attention back to the counter. But Audrey could still feel it—the weight of their eyes, the way it lingered longer than it should have, like they knew she wasn’t from here. 

Soon after the couple had finally left, Osmo’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment too long, and Audrey tilted her head. “What?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s those ears of yours. Too round.”

Audrey blinked. “Too… round?”

“In Haven,” he said, lowering his voice, “pointed ears are the norm. Yours will stick out like a sore thumb—worse than your clothes. People notice things like that. Guards notice.”

Her stomach sank. “So what do I do? Shave them to points?”

That earned her a deep laugh from him, the first genuine one she’d heard all day. “Let’s not get carried away. A headscarf, a hood—something to keep ‘em out of sight. I’ll find you one.”

He rummaged in a back cabinet, returning with a worn but clean brown scarf. The fabric smelled faintly of old wood as he handed it over. “Here. Wrap it low enough to hide ‘em, but keep it loose. Don’t want people thinking you’re hiding something.”

She tugged it on, fumbling with the knot at first until he stepped around the counter and fixed it for her, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle. “There,” he said. “Now you just look like any other drifter who wandered in.”

More customers trickled in—an older elf with a limp who bought a small gear assembly, a young boy carrying a basket of scrap who traded it for a bag of screws and bolts. Audrey moved between the counter and the shelves, fetching items, taking coins, and scribbling notes on the battered ledger Osmo had shoved into her hands.

Then came a pair of weary-looking dockhands, their boots still crusted with brine. One leaned on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Osmo, you got anything for lurkers chewing through the storage crates again? Half our fish stock’s gone to rot.”

The other dockhand snorted. “Rot? Try eaten. Things had teeth as big as my arm.”

Osmo didn’t blink, just reached for a crate tucked under the counter. “Got traps and repellents. Won’t kill the big ones, but it’ll keep ‘em from nesting in your docks.” He slid the box forward with a grunt. “Two creds a set.”

The first man grimaced but dug into his pouch anyway. “Cheaper than paying another hunter to blast ‘em.”

A woman came in right after, her apron still dusted white with flour. She looked frazzled, eyes darting.

“Osmo, please—rats in my bakery again. Not the normal kind either. These ones glow. My customers are about ready to stop coming.”

Audrey blinked, the ledger slipping in her hands. Glowing rats?

Osmo sighed through his nose. “Eco-touched vermin. Figures.” He pulled down a small sack from the shelf, tossing it onto the counter. “Bait pellets. Won’t kill, but it’ll drive ‘em out.”

The woman pressed a hand over her heart. “Bless you, Osmo. I’ll take three.”

Audrey found herself scribbling frantically to keep up, her mind spinning at the casual way people treated things like giant lurkers and glowing rats. Back home, pests meant ants in the kitchen. Here, it meant creatures that could gnaw through steel or light up the walls like lanterns.

By mid-morning, the street outside had grown louder—vendors calling from stalls, the whir of passing hover bikes, the distant clang of construction somewhere deeper in the city. Audrey caught herself pausing at the shop’s front window, drawn to the bustle beyond the glass. It was overwhelming… but it also made her feel, for the first time since arriving, that maybe she could belong here.

“Don’t just stand there gawking,” Osmo said from behind her. “Sweep the floor before someone tracks in half the Wasteland.”

Audrey rolled her eyes but grabbed the broom. “Yes, boss.”

The shop door swung open with a sharp clang of the bell, and the sound of heavy boots on metal flooring instantly shifted the air.

Two Krimzon Guards stepped inside—scarlet armor gleaming under the shop’s warm lights, rifles slung across their backs. Their helmets reflected the room in warped, gold-tinted curves.

Audrey froze mid-sweep. These soldiers looked like the ones she saw taking the boy away. Jak. The one leading them was the one who attacked Jak and dragged him away. She trembled slightly but tried to remain composed

Osmo didn’t miss a beat. “Morning, officer Errol,” he said evenly, setting down a gear assembly he’d been polishing. “You here for repairs or extermination?”

Audrey didn’t miss the way Osmo said ‘extermination’.

The taller of the two guards scanned the room before answering. “Routine inspection. New faces in the district?”

Audrey felt his eye turn toward her, and her pulse quickened. She gripped the broom handle tighter, forcing herself to keep sweeping.

“Friend of mine,” Osmo said casually, stepping between them and the counter. “Helping me out for a few days. She’s clean.”

The second guard’s gaze lingered a little longer before he started pacing slowly along the nearest shelf, running a gloved finger across the edge of a display of polished rings and bolts. “Shame if anything… unregistered turned up here.”

Osmo’s jaw tightened. “Nothing here you need to worry about.”

The taller guard turned away from Audrey, apparently satisfied—or simply uninterested in wasting more time. “You know the drill, Osmo. Keep it that way.”

With that, they stepped back outside, the door swinging shut behind them.

The shop was quiet again, save for the distant noise of the street. Audrey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Osmo glanced at her from behind the counter. “Rule one: don’t give them a reason to look twice at you.”

Audrey nodded, still feeling the echo of their heavy footsteps in her chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” he said, turning back to his workbench. “Now, grab the rag. We’ve got shelves to dust before the lunch rush.”

Audrey crossed to the counter, still gripping the broom like a lifeline. “They always like that?” she asked quietly, glancing at the door as if the guards might come back.

Osmo didn’t answer right away. He picked up a cloth, wiping the surface of a battered metal plate in slow, deliberate circles. “That was them in a good mood.”

Audrey frowned. “So they’re just… bullies?”

He gave a low, humorless chuckle. “They work for the Krimzon Baron. That means they’re not just bullies—they’re the law. His law.” He set the plate down, leaning both hands on the counter. “And in this city, his law is the only one that matters.”

The weight of his words settled over her, heavier than the air had been when the guards were here. Audrey swallowed, suddenly aware of just how far from home she really was.

Osmo straightened and handed her a clean rag. “Best thing you can do is keep your head down, stay useful, and never—never—give them a reason to notice you.”

She took the rag, the rough fabric scratching her fingertips. “Guess I’ll just… be invisible then.”

“That’s the spirit.” He gave her a faint smile, though his eyes stayed serious. “Invisible people tend to live longer around here.”

“Do you know anything about the boy they took?” she asked, the question too hot to hold.

“Only that he showed up when you did,” Osmo said. “Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly.” 

“Not exactly,” he repeated, softer this time, as though tasting the words instead of testing them. He tilted his head, lines at the corners of his eyes easing. “Then why ask, lass?”

Audrey’s throat tightened. She dropped her gaze to the rag twisting in her hands, the coarse fabric scratching at her fingertips. “Because… I knew his face. Like I’ve seen him before.” She shook her head, frustrated. “But that doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been here. I don’t even know where here is.”

Osmo leaned back against the counter, folding his arms, but his voice lost its edge. “The mind does strange things when it’s rattled. Sometimes it plays tricks. Shows us pieces that don’t fit, but feel like they do.”

Audrey bit her lip, staring hard at the rag, at the way her knuckles had gone white from twisting it. “No, this was different. When I saw him, it was like—” She faltered, heat rising in her cheeks. “Like something in me recognized him. Like I was supposed to know him.”

Instead of dismissing her, Osmo gave a slow nod, letting her words settle in the space between them. “There’s a word for that,” he said quietly. “Déjà vu. Folks say it's a memory crossing itself, two lines touching for just a moment.”

Her brows furrowed. “But this felt more than that.”

“Maybe it is,” Osmo allowed with a shrug. “This city has a way of tangling people together—threads pulling where you don’t expect. Could be a chance. Could be something bigger. I’ve seen stranger things than two paths crossing in the middle of all this mess.”

Audrey looked up at him then, searching his weathered face for mockery, but found none. Only patience, only the steady presence of a man who had long since stopped being surprised by the world’s oddities.

Her voice came out smaller. “So I’m not crazy?”

A smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Not for this, no. Trust me, I’ve seen crazy. You’re just a girl far from home, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t want to be sensible.”

The knot in her chest loosened, just a little. For the first time since the boy in chains had passed her by, she felt like maybe she wasn’t completely alone in carrying the weight of it. But now all she could think of was him. 

And what could she do to save him. 

It was evening by the time the last customer left. The neon sign outside buzzed faintly, casting the shop’s interior in a dull amber-pink. Osmo locked the door and nodded toward the stairs. 

Audrey followed him up the creaky staircase.

Dinner was bread, a bowl of spiced stew, and an unspoken kindness she didn’t realize she needed until it was there.

Later, full and warm, she found herself drawn to the small metal balcony outside the loft. The air was cooler here, brushing over her cheeks as she leaned on the railing.

From up high, she saw the city in its strange, electric glory—rows of glowing signs stacked along the streets, flying vehicles weaving between towers, the far-off hum of machinery mixing with the shouts of market vendors. Somewhere below, a patrol of red-armored guards clanked down a narrow street, their boots sharp against the metal.

She tugged the scarf lower over her ears, Osmo’s warning still echoing in her mind. Invisible people tend to live longer.

Her eyes traced the horizon, where the city lights bled into the distant darkness. For the first time since arriving, she wondered if she’d ever see home again.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the shop’s downstairs smelled of fresh coffee and sawdust. Audrey padded down the narrow stairs, scarf already in place, blinking against the early sunlight that slipped through the front windows. Osmo was behind the counter, polishing a stack of brass trinkets with a rag, a mug of something steaming beside him.

“You’re up,” he said without looking up. “Good. Today’s going to be busy, so I need you to be sharp and alert!” 

