Chapter 14 - Rafael
“You sure this is okay?” Rafael asks, clutching the bag of prep tighter to his chest as Echo leads him down the hall.
“Of course,” she calls over her shoulder with a laugh. “Relax, kid. Besides Dragoon’s Rest, the med bay, and that little safe house Kane stuck you in, the barrack is probably the safest place in Shreveport.”
Rafael hesitates. That’s not what he meant, but he lets it go, reading the holographic nameplates above each door. Voices and music spill from behind them.
“Why would he?” Echo grins. “It’s not like we’ve got any secrets lying around. The worst thing you’ll stumble into here is some recruit’s dirty laundry or a shouting match over a gladiator replay. Trust me. You’re fine.”
Rafael still isn’t convinced, but he follows in silence. His gaze catches on a faded VitaCorp logo overhead, surrounded by a circle of familiar yellow lights. A chill runs down his spine until he spots a cyberhand mounted above the doorway, repurposed into an art piece.
At the end of the hall, Echo pushes through a swinging metal door. “And this,” she says, “is the mess. Where recruits reheat prefab meals and mix some very questionable synthohol. Good enough for what you need, though, I guess.”
The room is larger than Rafael expected.
An old industrial kitchen module sits against one wall beside a dented cold-and-freeze unit.
The rest of the room is a mix of mismatched chairs and cafeteria tables.
Surprisingly clean tile covers the floor, likely added after the plant shutdown, while layers of graffiti coat the old concrete walls.
“If you see a rat the size of your head, that’s Squeaky,” Echo teases. “He’s officially part of the crew.” She moves toward the kitchen space, and Rafael follows with a quiet laugh.
Setting the bag of prep on the console counter, his gaze drifts to the cupboards above. He reaches to open one, then glances over at Echo.
She waves him on, checking her wristlink. “Go ahead. Make yourself at home!”
Home. Not quite.
Smile fading, he faces his spread of food and pulls out a pan and tongs. From his pack, he lays out the strips of dough he made earlier in his quarters and starts arranging them inside the pan.
“Hey, kid. I gotta step out real quick. Need to sort something with Wren. You’ll be fine here. Just don’t break anything.”
Blinking at her, his mouth opens to protest, but she’s already halfway out the door. When her footsteps fade, he continues his work with much less ease.
Will he really be fine here? Echo doesn’t seem the lying type. Besides, the crew’s been almost friendly lately, or at least cordial. Not the monsters V-link made them out to be.
He shakes his head. These people kidnapped him, threatened him, and upended his life.
Yet here he is, frying dough to make them dessert.
Not out of any obligation, but because he wants them to try his cooking.
And unlike his friends in Midtown, Echo didn’t question his request to use the kitchen. She simply waved him in.
With an almost smile, Rafael lowers the strips one by one, losing himself in the work. He actually almost forgets where he is.
Until someone clears their throat.
His heart lurches as he spins around.
Kane fills the doorway, the light above glinting off the armored pauldrons and plated vest. His long, dark coat hangs open, visor still lowered over his eyes. Though his usual rifle is gone, only a sidearm at his hip. His brows are drawn tight, mouth set in a line.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, tone edged but not quite angry.
Rafael’s shoulders tense. “Uh…Echo said I could use the fryer. The one in the studio—where I’m staying—it’s busted. And I wanted to make churros for her and Pixie to try…for patrol tonight.”
The man’s jaw flexes. “Where’s Echo?”
“She said she had to sort something out, but would be back in a minute,” Rafael explains, peering around him down the hall.
“Figures she’d leave you in here unsupervised…” Kane steps in and gestures at the fryer. “That unit’s temperamental. You shouldn’t be using it alone.”
“Oh.” Rafael didn’t think he would stay, considering how quickly he’d cut their talk short the day before.
His thoughts kept drifting back to that moment all day.
When Kane spoke about his dream of being a gladiator and offered advice about pursuing cooking, he didn’t sound like a gang leader at all. More like a man with conviction and purpose, someone Rafael could almost look up to in any other situation.
He peers at the kitchen console, then into the frying oil. When no error appears on the control panel, he mutters, “So far, so good.”
Beside him, Kane hasn’t moved, gaze on the pan. Rafael tries to focus on the cooking, but the silence sets him on edge.
His fingers curl at his side until he finally gives in, blurting, “Um—does your team…or you…ever cook? Echo mentioned they mostly reheat rations and create mixed drinks. It seems like they’re always at the marketplace.”
Kane’s eyes snap to him when he looks back. “Echo talks too much,” he grumbles. Then follows up in a softer tone, “The recruits cook sometimes. I’ve used this console the most.”
The image this paints pulls a grin from Rafael. “Really? You cook?” Why didn’t he mention this yesterday?
No, the man owes him nothing, especially not a confession like that.
A hum drifts from Kane. “Bake,” he corrects. “Or rather, I did. Don’t have much time these days.”
“Bake?” Rafael turns toward him fully.
That earns the faintest curve of Kane’s mouth. “Not what you pictured from me, huh?”
Rafael’s hands lift instinctively. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think—”
Kane leans a hip against the counter, cutting him off. “I know. You never mean any harm.”
