Chapter 27
SOLEIL
Her steps echoed throughout the rust-veined tunnel floors she traversed.
Clad in a worn cloak and simple jumpsuit, she merged with the constant hustle of the never-sleeping hallways.
Winding her way from the dorm blocks toward the outer habitation ring.
She pushed a hand through her shorter, tighter pixie cut, a mode she adopted since hacking off her long locks weeks ago upon arrival at Cybele.
The style served anonymity, yes, but it helped her block out the memory of her lover running his hands through her hair.
She shook off the image of his handsome, sculpted face, dodging a growling courier to slip into the packed maglev train.
The carrier screamed its way toward the space port.
The air reeked of recycled ozone and too many strangers breathing too close together.
Far above her head, the asteroid spun, simulating a weak 0.3g gravity that tugged at her bones without ever letting her forget she stood on no planet.
Cybele Station had been one of the first human footholds in the Wildlight Expanse.
Half a generation ago, the Accord, along with DarkNet money, pirates, and vigilantes, carved it into a bustling junction of survival and chaos.
Now it housed over six million permanent residents, and a myriad more drifted through on any given day. Hundreds of ships docked daily, trading fuel, goods, people, and secrets.
Yet none of that vast, chaotic life counted now.
What mattered was the fact that her sleep sucked.
She was unable to run away from him when she lay in her small cot.
She told herself the worst part was over. That was what people said.
She and Santi were broken clean in two; there was nothing left to hold on to.
She whispered it under her breath like a promise: it’s done, you’re through.
Yet the echo of his silence still filled the bunk.
The words he’d never spoken hurt more than any of the ones they had shouted.
She had known it wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t expected the emptiness to carve her out so much.
The tricky part was supposed to be surviving the goodbye.
Fokk, she could still sense him everywhere.
He was in the empty side of the bed, in the ghost of laughter that used to fill his cabin.
Every breath she drew felt like reaching into the dark for meaning that no longer existed.
It didn’t help that her tiny dormitory bunk sat between neighbors sobbing in their slumber and snoring freight haulers, the air itself thick with insomnia and desperation.
It was the best she could afford, since she refused to touch a solitary schill from the Red Skull accounts, to which she now had access.
It was blood money, all of it.
Let Vern, Varnok, and every cent of their chaos and wealth rot in whatever dimension claimed them.
A loud ding sounded, announcing her station and jostling her from her reverie.
The maglev came to a screeching stop, and the doors creaked open.
She stepped off, dragging herself through the stairs and crowds.
Her shift at the Kahawa Metro café started early, and she moved with a quiet, resigned gait.
The soft hum of baking units greeted her when she arrived in the kitchen, along with the usual gruff bark from her boss.
‘Let’s go, girl. You just made the start time.’
Krohn Vassa was a thickset man with oil-stained fingers and a voice like scraped metal.
Once a pipe technician from the lower levels of Cybele, he now ran his establishment with all the charm of a military drill sergeant and the grace of an embittered cargo hauler.
The local kahawa café was close to the loading docks and terminus, tucked between a gear-head repair shop and a noodle stand.
During its busiest hour, the air inside the café hummed with the metallic clatter of cups and the roar of conversation, a brief, chaotic refuge for travelers before the terminal gates.
The aroma of steamed milk and roasted beans wafted from its vent stacks.
For Soleil, it was grounding.
The work was grueling, most of it on her feet.
She clocked in before 5 a.m. most mornings, and by closing, she could scarcely feel her calves.
Her wrists soon throbbed from lifting heavy urns.
Her back screamed by mid-shift.
At least the monotony was good for something: it numbed the ache in her chest.
The dense fatigue acted as a buffer, shielding her thoughts against spiraling memories and from Santi himself.
She got spared the agonizing recollection of his beautiful form making love to her, as she clung to him, moaning as he rocked them to bliss.
Her exhaustion dulled the haunting look in his eyes during their last fight: anguish, betrayal, and love, merging into one devastating expression.
Work helped her forget for a few hours, and on Cybele, that was the closest thing to peace she found.
It also allowed her to indulge in her favorite pastime: baking.
She prepped and glazed pastries, frothed, crafted elaborate cakes, and, in between, dispensed a rotating tedium of beverage orders: cinnamon triple buzz, half-synth cortados, and whatever passed for a caramel chai this far from Earth.
The early customers were the worst, transiters snarling over missed flights, hungover from in-station bars, or born angry.
Soleil didn’t mind staying on her feet.
Still, every night alone in her cot, she was a mess for him.
She wanted to stop feeling and carrying him inside her chest like a shadow that refused to leave.
However, heartbreak had its own rhythm.
It didn’t fade when she told it to.
It hovered, quiet, patient, cruel, waiting for the next moment she would break all over again.
Soleil washed her hands, tied on her apron, and began prepping cake mix.
She blended and whipped the mixture, losing herself in the process, until she placed the fluffy mix into tins.
She slid them into the ovens, and they rose into delicious golden-brown creations that were becoming a hit with her customers.
She moved to front-of-house as soon as she glazed the cakes, placing them in their displays.
‘You almost missed The Tabitha’s order,’ her boss growled, waving a crumpled off-station docket in her face. ‘That’s a standing mid-week delivery. Screw that up again, you’re out.’
Krohn didn’t give a fokk how well she baked, he only gave a damn about getting paid.
Soleil bit the inside of her cheek.
She didn’t flinch or answer back.
She needed the job.
The day devolved from there, as a string of disgruntled customers stepped into the café.
One grabbed his kahawa, took a sip, theatrically grimaced, and dropped the whole thing into the bin.
‘This sludge should be free,’ the man sneered before stalking off.