She let out a groggy half-laugh. “No breakfast in bed, then?”

“Not unless you count sweeping the floor as a breakfast blessing.” He tossed her a short-handled broom.

Her first job of the day was exactly that—sweeping dust, straw, and the occasional stray feather from the floorboards. The shop was bigger than she’d realized, stretching past shelves lined with mechanical odds and ends, animal feed bags, jars of strange preserves, and crates stamped with faded shipping codes.

As she worked, her gaze drifted toward her headphones where they dangled uselessly around her neck. Ever since she’d come through the Rift, they hadn’t worked—just a faint static hiss no matter what she tried. Music had always been her tether, and now the silence felt louder than anything Haven could throw at her.

“Figures.” She gave the broom an extra sharp sweep, muttering, “The one thing I can’t live without decides to crap out the second I land here.”

Osmo’s eyes flicked to the headset, pausing mid-wipe. He didn’t comment, just grunted and went back to polishing brass. But he filed it away, noting the way she touched the headphones almost absently, like a nervous habit she couldn’t shake.

Customers trickled in over the morning: merchants in layered coats, delivery boys with sunburnt noses, and a few farmers smelling of smoke and wet earth. Audrey kept her head down, letting Osmo handle the greetings and haggling. Still, she caught the curious glances—quick, assessing looks from customers who didn’t recognize her. Her fingers tightened on the broom handle each time.

“Keep moving,” Osmo murmured once as he passed her, sliding a sack of grain over his shoulder. “Idle hands attract attention. Busy hands don’t.”

By midday, she’d moved on to stocking shelves, learning where each odd item went. She paused at a jar full of what looked like polished green stones. “What are these?” she asked.

“Eco stones,” Osmo said from across the room. “Don’t touch ‘em unless you like your hair standing on end for a week.”

She quickly set them back.

When business slowed, Osmo slid a stool over and gestured for her to sit. He counted out a few metal coins into her palm. “Half a day’s pay. Spend it carefully—Haven will bleed your pockets dry if you let it.”

Audrey rolled the coins between her fingers, their unfamiliar weight both grounding and unnerving. “Thanks,” she said, “though part of me feels like I don’t belong here enough to deserve it.”

“You work, you get paid,” Osmo replied simply. “That’s belonging enough.”

By the time the neon sign outside flickered to life that evening, Audrey’s arms ached and her legs felt like they’d been walking all day—because they had. She had just laid the last of the feed sacks against the wall. 

“Alright,” Osmo said, dusting his palms together as if the day’s work had officially ended. “I think it’s time you got to know Haven a bit better. You had a rough start, but we can turn this around. We’re going to the market.” He wiped the collected dust from his coat and set his hat firmly on his head. “I need spare parts—and you can’t hide in here forever.”

Audrey rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. It had been days since her arrival, and she’d mostly stuck to the safe, cluttered corners of the Kridder Ridder. The shop smelled like oil and cedar, and she’d found herself oddly comforted by the strange contraptions Osmo cobbled together—bug zappers that looked like weapons, tiny cages wired with humming circuits. Out there, though… out there was Haven.

“I mean… is it even okay for me to go out?” she asked, half-hopeful, half-anxious. “Pretty sure I stick out like a neon sign.”

Osmo’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “I don’t see why not! Haven’s full of strange faces. One more won’t break it.” He swung into his old coat, the hem brushing his boots, and held the door open with a beaming smile that left little room for argument.

Audrey hesitated, biting her lip, then tugged her scarf higher over her ears. She squared her shoulders. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”

The city hit her like a wave. The market district stretched alive with noise and color—neon signs buzzing overhead, food carts hissing with skewers of sizzling meat, stalls stacked with metal parts and wire coils spilling onto the street. Merchants barked prices in a mix of languages, hovercars roared above, and somewhere a street musician played a lilting tune on a battered horn.

Audrey couldn’t help it. Her eyes went wide, taking in every flashing light, every glint of copper and steel, every shouted deal. “Wow,” she breathed, more to herself than to Osmo. “This is… insane.”

“Insane’s one word for it,” Osmo muttered fondly, weaving between stalls. “Keep close. Crowds’ll eat you alive if you don’t keep pace.”

She kept at his shoulder, scarf pulled snug, but her gaze snagged on something painted across a stone wall near one of the vendors: looping, curling marks. The same kind of symbols she’d seen etched on Henry’s relic back at the museum. Her steps slowed. “Wait… those.” She pointed. “What are they?”

Osmo glanced where she indicated and snorted. “Old Precursor script. Nobody really knows what it means. These days it gets slapped on temples, shrines, or charms to keep bad luck away. Bit of religious mumbo jumbo if you ask me.”

“Precursor?” Audrey echoed, tasting the word.

His eyes cut to her, brows rising. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Precursors? Oh, lass, you really aren’t from around here.”

She flushed but leaned in. “Guess not. Care to fill me in?”

As they walked, Osmo launched into stories—legends of the Precursors, ancient beings who had shaped the world, who had left behind eco and ruins that still dictated life in Haven. He spoke with the ease of a man who’d grown up on the myths but studied enough to separate fact from fable.

Audrey listened intently, her eyes shining in the glow of a neon sign as his words painted a history she’d never imagined.

When he finally finished, she gave him a crooked grin. “Wow. You really know your stuff, huh?”

“I… dabble,” he said, swatting the compliment away like a fly.

“Cool,” she said with a grin, then added, “Think you could teach me how to read? Y’know, your written language. Figured if I’m staying awhile, it’d be smart to get a head start on, like… not being illiterate.”

Osmo chuckled, shaking his head. “Bright and early tomorrow. We’ll start with the basics. Letters, signs, the lot.”

Audrey smiled into her scarf, suddenly lighter despite the press of the crowd. For the first time, Haven didn’t feel like a cage. It felt like a challenge—and maybe, just maybe, she could rise to meet it.

They passed a worn brick wall half-hidden between two food stalls. Her eyes snagged on the mark spray-painted across it—  A green circle dripped down the wall like wet paint. Inside the circle was the black silhouette of a helm—sharp, angular, split by a jagged crack down the center. A hammer loomed behind it, its head tilted like it had just smashed through.It wasn’t decorative, not like the curling Precursor script she’d seen before. This was deliberate.

“Hey,” she murmured, tugging lightly at Osmo’s sleeve. “What’s that mean?”

Osmo’s eyes flicked once to the wall, then just as quickly away. His jaw worked. “Keep walking.”

“But—”

“Underground,” he said under his breath, so soft she almost didn’t catch it. His gaze swept the crowd, voice clipped and urgent. “They leave marks in places like this. To signal safe routes. Or warn their own. Don’t stare at it. Don’t talk about it. Not here.”

Audrey’s steps faltered, her heart tightening. “The Underground?”

Osmo’s tone was sharp, final. “Quiet, lass. All you need to know is they’re the only ones in this city with teeth sharp enough to bite back. But even saying the name too loud can get you hauled away.”

Her pulse thudded harder. She forced her eyes forward, but Audrey kept glancing back as they walked. The cracked helm seemed to stare right through her scarf, bold and defiant, the green paint dripping like veins across the metal.

Osmo had sent her out with a short list—feed for a customer’s pet and a bag of brass bolts “cheaper at market if you know who to ask.” Audrey wound through the narrow streets, clutching her coin purse tight.

The city was overwhelming. Shouts in languages she didn’t recognize, flashing signs for things she’d never heard of, music spilling from a vendor’s radio one second and the distant whine of engines the next. She was starting to get used to the way people’s ears tapered into fine points, though she still caught herself staring sometimes.

She was halfway to the bolts vendor when the hairs on her arms stood up.

Someone was watching her.

Audrey slowed, pretending to inspect a rack of scarves. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a man standing under the shadow of a stone overhang. His arms were folded, his posture sharp, controlled. A crimson scarf hung loose around his neck, contrasting the dark of his short-cropped hair.

Even from this distance, she could see the way his eyes tracked her. Calculating. Assessing.

Her stomach tightened.

She turned toward the stall fully, keeping the scarf between her fingers, but when she dared a glance back, the man was gone—slipped into the moving crowd without a sound.

Audrey exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the task.

That night, lying in the loft, Audrey couldn’t shake the image of the man’s face—his hard eyes, the way he’d watched her like she was a problem he meant to solve.

She didn’t notice the shadow tailing her through the narrow side streets—keeping just far enough back to blend into the late-day rush, but close enough that his eyes never left her.

As she stepped inside, a flicker of movement caught in the shop’s reflection on the front glass. That same man—the one from the market—was approaching. His crimson scarf shifted with the breeze, his boots making no more noise than the hum of the street beyond.

Osmo’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, narrowing slightly.

“So,” The man stopped just outside the door. His tone was quiet but edged, every word weighed. "What's with the stray?”

“She works here,” Osmo replied, leaning his weight on the doorframe. His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was an iron undercurrent there—like two old predators acknowledging each other. “Problem with that?”

The man’s gaze lingered on Audrey for a beat longer than she liked. “Not yet.”

Osmo didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

For a moment, neither spoke, broken by hushed tones she couldn't make out. Then, without a word, the stranger turned and walked back into the crowd, his silhouette swallowed by the city’s shifting lights.

Audrey’s throat felt tight. “Who was that?”

Osmo just shook his head and ushered her inside. “A friend,” was all he managed to say. 

“Um, strange friend you got there…” Audrey stepped deeper into the shop, still unsettled by the exchange. But Osmo didn’t follow her right away—he stayed by the door, watching the crowd like he could still see the stranger’s silhouette threading through it.