There’s no teasing in his voice, only a genuine certainty that makes Rafael’s head spin.
“My aunt got me into it,” Kane goes on. “Said it’d help me focus. Keep my mind and hands busy when I wasn’t on patrol.”
His chest tightens. Kane’s never offered something so personal before, without jokes or orders.
“Sharing something like that with her—must’ve been nice,” Rafael murmurs. “My mom knew I tried things in the kitchen, but only my sister’s aware how much I loved it.”
Kane’s brow furrows, but the console draws his attention with a sharp beep. Rafael spins toward the fryer, frowning at the flickering display. “Error 1433…”
He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until Kane says, “Step aside,” and moves toward the panel. Rafael goes still while Kane leans in to check the readout. “It’s just a calibration issue. Happens when the oil’s too hot.”
“Is it an easy fix?” Rafael asks. When he peers over his shoulder, Kane’s face is closer than expected, but the glow of the console’s display reflects off his visor.
Heat floods his cheeks as the memory of their encounter in Glass Alley returns.
If Kane notices, he doesn’t show it, clearing his throat and kneeling in front of the console. “Should be,” he answers, voice slightly strained. By the time he pries open the access panel beneath the fryer, his tone is normal. “Just need to reset it. Your churros should be fine.”
Rafael blinks at him. “Have you made them before?”
“Not churros.” Kane’s fingers move through a tangle of wires and interface ports. “Other things. Donuts, beignets, whatever my uncle felt like that week. Or whatever Echo and the others begged me to make.”
That’s probably a longer list than Rafael’s ever baked. With all his experience, would Kane have ended up in a Terra’s kitchen instead of here if his uncle hadn’t died? He doesn’t dare ask.
Instead, he searches for an easier topic, watching Kane fix the console. By the time Rafael decides what he wants to ask, Kane flips a switch and gets to his feet.
The oil bubbles to life, and Rafael’s smiling before Kane even turns, already wearing one of his own.
“Easy fix,” he echoes.
Warmth stirs in Rafael. “Thank you, Baron.”
Kane’s brow raises. “For what?”
“For fixing it. For…sharing.” Rafael isn’t sure where this courage is coming from. His words seem to come out easier around Kane lately.
An unreadable emotion flickers across Kane’s face before he says, “Kane. Call me Kane.”
Rafael holds still for a breath, something settling warm in his chest, before the console chimes again. He turns, grin spreading as the fryer’s panel pulses green.
“They’re done.” He lifts the cooled pan and uses tongs to scoop out a golden strip, the scent of sugar and fried dough circling them.
Kane crosses his arms. “Not bad.” He shrugs. “At least from what I can see.”
Self-consciousness prickles under Rafael’s collar. “Oh—did you—” His throat tightens. “Want to try one?” Pixie trying his food is one thing…But Kane?
The corners of Kane’s eyes crinkle behind the visor. “Of—”
“Not until I’ve had one!”
A high-pitched voice cuts in. Both men spin to find Echo striding toward them with a smirk.
Any trace of amusement vanishes from Kane’s face. “Where were you?” he barks. “Why did you leave him here alone?”
Echo snorts. “Relax, boss man. No one’s gonna jump the kid. Everyone here knows better.”
“That’s not the point.” Kane’s shoulders tense. “Half the recruits crash here full-time because they’ve got nowhere else to go. Some bring trouble. I don’t want Rafael caught up in it.”
Rafael can’t tell what throws him more, the idea that Kane houses half his recruits, or the fact he might’ve been less safe than Echo let on.
“Okay, okay. We’ll guard him like a Premiere Corp star. Happy?” Echo meets Rafael’s gaze and reaches for the tongs. “May I?”
He lets her take the churro, muttering a soft, “Sure,” while his heart starts to pound.
The treat passes her lips, and seconds later, a satisfied moan slips out. “Amazing!” Echo cries, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Screw the nurse gig! You should work at Terra’s.”
Pride swells in his chest. “I don’t know about that,” Rafael ducks his head. “But thank you…”
As Echo chews, she retrieves another churro and holds the tongs out for Kane. “Here. Tell the kid what’s what.”
Kane pauses before taking them, his mouth set in a hard line. Rafael holds his breath. What if he’s not interested? Then Kane swipes the churro from Echo and bites into it before Rafael can brace himself.
The man chews slowly while Rafael goes still. Finally, Kane gives a nod. “Echo’s right. VitaCorp is wasted on you.”
The compliment sits heavier than Rafael predicted. He glances down at his hands. “Thank you, Kane.”
Echo snorts. “Kane, huh?” Her eyes dart between them, the real one glinting.
A flush rises under Rafael’s skin while Kane stiffens at his side. “Enough!” he snaps, jabbing a chrome finger at her. “And don’t leave him alone again.”
She lifts her hands in mock surrender, but Kane’s already heading for the exit. Coat sweeping behind him, he stomps through the door down the hall.
Rafael watches until his back disappears. Even then, as he starts to pack up and Echo starts rambling, the moment stays.
Not just the name, but the low rumble of Kane’s voice when he said it.