She and Lina, the other server on duty, exchanged glances and exasperated huffs.
Krohn caught the exchange.
He turned his ire on her. ‘What kind of brew did you serve him? Did you forget the ratios, or are you sabotaging me?’
The wolf inside her stirred, claws pressing beneath her skin.
With one shift and a thrust of her claws, she could rip out his throat and leave him in ribbons on the counter.
‘I’ll try and do better,’ she breathed.
She lowered her gaze and wiped the station, trembling with contained rage as she brushed coffee grounds into her palm.
The chime rang as a new customer stepped in.
Soleil didn’t look up; she just cleaned and muttered the greeting. ‘Welcome to Kahawa Metro. What can I get you?’
After a short pause, a dulcet voice intoned.
‘I’ll take anything you serve.’
That vocalization hit hard as its smooth, familiar intonation washed over Soleil.
Her head jerked up. Her breath hitched, and her knees almost buckled.
Miral.
Standing at the counter, an amused half-smile curling her lips.
Her long sable cloak shimmered under the café lights, threaded with metanoid fibers that caught every movement like rippling starlight.
The fabric swayed with predatory grace, the high collar framing her stunning ebony face.
Just beneath the folds of that gleaming obsidian drape, Soleil glimpsed the distinct curve of holstered weapons, compact, deadly firearms that were custom-forged and whisper-silent.
Her gloves were fingerless, black with embedded sensor threads, and the gleam of her wristband flickered with blue tactical pulses.
Her boots were matte alloy, soundless, her style badass to the core.
Miral stood, head tilted with an amused half-smile curling her lips, her eyes sparkling with affection as she studied Soleil.
‘New haircut? I like it,’ she intoned.
Soleil took a ragged inhale. ‘How did you find me?’
‘I have a knack at finding those who don’t want to be found,’ Miral replied.
Her heart slammed in her chest. ‘Are you here to arrest me?’
Miral’s face softened. ‘Never. You acted under coercion, that is now clear. From Signet’s end, you’re clear, even according to Xander. You’re not a fugitive, Soleil. You’re a survivor.’
The words struck harder than they should have. Her throat tightened.
‘Do you have time to talk?’ Miral murmured.
Soleil hesitated. ‘I’ll check with my khan. Take a seat.’
She moved to the rear of the eatery, the tension in her spine radiating with each step.
Krohn was barking orders to a Lina when she approached.
‘I’ve got a guest,’ she said, wiping her hands. ‘I need five minutes with them.’
Krohn didn’t even glance her way. ‘Visitor or not, if you leave the counter, I’ll dock your pay for the time taken.’
‘You sure you want my friend hearing that shit?’
‘Fokk you, I’m the boss around -.’
Krohn’s words cut off mid-rant as he leaned beyond her and spotted the cloaked figure at the front.
Miral pulled her hood back just enough for her eyes to glint at him.
Her liquid synth eyes glowed with such menacing radiance that Krohn’s face drained of color.
‘I, ah, of course. Take your time. She can have the booth. A free beverage on the house, too, if she so wishes.’
He stumbled over his utterance, backing away like he was facing down a ticking warhead.
Soleil shrugged and walked back to Miral.
She slid into the seat facing her, breath still shallow, bitterness coating her tongue.
‘Let’s talk,’ she murmured.
Soleil stared at Miral, her heart hammering, straightening her apron and smoothing back a stray curl.
Miral’s gaze remained on her with quiet intent.
The hum of the kahawa café faded beneath the haze of clinking cups, hissing steam, and muted chatter.
‘How is 65 Cybele working for you?’ Miral murmured.
Soleil shrugged. ‘It’s a powder keg. The Wildlight pirates are growing bolder, launching more coordinated ship attacks on transit ships and Legion patrols.
Last week, thirty people died in one hit, a few thousand klicks from the depot.
However, I keep away from all that shit so it doesn’t touch me. I only focus on my job.’
‘How’s that going?’ Miral asked, her voice neutral.
Soleil leaned back, arms folded, eyeing her for a beat before answering.
She sensed Miral was softening her, laying gentle groundwork before delivering whatever message she had traveled across the stars to give.
Soleil played along, indulging in a rare moment of rest while her head got around the fact she’d been tracked down.
‘It’s only been a few weeks,’ Soleil said, ‘but so much has already happened.’
She tilted her head, brushing a knuckle over a slight burn on her wrist. ‘You meet every kind of person in a coffee shop. Some more frequently than you’d like.
But if you can deal with all of them and keep perfecting the craft, someone will tell you, ‘That’s the best latte I’ve ever had.
’ That’s what keeps me clocking back in. ’
Miral’s lips curved.
‘The upsides?’ Soleil continued. ‘Baking. It’s satisfying to make someone’s day with a custard tart and a smile.’
She rubbed her neck, eyes distant. ‘However, the hours suck. The pay’s worse, and the boss is a fokkin’ tyrant and the bad customers can be real assholes.’
A shadow flickered through her expression.
‘I had to intervene when some guy tried to abduct his girlfriend’s daughter, and walked him out myself.
Another night, a drunk kept screaming at this girl, trying to study.
Last week, a koko tweaker ran off with my tip jar.
It sucked because weekend tips are insane when it’s packed. ’
She gave a half-laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘By the end of each shift, I’m wrecked. My brain’s numb, but not in a peaceful way. Just tired. Too weary to do much else than crash into bed.’
She paused. ‘I guess that’s the trade-off. Motion over meaning. Noise over silence. Burnout over heartbreak.’
A hush fell until Soleil spoke once more. ‘Enough small talk, Miral.’
Her gaze hardened, and her chin lifted, daring the synth AI to say what she came to.