Outside, Torn slowed his pace only once he’d put a full block between himself and the Kridder Ridder. But he hadn’t left without noticing something.

When she’d turned slightly to hand Osmo the bolts, her hair had shifted just enough to reveal the curve of an ear—short, round, nothing like the tapered points of every person in Haven. He lingered at the mouth of the alley, the city’s orange streetlamps catching the faint scar across his jaw as his thoughts turned over. Then he vanished into the shadows without a sound.

Inside, Osmo finally shut the door and turned to Audrey, his voice low. “ looks like that scarf is not enough. Before you head upstairs, we need to do something about those ears of yours.”

“Again?” Audrey looked at him confused.

Osmo led her toward the back of the shop, weaving between stacked crates and old engine parts until they reached a narrow workbench pressed up against the wall. Above it hung all manner of odds and ends—goggles with cracked lenses, bits of leather straps, coils of wire, and a row of dusty jars filled with unidentifiable components.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to an old stool whose cushion had long since flattened.

Audrey hesitated. “Do you think he noticed?”

He gave her a wry smile and pulled a small, battered case from the top shelf. “Our friend there definitely noticed. So, unless you fancy becoming a walking curiosity in this city we need to take care of those ears of yours.”

He snapped the case open, revealing scraps of worn leather, strips of tan cloth, and an assortment of metal clasps and buckles. The smell of old hide and machine oil rose up instantly, grounding her in something tangible and real after a day that had felt like nothing but chaos.

“What are we doing exactly?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“Making you blend in,” Osmo said, selecting a pair of dusty pilot’s caps—one whole, the other with its seams frayed. He picked the better of the two and set it on the bench, checking the lining with a practiced hand. “Old sky-rider gear. Worn right, nobody will think twice about what’s underneath.”

He stepped closer, tilting his head as he took in the way her hair fell around her face. “We’ll have to tuck most of this in. Won’t be comfortable.”

“That’s fine,” she muttered, suddenly self-conscious.

Osmo was careful as he gathered her hair, fingers surprisingly gentle for a man whose hands were calloused from years of repairs. The cap slid down over her head, snug but not suffocating. A leather chin strap dangled loose, and he buckled it just enough to hold without pinching.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “Now you just look like some gearhead’s apprentice.”

Audrey glanced at the cracked mirror propped in the corner. The sight made her blink—gone was the obvious outsider with her strange, round ears. In her place stood someone who could almost pass for a local… if you ignored the wide-eyed confusion still clinging to her expression.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Osmo’s gaze softened for just a moment before he straightened. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll talk about work, and maybe… about how to get you home.”

The old man had sent her out again for groceries—bread, fruit, a sack of grain. Ordinary things. It gave her something to do while she settled into her new life. She hugged the cloth bag tight against her side as she cut through one of Haven’s narrow backstreets, head ducked, scarf pulled close.

The city was louder than usual, the air alive with hovercar engines and hawkers closing out their stalls. She rounded a corner—and slammed shoulder-first into something unyielding.

Her breath caught. A Krimzon Guard turned, visor glinting in the dusk. His hand shot out, catching the edge of her scarf. He barked. “Hold it!”

Audrey froze, panic clawing up her throat. She knew what came next—chains, like Jak. The thought jolted her legs into motion.

She ran.

The Guard lunged, gauntlet snapping around her wrist. She yanked hard, heart hammering, but his grip tightened like a vise. “Thought you could run? That’s as good as guilt in Haven.”

“I didn’t do anything!” she gasped, wrenching her arm, nails scraping uselessly against his armor.

Another Guard rounded in at the commotion, his rifle slung but hands eager. “We’ve got another fugitive. Bag her.”

“No!” Audrey snarled. Panic made her stronger than sense. She drove her elbow into the first Guard’s ribs—felt the jarring impact against the plated chest piece—then stomped down on his instep. He cursed, grip faltering.

The second Guard grabbed for her shoulder. She twisted free, scarf slipping from her neck, and swung the grocery bag straight into his helmet. Apples burst under the blow, juice spraying across the metal. He reeled back a step, visor dripping.

For a heartbeat, she stood heaving, arms raised like a cornered fighter. Fear seared every nerve—but so did defiance. She refused to go quietly.

Then the ground leapt.

A deafening BOOM tore through the street, rattling the windows and shaking plaster from the walls. Firelight flared down the block, thick smoke pouring out in a wave that swallowed the neon signs. Screams cut the air as civilians scattered.

The Guards faltered, coughing, blinded in the sudden haze.

Audrey wrenched her arm free and staggered back against the alley wall, chest heaving, lungs scraping for breath. Her eyes watered against the acrid smoke.

Through it, a silhouette emerged—calm where the world burned. Boots steady. Shoulders squared. A crimson scarf slashed across the grey blur of smoke. His steel eyes found hers instantly, holding her in place.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. A hand seized her arm firmly, “Move.”

Audrey stumbled after him, coughing, the chaos falling away as he led her through the maze of alleys. His stride was long, controlled, every turn chosen without hesitation. Only when the noise of pursuit dulled did he stop, shoving her back against a damp brick wall beneath the glow of a flickering sconce.

“You should be more careful,” he said, voice flat, cutting through the rasp of her breath. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Audrey’s body trembled, more from fury than fear. “Do they just take people?” Her voice cracked. “Just like that? No reason?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “They do a lot worse than that.”

Her stomach turned, imagining chains, cells, worse. Anger flared to life under her fear, a spark she couldn’t smother.

“I’ll take you back to Osmo,” he said at last.

Audrey blinked, the words catching her. “Wait… you know Osmo?”

The barest twitch of a smirk. “Better than you think.”

By the time they reached the Kridder Ridder, her legs felt like they’d been running for miles. Osmo was behind the counter, counting parts into a tray. His head snapped up, eyes widening when he saw who walked in at her side.

“Torn.” His voice was half-surprised, half-guarded.

The man—Torn, then—didn’t answer, only stood with that same unblinking stare, his hand still resting lightly on Audrey’s shoulder.

“Audrey, what happened?” Osmo’s concern slipped into his voice.

“I almost…got snatched up” She let out a shaky laugh, rubbing her wrist where the Guard’s gauntlet had bruised it.

“She’s got fight,” Torn said flatly, as if the words were fact and nothing more.

Osmo’s jaw set. “She wouldn’t know what she’s getting into.”

Audrey’s head snapped between them. “Getting into what?”

“She could join,” Torn pressed.

“Join what?!” Audrey demanded, voice rising with her confusion.

Osmo shook his head, frustration edging his voice. “She doesn’t even know the first thing about—”

“Hello?!” Audrey’s hands went up. “Would somebody please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

The silence that followed was taut as wire. Torn studied her like he was weighing the sum of her worth against the danger outside.

Finally, he stepped back toward the door, steel-grey eyes never leaving her. “I’ll be back.”

And then he was gone, vanishing into the city’s smoke and neon as if the chaos had swallowed him whole.

Osmo exhaled heavily, rubbing at his temple. His look at Audrey was heavy with warning—and a faint, reluctant pride.

“When Torn wants something,” he muttered, “he usually gets it.”

For several days after, Audrey hadn't seen the man that saved her. It seemed like a forgotten memory, spur of the moment. But little did she realize it wouldn’t be the last time she saw him again.

He was standing in the narrow street outside the Kridder Ridder, alone, crimson armor catching the glow of a neon sign. The sight of it froze Audrey mid-step. A Krimzon Guard. Every muscle in her body screamed to turn, to run, but then he lifted his helmet.

Steel-grey eyes. That same scar on his jaw.

“You—,” Her throat felt dry. “You’re… a Guard?”

His mouth twitched like the word tasted foul. “I wear the armor. Doesn’t mean I believe the Baron’s lies. Things were different once. Better. Before Praxis gutted this city and left it bleeding.” 

Audrey swallowed. “Better how?”

He glanced toward the skyline, where the shattered outer wall carved a jagged horizon. “When King Damas ruled, Haven wasn’t perfect. But there was balance. Unity. People trusted their leaders.” His voice hardened. “Then the Metal Head attacks came—too many, too strong. They tore down the outer defenses, left half the city in ruin. Praxis seized control in the chaos. Called it order.”

His eyes snapped back to her, sharp again. “Order’s just fear, painted red.”

Audrey’s throat tightened. For a moment, she thought of Jak, shackled and beaten in the street. “So you put on their armor anyway. Why?”

“Because sometimes you have to move inside the machine to learn where it breaks.”

The words chilled her. He sounded like he believed it down to the marrow.

Audrey’s fingers tightened on the strap of her parcel bag. The memory of Jak in chains flared hot and sick in her chest. “…Have you seen a boy? Blonde hair, blue eyes. The Guards dragged him away—”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. For a beat, she thought he might admit something. Instead he shook his head. “Not my division. Errol keeps his prizes close.”

Her heart sank. “So you can’t help me.”

“Not like this.” He stepped forward, lowering his voice until it cut under the noise of the street. “If you want answers, you’ll find them with the people who actually fight back. The Underground.”

Audrey blinked, stunned. “The… Underground?”

“They see what Praxis buries. They hear what the Guard whispers in locked rooms. If that boy matters to you, if you really want his trail—you won’t find it sweeping floors for Osmo.” His gaze bore into hers, steady and unrelenting. “You’ll only find it with us.”

Her chest tightened. It sounded less like an offer, more like inevitability.

“And if I say no?” she asked softly.

That faint smirk again, edged and humorless. “Then you keep hiding until one day the Guard decides you’re worth the chains. And you don’t get away.”

Audrey bit the inside of her cheek. 

“I’ll give you the night to decide.” Torn slid the helmet back over his head, the crimson mask swallowing his scarred face. Without another word, he turned and walked into the crowd, just another Guard on patrol.

Chapter Text

Audrey had barely gotten through breakfast before the front door of the Kridder Ridder swung open and Torn strode in like he owned the place. His eyes swept the room, found her, and pinned her where she sat.

“So?”

Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully, pulse thudding in her ears. “...I’m in.”

He gave a single, satisfied nod. “Walk with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Audrey scraped her chair back, appetite gone, and shoved her plate away. Osmo shot her a warning look from behind the counter, but Torn was already moving. If she wanted answers, this was the road.

She followed him into Haven’s smog-thick morning. The air stank of exhaust and the drone of hover engines. Torn’s long stride forced her to keep pace, and he didn’t say a word until they turned down a cracked alley, where the noise dulled to a low hum.

“What are you good at?” 

“Programming… I guess,” she answered, awkward and honest. She was studying to become a computer engineer and it was the first thing she could think of that might be thought of as useful.  

“Hn, I’ll make use of you yet.” 

He pulled something from inside his coat: a battered metal case, dented at one corner, its clasp barely hanging on.

His eyes locked on hers—steel-grey, sharp enough to strip her bare. “If you meant what you said, you need to understand something. This city doesn’t forgive mistakes. One wrong move, and Praxis won’t just come for you—he’ll come for anyone standing next to you. Including Osmo.”

Audrey’s throat tightened, but she forced herself not to look away.

“Take this to the address on the slip inside,” he said flatly. “Don’t open it, don’t drop it, and don’t talk to anyone about it. Understand?”

Audrey frowned. “What is it?”

“That’s the second thing you don’t need to know.” Torn stepped closer, voice dropping to a growl. “The first is this: if anyone tries to take it from you, you run. Don’t play hero. Don’t be clever. Just. Run.”

Her fingers tightened around the cold metal. “And if I can’t run?”

His smirk was humorless. “Then you’ll learn why I said it.”

At first, the walk was almost mundane. Audrey threaded through the narrow veins of the South Docks, past vendors hawking skewers of greasy meat, scrap dealers shouting prices, the tang of salt and rust in the air. A hover bike screamed past close enough to ruffle her jacket. She kept her head down, one hand clamped on the case.

Then she saw them.

Two Krimzon Guards on the corner ahead, their crimson armor gleaming, rifles slung and ready. They weren’t looking at her—yet—but her pulse spiked.

She turned casually down a side street. Too casually. Her boots struck the pavement too hard, too loud.

A voice barked behind her. “You there—stop!”

Her stomach knotted. She kept walking. Faster.

Another shout. Then the sharp rhythm of armored boots.

She ducked between two warehouses, weaving through a snarl of pipes and stacked crates. The footsteps followed. Someone barked into a comm, the static hiss of reinforcements answering back.

Run. Torn’s voice echoed in her skull. Don’t play hero. Just run.

She broke into a sprint. A warning shot cracked behind her, searing past her ear and sparking against the wall. Audrey’s lungs burned, her legs pumping as she tore down the alley.

At last—the faded green door loomed ahead. The drop point. She skidded to a stop, rapped once, then twice quickly—just as Torn had drilled into her.

A slit scraped open. Dark eyes narrowed at her.
“You’re late,” a voice muttered.

“Yeah, well, traffic,” Audrey snapped, shoving the case forward.

A wiry hand shot out and snatched it away. No explanation. No thank-you. The door slammed shut with a final thunk.

She spun, back pressed to the damp wall, chest heaving. Boots pounded somewhere nearby. Voices shouted orders, growing louder, then fading again.

Audrey waited—counting heartbeats—until the echoes died. Only then did she force herself to walk back the way she’d come, every muscle taut, every nerve screaming.

Torn hadn’t been bluffing. If she slipped once—if the Guard had caught her—she’d already be in a cell.

And she wasn’t sure the case had been worth the price.

When she returned to the Kridder Ridder, Torn was waiting at the counter. A half-finished glass of something dark sat in front of him. He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his gaze was cool, assessing.

“You’re back in one piece,” he said at last.

“Barely,” Audrey muttered.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth, sharp and quick. “Good. Maybe you’ll last here after all.”

She flexed her hands beneath the counter. They still shook faintly. The phantom weight of the case clung to her palms like a brand.

“Now,” Torn said, turning slightly, “meet our latest newbie, newbie.”

From the shadows by the wall, a blonde girl stepped forward, arms crossed, her scowl sharp enough to cut glass. She approached with slow, deliberate steps. Audrey gulped but forced herself to keep cool, staring back challengingly—at least, trying to.

“Audrey, this is Tess, our new communications and weapons girl. She just started today, just like you.”

“It’s so good to meet you!” the girl squealed suddenly, her face splitting into a bright smile. Before Audrey could react, she was wrapped in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh—uh—good to meet you too,” Audrey stammered, a little breathless, completely thrown off. Not at all the greeting she expected.

Tess pulled back, still grinning. “We’re gonna get along great.”

Audrey wasn’t sure if that scared her more or less.

Torn smirked, “Welcome to the Underground."

A month into knowing Tess, living together felt inevitable. The apartment above a noodle shop in the South Docks was cramped, with thin walls and a temperamental heater, but it was theirs. Tess had begged her way in with the excuse of splitting rent; Audrey had agreed because it gave her space to protect Osmo’s identity—and because, against her better judgment, she liked Tess.

The first week was chaos. Tess sang loudly in the shower, left weapons disassembled on the kitchen counter, and brought home half-eaten street food like it was treasure. Audrey grumbled, rolled her eyes, and muttered about bad habits leading to bugs—but she didn’t kick her out.

By the second week, Audrey realized Tess had a knack for dragging her out of her shell.

“Come on, Odd,” Tess coaxed one night, tugging her by the sleeve into a dive with flickering neon lights. “Karaoke night. You’ve got that whole brooding, mysterious musician vibe—I bet you kill it on stage.” 

Audrey scowled at the nickname, but Tess’s grin was relentless. And maybe… maybe she wanted to sing. Just a little.

The crowd was half-drunk and rowdy, the mic sticky from a thousand hands, but when Audrey stepped onto the stage, her nerves melted into fire. The first notes left her throat raw, aching, but true—and when the room actually quieted to listen, something shifted. She wasn’t afraid anymore.

Tess whooped the loudest, pounding the table until her drink sloshed over the edge. “That’s my bestie!” she yelled.

Nights blurred into a pattern. Tess would drag Audrey to another karaoke bar, or a tiny corner stage in some dockside tavern, or even open-air markets where buskers fought for space. Audrey played guitar when she could scrounge one, sang when she couldn’t.

Music became her tether—the only thing that kept the bitterness at bay when the weight of Haven pressed too hard.

Still, old habits clung. Audrey had bursts of energy at impossible hours, sometimes stumbling into the apartment at two in the morning only to start strumming in the dark, half-whispering lyrics she hadn’t finished. Tess groaned into her pillow, threw shoes at her, and then, eventually, sat up and listened.

“You’re insane,” Tess muttered one night, rubbing her eyes. “But… that was good.”

Audrey ducked her head, pretending not to smile as she adjusted the tuning pegs.

Osmo, ever patient, finally brought it up the next morning when he found Audrey bleary-eyed but buzzing with energy. “My dear,” he said with a chuckle, “perhaps let Haven sleep once in a while, eh?”

Tess, of course, picked that moment to announce cheerfully, “We’re roommates now!”

Osmo’s booming laugh nearly shook the shop windows.

In the months that followed, Audrey changed. She still carried the same stubborn edge, still snapped when stress piled too high—but Haven didn’t swallow her the way it once had.

Her hair grew longer, her stance sharpened. She could slip through markets unnoticed, knew which alleys cut travel time, which vendors gave discounts after dusk. She carried herself like someone who belonged here.

But in dim-lit bars, with Tess clapping off-beat in the front row, Audrey still sang like the world was burning and only music could save it.

And maybe, just maybe, it saved her too.

Torn made it official. Behind the Underground’s desk, he slid a forged citizen’s pass across the table, his tone as dry as ever.

“Congratulations, newbie. You’re officially a citizen of Haven. As far as the Guard’s concerned… you’ve always been here.”

Audrey picked it up, running her thumb along the smooth edges. Her real name gleamed beneath the etched ID number. The photo looked like her, but older—harsher. A Haven citizen staring back. She pocketed it with a smirk. “Guess that means I’m stuck with you guys now.”

“Means you can move without getting your head caved in for lacking papers,” Torn said. His scarred mouth twitched, the closest he came to a smile. “And it means I can finally give you work that matters.”

Work that mattered meant risk. More eyes on her. More ways for things to go wrong.

Later, when she left the safehouse, she stopped on the crowded street, pulling the ID back out. The pass caught the afternoon light, and for the first time since she’d landed in this strange city, she felt something close to belonging.

She slid it back into her pocket and started walking—faster now, blending into the flow of Haven like she’d always been part of it.

Later that night, Tess tossed something into her lap with a grin. “Happy citizenship day, roomie.”

Audrey caught it—a pair of fake long ears, soft to the touch, surprisingly light. She turned them over, confused. “Uh… thanks?”

Tess smirked and tapped the side of her own head. “Try them on.”

When Audrey did, a little communicator inside buzzed to life. A soft green light pulsed along the inner ridge of the ear, linking instantly to the battered tablet and tiny recon drone Tess had been helping her rig for weeks.

Audrey blinked, impressed. “You… wired them into my gear?”

“Yup. Signal receiver, two-way comms, and I threw in some encrypted channels so Torn can’t eavesdrop when you’re gossiping about him.” Tess winked. “Consider it an upgrade. You’ve been soaking up my tech projects like a sponge anyway—figured you were ready for your own kit.”

Audrey smiled despite herself, running her fingers over the ears again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d learned from Tess until now—coding tweaks, hardware mods, little tricks she’d picked up from hours spent watching Tess tear apart and rebuild half the junk in their apartment.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Audrey muttered, though her voice was softer than usual.

“Sure I did,” Tess replied easily, leaning back on the couch with her usual grin. “You’re family now.”

Audrey stared down at the new comms, her chest tightening. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that word. But the warmth in her throat was real, and for the first time in a long while, belonging didn’t feel like a lie.

Audrey crouched on the ledge of a half-collapsed rooftop, the glow of Haven’s neon bleeding into the haze around her. The fake long ears Tess had given her itched faintly against her skin, but the faint green pulse told her they were live.

She whispered, “Testing, testing. Can you hear me, or did you scam me with glorified cosplay?”

Tess’s voice crackled through, cheerful as ever. “Loud and clear, roomie. And I’ll have you know, those ‘cosplay ears’ are patched directly into your drone. Try giving it a spin.”

Audrey rolled her eyes, but flicked on the battered tablet tucked into her belt. A faint buzz sounded, and her palm-sized recon drone zipped up from the alley, its blinking eye swiveling as it hovered at her shoulder.

“See? Beautiful. It’s like you’re me, but with less charm,” Tess teased.

“Ha-ha,” Audrey muttered, though a grin tugged at her mouth. She tapped the tablet screen, sending the drone forward. It zipped above a Guard patrol moving through the street below, their rifles slung as they barked orders at civilians. The live feed flickered to life inside her ears—sharp audio, compressed whispers, the faint hum of comms chatter.

Audrey exhaled slowly. “This is… actually good, Tess. Like—really good.”

“I know,” Tess replied smugly. “Now tell me what the big bad Krimzons are up to before Torn has another aneurysm.”

Audrey leaned into the feed, listening as the Guards discussed a transport route. A munitions shipment—east wall, just after dawn. She repeated the intel, her voice low, sharp.

“Perfect.” Tess’s tone shifted, all playful bravado gone. “That’s the kind of info that gets us ahead of the curve.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Audrey’s pulse thrummed. This wasn’t just banter or late-night karaoke anymore. This was trust.

“You really built this for me?” Audrey asked softly, her eyes still on the patrol below.

“Of course I did. You’re my partner.” Tess’s voice was steady, no hesitation. “And Haven doesn’t chew up partners if I can help it.”

Audrey’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she adjusted her scarf, refocused on the street below, and forced herself to smirk. “Guess that means I can’t screw up, huh?”

“Guess so,” Tess shot back, grinning audibly in her voice.

The drone whirred ahead, and Audrey followed it into the shadows, her steps lighter than they’d been in months.

“Oh! And one more thing—” Tess came through again, more urgent. “Check your satchel.” 

Audrey arched a brow and dug a hand through her satchel. Her fingers immediately found a familiar pair of headphones. “Tess! You didn’t!” 

“Osmo did. Just like new! Although, I will say, that was some seriously old tech. Osmo had to rewire the whole thing to get it to work. Where’d you get it?” she asked curiously. Audrey coughed, beating her chest with a fist to clear her throat. “Oh you know. Scrapyard.” she laughed nervously. 

“Right…” Tess wasn't convinced at all, but she didn't press it. For now. “Well, give Osmo a big ‘thank you’ hug when you see him again.” 

Audrey smiled fondly at the headset, “I will.”

Chapter Text

A year in Haven could change a lot.

Audrey had long since traded her clothes for that of the style of the Havenites. Trading her crop tee and cargo pants for a black turtleneck tank top, brown leather jacket with yellow lapels and dark blue form fitting pants with matching brown leather motocross looking patches on her thighs and black boots. She kept the aviator cap as a back up in case her prosthetic pointed ears ever came off, the adhesive not ever lasting long enough to stay on all the time. At least now, she blended in,

But as it turned out, “blending in” didn’t just mean keeping her head down and not pissing off the Krimzon Guard—it also meant clocking in like a regular citizen, paying taxes she didn’t understand, and pretending that exterminating bugs the size of small dogs was a perfectly respectable career path.

And so, somewhere between running quiet errands for the Underground and trying not to get shot in the crossfire of the city’s daily chaos, Audrey had found herself in the glamorous, high-profile world of pest control.

Yup. Killing oversized, mutant insects for a living. The dream.

She sighed up at the glowing green sign that hung crookedly over the Kridder Ridder’s entrance before setting off toward her next job. “Osmo, you’d better be paying me overtime for this,” she muttered, kicking a loose bolt across the sidewalk.

The morning hadn’t even started properly before Osmo had sent her out on assignment again—some West Side hotel with “a mild infestation” (which usually meant not mild at all). He’d also mentioned, far too cheerfully, that she wouldn’t be working alone.

“I hired a new recruit!” he’d said, puffing up his chest like he’d just discovered the next eco sage. “You’ll meet him there. He’s got promise!”

Audrey didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Promise” usually meant “liability.”

Now, standing in the lobby of the West Side Hotel, Audrey tried not to grind her teeth as the hotel manager—a corporate-looking man in a pressed vest and a permanent sneer—lectured her for the fifth time about the importance of discretion.

“We have guests, Miss Audrey,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. “Paying, respectable guests. If they so much as see a bug zapper or hear a squeal, that comes out of my paycheck.”

“Right,” Audrey deadpanned, flipping open her work tablet. “Because that’s the real tragedy here. Not, you know, the potential mutant infestation eating through your drywall.”

The man gave her a look like she’d personally offended the gods of customer service. “Just handle it quickly.”

“I’ll try to kill them quietly, then.”

She was just about to turn away when a small voice piped up near her boots.

“Hey—down here! I’m talking to you, lady!”

Audrey blinked, frowning. “What the—?”

The hotel manager frowned too, looking around. “Did you—did you hear that?”

“Yeah, sounded like—”

“Like someone ignoring me, that’s what!” came the voice again, louder this time.

Both humans froze, then slowly glanced down.

Standing there, paws on his hips, was a brightly orange-furred creature no taller than her knee, with huge expressive eyes, a tail that twitched like an impatient drumstick, and a confident swagger that didn’t belong on something so small.

Audrey’s brain short-circuited.

“I’ll get rid of it,” she declared automatically, crouching to grab him by the scruff.

The creature sprang back with startling agility, slapping her reaching hand aside with a tiny karate chop. “Hey! No touchy the Ottsel, capiche?”

Audrey froze mid-motion. “Oh my god. It can talk.”

The manager made a strangled squeak, clutching his clipboard like a shield. “It—it talks!”

“‘It’ has a name,” the Ottsel said, smoothing down his fur with exaggerated sophistication. “Daxter. The name’s Daxter. And you must be…” he peered up at her with a lopsided grin, “the bug lady?”

Audrey slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Osmo hired you?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a professional,” Daxter said, puffing out his chest. “Top of my field. Bugs fear me. Women love me. And hotels…”—he glanced around the faded lobby—“…apparently need me.”

Audrey groaned. “This cannot be my life.”

The hotel manager was still staring like his brain had been unplugged. “Wait, so—you’re telling me this thing is the exterminator?”

“This thing,” Daxter snapped, pointing up at him, “is your best shot at getting rid of the creepy-crawlies chewing through your floorboards. You’re welcome.”

Audrey crossed her arms, expression flat. “Right. So I’m partnered with a loudmouth fuzzball who thinks he’s God’s gift to pest control.”

“Hey, I don’t think, toots—I know.”

She glared down at him. “You’re one bad pun away from becoming an accessory on my boots.”

Daxter grinned. “Feisty. I like that in a partner.”

Audrey exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath as she slung her zapper off her shoulder. “Yeah. I’m the stupid bug lady.”

“Correction,” Daxter said, climbing onto a nearby counter and striking a heroic pose. “We’re the bug team. You, me, and a whole lotta critters about to wish they’d never hatched.”

Audrey gave him a sidelong look. “If I step on you by accident, that still counts as pest control, right?”

He winked. “You can try, sweetheart. You can try.”

And just like that, Audrey realized—Haven might’ve thrown her into a city full of madness, corruption, and mutant infestations…

But somehow, this might be the strangest day yet.

"So, what are you again?" Audrey asked, lazily leaning her weight against her rifle-style bug zapper. Her expression flat and unimpressed, as she watched the little guy absolutely wreck a few smaller pests skittering around the alleyway behind the hotel.

Daxter, mid-kick, twisted to shoot her an incredulous look. "Seriously?" He landed on the ground with a huff, dusting off his fur. "How many times do I gotta say it? ott-sel. Half otter, half weasel—all extermination genius."

He delivered one final smack to a particularly stubborn kridder, sending it flying into a dumpster with a satisfying clang. Stretching his arms behind his head, he shot her a smug grin. "You’re welcome, by the way."

Audrey arched a brow. "For what?"

He gestured to the now-cleared alley. "For saving your sorry butt from these guys."

Audrey scoffed, flicking on her zapper, which crackled with energy. "Please. I could’ve handled them in half the time."

Daxter crossed his arms. "Oh yeah? Prove it."

Audrey smirked. "Gladly." She turned toward the next wave of bugs creeping toward them, her grip tightening on her weapon.

This might actually be fun.

Audrey cracked her neck and stepped forward, hoisting her bug zapper rifle onto her shoulder. The moment the next wave of oversized insects skittered into view, she pulled the trigger. A bolt of crackling blue energy shot forward, zapping the first bug mid-crawl. It twitched violently before flopping onto its back, legs curling in.

"Boom. One down." Audrey smirked.

Daxter huffed, crossing his arms. "Okay, okay, not bad, but let's see how you handle that one." He pointed with his paw toward a much larger insect crawling out of a pile of rotting garbage—a grotesque, multi-legged thing with thick armor plating and a pulsating underbelly.

Audrey rolled her eyes. "Great. A Tank Crawler first thing in the morning."

The bug let out a shrill, hissing screech before charging straight at them. Audrey barely had time to brace before Daxter leaped onto her shoulder.

"Alright, partner, time to see if you’ve got real exterminator chops!" he whooped.

"Get off me!" Audrey snapped, trying to shake him off, but Daxter clung on.

"Just shoot, toots!"

The bug lunged. Audrey gritted her teeth, aimed, and fired. The bolt struck the creature square in the chest, but instead of frying it outright, the charge bounced off its armor and fizzled out.

"Uh… what the hell?" Audrey muttered.

The creature shrieked and lunged again. Audrey barely dodged, rolling to the side as it crashed into a pile of scrap metal.

Daxter leaped off her shoulder and landed in front of her, cracking his tiny knuckles. "Guess we gotta do this the old-fashioned way."

Audrey groaned, pushing herself back up. "Of course we do."

The Tank Crawler recovered and turned toward them, its beady eyes locked onto its next meal.

Audrey and Daxter exchanged glances.

"Alright, furball," Audrey muttered, tightening her grip on her weapon. "Let’s take this thing down."

Daxter grinned. "Now you're talkin’!"

Audrey took a step forward, her rifle zapper humming with anticipation as her eyes tracked the next wave of bugs closing in. Daxter's cocky little grin faded as he realized she wasn’t kidding. She swung her weapon expertly, catching a swarm of pests mid-flight as they buzzed toward her. With a sharp motion, the crackling zapper sent a series of blinding arcs of electricity into the air. The bugs were fried in an instant, falling to the ground with faint sizzling sounds. "See? Told you," Audrey said, lowering the zapper with a satisfied smirk.

Daxter blinked, clearly impressed despite his usual aloof attitude. "Huh. Didn’t think you had it in you." He flicked a bit of stray smoke off his fur, nonchalantly swaggering toward her. "Not bad, not bad. I might just have to upgrade to keep up." Audrey snorted. "Keep dreaming, furball." 

Before they could continue their banter, a loud *scrape* came from a nearby dumpster, followed by the eerie silence that signaled something bigger was lurking just beyond the alley's shadows. They exchanged a glance. "Here we go," Audrey muttered, steadying her zapper once again. Daxter grinned. "Let’s see if you can keep up." for 14 seconds

Audrey’s grip tightened on her rifle-style bug zapper as she scanned the area for the next threat. Almost immediately, a swarm of insectoid pests emerged from a shadowed side alley, their chitinous shells glistening in the harsh morning light.

“Daxter, cover my six!” she barked.

Without hesitation, Daxter sprang into action. In a flash, the diminutive ott-sel vaulted over a fallen crate, twisting mid-air and landing gracefully on the other side of the oncoming swarm. “On it!” he called, his voice carrying equal parts excitement and determination. With a series of quick, karate-like kicks, he sent a particularly large bug skittering back into the darkness, its legs twitching in a futile attempt to regain balance.

Audrey’s zapper crackled as she aimed at a cluster of smaller pests. Bolts of electricity arced from the device, incinerating a dozen insects in a brilliant, sizzling burst. The alleyway lit up with the glow of energy and the brief flashes of their frantic battle. Despite her usual stoicism, a small smile tugged at Audrey’s lips. Maybe Daxter really was onto something.

The duo moved in a synchrony that surprised even Audrey. While she methodically cleared the advancing swarm with precise bursts from her zapper, Daxter darted in and out of the fray, his nimble form a blur as he dispatched any creature that dared get too close. Within minutes, the last of the pests had been driven off or reduced to smoldering remnants on the pavement.

Panting, Daxter flopped against a wall, his tiny chest heaving with exertion. “Not bad, right?” he panted, his tone a mix of pride and exhilaration.

Audrey lowered her zapper and nodded, a reluctant smile still playing at the corners of her mouth. “Alright, I’ll admit it—you’re more than just a pretty face and a cute little swagger. You’ve got the extermination chops to back up all that talk.”

Daxter’s whiskers twitched in an unmistakable grin. “Just you wait, Audrey. I may be small, but I’ve got heart—and a mean set of moves.”

“Surree…”

By the time the job was done, the sun was sinking behind Haven’s skyline, turning the metal towers into jagged silhouettes rimmed in amber. Audrey and Daxter trudged back toward the Kridder Ridder, both dusted in grime and smelling faintly of burnt eco and bug guts.

Audrey kicked open the shop door with a groan. “Osmo, you could’ve warned me my new partner was three feet tall and covered in fur.”

From behind the counter, Osmo looked up from his ledger, his face splitting into an innocent smile that didn’t fool her for a second. “Ah, so you met Daxter! Bright little fella, isn’t he?”

“Bright’s one word for it,” Audrey muttered, tugging her scarf loose. “Loud, reckless, and allergic to instructions would be three more.”

Daxter hopped onto the counter beside Osmo’s ledger, puffing his chest out. “Hey, come on, Red—don’t act like you didn’t have fun. We made a great team out there! You shoot, I karate-kick, bugs die happy. Everybody wins.”

Audrey shot him a sidelong glare but couldn’t quite hide the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You nearly bit a Tank Crawler.”

He spread his arms. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

Osmo chuckled, sliding a mug of coffee toward her. “Seems to me you two handled yourselves just fine.”

Audrey sighed, accepting the cup. “Fine. But next time you ‘hire’ someone, maybe specify if they walk on two legs or four.”

Daxter grinned, tail flicking smugly. “I’m more of a leap on everything kinda guy.”

Despite herself, Audrey snorted. He was impossible—but in a way that chipped at her usual hard edges.

Later that night, after Osmo had locked up and retreated upstairs, the two found themselves at a small bar a few blocks down. It wasn’t the kind of place that checked IDs or cleaned its glasses well, but the cider was cheap and the music was just loud enough to drown out thoughts.

Audrey leaned against the counter, tracing circles in the condensation on her drink. Daxter sat on a stool beside her—his feet didn’t reach the rungs, but his ego made up the difference.

“So,” she said, giving him a sideways glance, “how’s the city treating you so far, partner?”

He shrugged, swirling the amber liquid in his thimble-sized glass. “Eh, same old story. Big city, small hero. But, uh…” His tone softened. “I ain’t really here for the nightlife.”

Audrey raised a brow. “Oh? Shocking. I pegged you for a total barfly.”

“Ha-ha,” he said dryly. Then, quieter: “Nah. I’m here lookin’ for someone.”

The humor in her eyes faded into curiosity. “Someone?”

“My best buddy,” he said, voice hitching between pride and worry. “Jak. We’ve been tight since we were kids. Got into all kinds of trouble back home. Then—well—something went sideways. Precursor crap, boom, next thing I know, I wake up in this place.”

Audrey turned toward him fully. “And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Not once,” Daxter said, ears lowering slightly. “A whole year. Feels longer. I been bustin’ my tail tryin’ to track him down, but Haven’s a big, ugly maze, and the KGs don’t exactly hand out lost-and-found flyers.” He tried to laugh, but it came out strained.

Audrey’s stomach twisted. That name again—Jak. She’d heard it before. The first day she’d landed here, the syllables had slipped from her mouth without reason, like a reflex. She’d spent months trying to forget it, convincing herself it was just her brain clinging to some random echo from the rift.

Now, here it was again, spoken by a stranger.

She forced a steady tone. “Jak, huh? Sounds like you two were close.”

“The best,” Daxter said softly. Then, catching her uneasy expression, he straightened, forcing a grin. “But hey, he’s tough. Probably out there somewhere raisin’ hell.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the low hum of conversation and the clink of mugs filling the gap. Audrey stared into her drink, the buzzing in her teeth rising faintly again—like the air just before a storm.

“Here’s to your friend,” she said finally, raising her glass.

Daxter clinked his tiny mug against it. “And to us, Red—the best damn exterminators Haven’s ever seen.”

Audrey chuckled. “You know it.”

Chapter Text

It was a rare blue morning in Haven when Audrey woke with a mouthful of bees.

Not real ones—just that strange, electric buzzing in her teeth, a tingling nest coiled low in her stomach like bad weather stalling over the sea. She pressed her tongue to her molars. The hum didn’t quit. It had been there since the rift, on and off—today louder, insistent. She been trying to cancel out the buzzing with music. Blasting the noise into her ears, hoping the vibrations would counteract, but her headset hung like a useless halo around her neck,unable to fight the noise and feeling. The floppy ears of her makeshift cap bounced begrudgingly with each step.

Today would be different. She just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Daxter rode on her shoulder, yapping away about some adventure he and Jak pulled off. But it was mostly Daxter, so he claimed.

There it was again, that name. 

Audrey’s stomach tipped. The buzzing in her teeth peaked. Jak. The name struck like a bell—She’d heard it in fragments since the day she arrived: the name her mouth had found without permission when she’d first hit the street, the one Daxter muttered like a prayer when he thought no one was listening. It had worked its way under her skin the way a song did—stuck, stubborn, familiar without reason.

Daxter paused mid sentence when his fur bristled as a red and white transport roared past, its steel frame rattling against the uneven streets. For a split second, through the grimy panel window, he caught a flash of blonde hair, a sharp glare of cobalt eyes—then Jak was gone, swallowed by the turns of Haven’s alleys.

His heart sank. “Oh no. Nononono—no way that was him. No way—” He shook his head like that would erase what he’d just seen, but the image was already burned there. Shackled. Slumped. Surrounded by Krimzon Guard like some dangerous criminal.

His legs moved before his brain caught up, claws skittering on stone as he darted after the convoy. His lungs burned, but the transport’s engines were faster, each turn dragging Jak farther away. He skidded to a stop at the corner, chest heaving, staring down the empty street where the convoy had vanished.

For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. His own heartbeat.

Then—bootsteps.

“What are you doing, rodent?” a gruff voice called.

Daxter whipped around. Audrey stood behind him, her jacket collar pulled high against the wind, brows furrowed at the panic in his eyes.

He pointed frantically. “It’s Jak! I saw him! The Guards—they’ve got him locked up!”

Her face went still, jaw tightening. “Where?”

“North sector road—headed toward the Baron’s prison, I think. We gotta bust him out now!”

She hesitated—her stomach twisting. She didn’t know Jak. Breaking into the Baron’s cage was suicide. They’d never make it. The KG would cut them down—or worse, throw them into cells beside him. Some reunion that would be.

But Daxter’s voice had that raw, scraped edge—the sound of someone who’d been looking for far too long and had finally seen a light. He swallowed hard. “I’ve had nothing for two years. No leads. Then today—boom. If I don’t try now, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Desperate eyes hit her like a stab to the heart.

This wasn’t just another Underground or pest control job. This was Jak. Daxter’s best friend and practically brother. If it were her on the transport, if someone she loved had a shot at ripping her out of it… wouldn’t she want them to take it? Even if the odds were trash?

Audrey's arms crossed. “You’re talking about breaking into the Baron’s prison. Y’know, the one crawling with KG and set up to keep people like us out?”

Daxter shot her a look. “Yeah, well, lucky for me, I’m not ‘people like us.’ I’m pint-sized, baby—prime vent-crawling material.”

Audrey rubbed a thumb over the headset. The bees in her teeth sang yes. “Fine. But if we die, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal. Haunt me all you want—after we save him.” He hopped onto her shoulder, lowering his voice. “Last job I had was to get into the prison walls for a pest clean up. Taryn, my recent partner in crime, says there’s a maintenance hatch on the south wall. Leads into the ventilation grid—straight to the holding block.”

She frowned. “And how exactly are you getting to this hatch? Pretty sure the south wall’s guarded twenty-four-seven.”

Daxter’s grin widened. “That’s where you come in, Red.”

Audrey stared at him for a long beat, then sighed. “I’m going to regret this…”

The south wall loomed in the fog-dimmed light, eco sensors humming faintly. KG patrols marched in strict rotations. Audrey crouched low behind a stack of cargo crates, watching their patterns. She licked her teeth and clucked, the buzzing feeling had grown stronger the moment they arrived. 

Two guards passed. She flicked a shard of metal across the alley. It clanged hard, echoing. Both guards stiffened, muttered curses, and moved to investigate.

“Now!” she hissed.

Daxter bolted, slipping across the open ground. He pried the vent grate open and vanished inside just as a searchlight swept the wall.

The vents reeked of dust and machine oil. His claws clinked softly on the metal as he crawled, every nerve lit. Jak was here—he had to be.

He reached a grate above the holding block. Rows of steel cells stretched below, harsh light buzzing overhead. Prisoners shuffled and muttered.

Daxter dropped into a corridor, filched a keycard off a distracted guard, and popped open a cell—empty. Jak wasn’t there.

“Oh great! Got any other bright ideas?” Daxter groaned, rolling his eyes.

Audrey’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “What?! Ugh, fine. One sec. I may have a new location… just getting past this firewall... He’s in the—‘Experimental Chamber’? Something about a ‘Dark Warrior Program.’ This is weird… I’m saving the data. Head through the east wing and make a left. There’s a vent shaft by the main door.”

“Got it, Red.” Daxter’s throat tightened. “Hang in there, buddy…”

He followed the vents until he spotted a chamber below. The Baron and Erol’s voices echoed as they exited, smug, boots clicking against metal before fading into silence.

Daxter dropped down—and froze.

There, chained to a slab, was Jak.

Heavy eco-dampening cuffs bound his wrists and ankles. His blonde hair was longer, falling into his face. His head sagged low. A machine with steaming needles hovered above him, still hissing.

Even from here, Daxter could feel it—that wrongness, heavy and sharp in the air.

He crept closer, forcing a grin. “Ding ding, third floor. Body chains, roach food, torture devices. Hey buddy, you seen any heroes around here? Whoa! What’d they do to you? Jak—it’s me, Daxter!”

Jak stirred, lifting his head slowly. Cobalt eyes met his before his head rolled back, too exhausted. 

Daxter’s fur spiked. “That’s a fine hello! I’ve been crawling all over this place, risking my tail—literally—to save you! I’ve been looking for you for two years! Say something, just this once!”

Jak’s jaw clenched. His breathing became faster and ragged, his anger taking over, “I’m gonna kill, Praxis!”

Daxter’s jaw dropped. “Could you always talk?!” He shrieked, voice cracking. “We’re gonna talk about this later, mister.”

Jak winced, turning his face away.

Daxter scrambled up onto the slab, fumbling with the keycard. “Right now we gotta get you outta here. Just let me figure out these locks so I can—”

Jak’s body convulsed. A guttural roar ripped out of him, dark energy crackling in his veins. With a strength he didn't know he had, he broke through the metal shackles like wood chips.

Daxter froze. “…Or uh, you could do it.” Daxter scrambled to hop off quickly, slowly backing away from his approaching menacingly looking friend,  “Jak? Easy now. Easy, buddy. It’s—it’s your old pal Daxter, remember?”

Just as long sharp claws produced from his fingernails and skin started turning pale white. Jak stopped himself, head lifted, cobalt eyes locking onto Daxter with a strange, unreadable expression. Relief. Rage. Pain.

“…Daxter?”

“What the heck was that?! Sheesh, remind me not to piss you off.” Daxter forced a shaky grin. “Come on, tall, dark, and gruesome—we’re outta here.”

He slipped the card into the cuffs. They hissed, clattering open. Jak flexed his wrists slowly, staring at the angry grooves left in his skin.

“On your feet, pal. We’ve got an express route outta here—ductwork deluxe.”

Jak rose, towering. His lips twitched, not quite a smile. But for the first time in two years, they were side by side again.

“Oh—and I got you some new threads. Put ’em on!”

The corridor outside the chamber was eerily quiet—until the first alarm blared.

Klaxons wailed, red lights flashing across steel walls. The Baron’s prison roared to life as lockdown protocols slammed into place.

“Oh great,” Daxter groaned, covering his ears. “We’ve been here five minutes and you’re already on the most-wanted list. Typical!”

Jak steadied himself against the wall. His eyes darted between the flashing strobes and the sound of boots pounding toward them. “Which way?”

Audrey’s voice crackled over Daxter’s comm. “Left. Maintenance shaft past the east wing cells. Hurry—I can’t hold the south patrols off forever!”

Jak’s chest tightened at the sound of her voice, but there was no time to think about it.

He and Daxter bolted left just as two Krimzon Guards rounded the corner.

The first Guard raised his rifle—only for Jak to rip it out of his hands and smash the butt across the man’s helmet, sending him sprawling. The second lunged, swinging his shock baton. Jak caught his wrist, twisted hard, and slammed him into the wall.

The motions weren’t graceful. He was slower than he used to be, rusty. But the muscle memory was there. The fight was still in him.

“Nice! Still got it, big guy!” Daxter cheered, clinging to Jak’s shoulder. “Now let’s run before more guards show up.”

They tore down the corridor, alarms screaming. Guards poured in from the flanks, gunfire rattling off steel. Jak ducked behind a support beam, fists tightening, ready for the fight.

Audrey’s voice snapped: “Don’t stop! You’ll never win a stand-off there—keep moving!”

So he did.

They barreled through a side passage, Daxter guiding with frantic paw-pointing, Jak knocking down Guards with brute force whenever they got too close. No weapons, no eco—just grit, fists, and fury.

By the time they reached the east wing, Jak was panting hard. His new shirt clung with sweat under his leather navy jacket, his knuckles raw from striking armored visors. But there, at the end of the hall, was their exit: a maintenance hatch, half-open, faint light spilling through.

Audrey crouched just outside, pistol raised, fire in her eyes as she covered the doorway. The sharp bark of her weapon cracked through the chaos, dropping a Guard that had been aiming at Jak’s back.

“Go!” she barked.

Jak didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, Daxter still clinging to his shoulder, and vaulted through the hatch into the night air. Audrey was right behind him, slamming the door shut and tossing a charge on the panel. It sparked, sealing the mechanism.

The three of them sprinted through the fog-dimmed streets, the prison alarms still howling in the distance. The glow of the towers loomed behind them like the eye of a beast that would not forget.

Only when they’d reached the relative quiet of the slums did Jak finally stop, bracing himself against a wall, chest heaving.

Daxter dropped to the ground, panting. “Well. That was fun. Let’s never do it again.”

Audrey's eyes swept over Jak. The sight of him nearly broke her composure—the hollow cheeks, the bruises, the way he still carried himself like a fighter despite the weight of captivity. There was something else, a familiarity that she couldn't quite place, a tug. He looked older and sharper than when she first saw him, but it was him. The boy she saw taken away.

For a split second, the chaos fell away. Eyes locked in the shadows—the stranger with the old aviator cap around her head, leather jacket hanging off her shoulders, and a gun steady in her hands. Her hair caught the glow of a nearby neon sign, burning like embers against the night.

He slowed, just a breath, scanning her like he was trying to place her face. But there was nothing—he’d never seen her before in his life.

“You gonna stand there, or are we moving?” she called, voice edged with urgency.

Jak blinked, jaw tightening, and nodded once. “Moving.”

They turned a corner into one of Haven’s older districts, the walls cracked with age, pipes hissing with steam. A man in tattered robes and long grey hair with a head piece that reminded Audrey of a Metalhead skull, leaned on a cane near a rusted archway, a young green haired boy clinging close to his side.

“Hello, strangers,” the man rasped. His tone was warm, but his eyes lingered on Jak. “My name is Kor. May I help y—?”

Jak stepped forward, fists clenched, voice gravel from disuse. “You look like a reasonably smart man. I want information. Where the hell am I?!”

Audrey blinked, startled by the sudden brute force. He hadn’t spoken much since they escaped, and now the words cracked out of him like lightning. “Whoa, hey now hold on —” she started. 

Daxter scrambled to smooth things over. “Uh, sorry. He’s new to the whole conversation thing.”

Kor chuckled softly. “Well, my angry young friend, you are a guest of his majesty Baron Praxis, the ruler of ‘glorious’ Haven City.”

Jak’s eyes narrowed. “I was just a guest in the Baron’s prison.”

Kor tapped his cane against the ground, leaning closer. “Inside a cell, or inside the city—walls surround us both. We are all his prisoners.”

The boy tugged at his sleeve, but Kor’s gaze never left Jak. “Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time… If I were you, I’d move on quickly.”

Before Jak could respond, a squad of Krimzon Guard rounded the corner, rifles leveled. Their captain barked, “By order of his eminence, the Grand Protector of Haven City, Baron Praxis—everyone in this section is hereby under arrest for suspicion of harboring Underground fugitives. Surrender and die!”

Daxter’s ears shot up. “Uh, excuse me, sir—don’t you mean surrender or die?!”

“Not in this city.”Kor turned his head slightly, voice low. “Protect us from these guards, and I’ll introduce you to someone who can help.”

The Guards opened fire.

Something inside Jak snapped.

He doubled over, a guttural growl tearing from his chest. Black lightning crackled across his skin, his form bulging and twisting as Dark Eco surged through his veins like purple lightning, turning his skin white as snow. His blue eyes flared into a savage black, completely overtaking his eyes and with a roar he tore into the soldiers. Rifles bent under his grip, armored bodies hurled into walls, screams cut short in the chaos.

Audrey froze. Her blaster was in her hands before she realized it, sights locked on Jak. Her instincts screamed to shoot.

And yet… she couldn’t pull the trigger.

Fear rippled down her spine, cold and sharp—but tangled with something hotter, something that pulled her in instead of pushing her away. She should have been terrified. But all she could do was stare, caught between wanting to run and… wanting to understand.

“Jak!” Daxter yelped, voice shrill over the gunfire. “Buddy! You okay?!”

Jak staggered, snarling, chest heaving as the last Guard fell. He clutched his head, eyes blazing. “Something’s… happening to me. Something he did… I can’t control it!”

Kor’s voice was calm, unnervingly so. “Very impressive.”

Audrey’s breath caught. Her hands shook around her blaster, but she couldn’t look away from Jak—burning, broken, furious.

Kor rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What you just did was very brave. This child is important.”

Daxter glanced down at the kid, his nose wrinkling. “This kid? He looks kinda scruffy.”

Another patrol shouted from down the street. “You are in a restricted zone! Move along!”

Kor straightened, his cane clicking against the stone. “Thank you for your help. But I must get this boy to safety.” He turned, already pulling the child away into the shadows.

“Hey!” Daxter shouted. “What about us?!”

Kor’s voice drifted back. “There is an Underground group waging war against Praxis. Its leader, the Shadow, could use fighters like you. Go to the Slums. Find a dead-end alley near the city wall. Ask for Torn. He can help you.”

Then he was gone.

The silence he left behind was heavier than the echoes of gunfire.

Jak straightened slowly, his form shrinking back into itself, but the glow in his cobalt eyes lingered like embers in a dying fire. Audrey’s blaster remained half-raised, her palms slick against the grip, breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat.

She forced herself to lower it. Her pulse still thundered.

She didn’t understand what she had just seen.The claws, the horns, the sheer violence—she should have been terrified. Part of her was. But what made her stomach twist worse was the truth humming beneath her fear.

She wasn’t sure if she was afraid of him… or of the fact she wasn’t.

A shout snapped her out of it. Another squad of KG spilled into the street, rifles raised and pointed at them.

“Move!” she barked, shoving the confusion down where it couldn’t trip her up. “Hurry, there’s a safehouse not far from here. We can lose them there!” 

They ran. Boots pounding against the rooftops in sync, breath fogging in the cold night air. Sirens howled, searchlights swept past them, but Audrey didn’t look back once. Every turn they made was one she had mapped a dozen times before—routes drawn in the dirt behind Osmo’s shop, alternatives planned for when the KG pushed too close. She hadn’t expected to use them this soon, but her body moved without hesitation, guiding Jak and Daxter like she’d been doing it for years.

And though Jak didn’t even know her name, something in the way she kept glancing back to make sure he was still there—something in the way she’d been waiting—felt deliberate.

The safehouse door slammed shut behind them with a clang, echoing through the narrow, dust-choked space. Audrey threw the locks, her hands shaking, though she hid it behind quick, practiced movements.

Dust motes danced in the glow of a desk lamp, its light pooling over a battered table littered with maps and mismatched mugs.

Daxter hopped down onto a crate, tail thrashing as he tried to catch his breath. “Whew—remind me never to crawl through a vent again.” He pointed at Audrey with a shaky paw. “And you—you’re a lifesaver. Literally. I owe you one. Big time.”

Audrey managed the ghost of a smirk, tugging off her gloves one finger at a time. But inside, her stomach churned. She stole a glance toward Jak, who stood in the shadows, rubbing absently at the raw grooves around his wrists.

He looked broken and dangerous all at once.

She’d seen his eyes blazing like a predator’s. She’d watched him tear through soldiers like they were paper. She’d raised her weapon at him, knowing she should fire—and hadn’t.

And now, with him standing only a few feet away, silent and human again, Audrey wasn’t sure if the pounding in her chest was fear, relief, or something else entirely.

Maybe all three.

Jak, still rubbing at the raw skin where the shackles had been, finally turned his gaze to the stranger in the corner —the girl who hadn’t flinched even when she’d seen him turn into… whatever he had become.

She was peeling off the oversized leather Jacket slipping on her shoulders. She gently unwrapped the scarf around her head, strands of flaming red hair escaped in long, curling tips that brushed her collar. A black tank top—paired with pants tucked into well-worn boots.

“You did all that… for him?” Jak’s voice was low, gravelly, still rough from disuse.

Audrey didn’t look at him right away. She was busy unlacing her boots, speaking over her shoulder. “Daxter asked. Nicely. Sort of.” She shot the ott-sel a faint smirk. “And I figured you probably didn’t deserve to rot in there… yet.”

Jak’s brows drew together, somewhere between irritation and curiosity. “You don’t even know me.”

“Nope,” she said simply, tossing one boot aside. “But your friend does. And I trust him.” She finally met his eyes, and there was something steady there—no fawning, no awe, just a quiet confidence that made her ears roar.

Daxter grinned, pointing between them. “See? I have connections.”

Jak looked like he wanted to say something else, but kept it to himself, settling for a nod instead.

They settled into their own corners of the small safe house, waiting for the coast to clear before they head back out again, but it looked like it wouldn't be until daybreak. 

“Phew, I'm starving! Don’t know about you guys but I could eat an entire Yakow right about now.” Daxter piped, rubbing his growling empty stomach. “Lemme know when dinner’s ready.” he yawned before trailing off into a nap.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Audrey offered, standing up from her seated position by the windowsill. She was watching just to make sure no one followed them. 

“Hey…What's your name?” Jak asked from the quiet of his makeshift bed on the beaten down couch. It was the best thing he’d lay on in the last two years. 

Audrey glanced behind her shoulder to look at him while searching the cabinets for leftover rations. 

His vividly blue cobalt eyes were staring at her, no more like it felt he was staring into her soul. She couldn't explain the overwhelming heated feeling and the shiver that ran down her spine. 

“Audrey.” she said simply, ignoring the chill.

Jak nodded slowly, “Audrey…” as if testing her name on his tongue. “Thanks.” 

Audrey paused, surprised. She could feel the heat rise on her cheeks. “Oh uh…it was nothing…”

It wasn’t nothing. The compass that had clicked in her chest the day she crossed the light tugged true again, louder now, pointing straight at the boy on the couch who shouldn’t have mattered and somehow already did.

And though she tried not to dwell on it, she couldn’t shake the sound of her name on his lips—like he’d already claimed it.