Jaro gripped her arm, fingers digging through her leather jacket. “Forget the data. Nico first.” He didn’t wait for her reply, already slamming a command into the limousine’s console. The armored vehicle lurched, the thrum of its repulsorlifts intensifying as the driver executed a brutal three-point turn in the narrow, grimy alley. They shot back onto the main thoroughfare, the urban sprawl blurring into a streak of garish neon. “The Corton Dorms, Sector Gamma-7. Make time, Rekkr,” Jaro barked, his voice tight. The driver, a hulking figure named Rekkr with a cybernetic eye, grunted acknowledgement. The limo's heavy plating scraped against a low-hanging sign as they threaded a needle between two cargo haulers, the repulsor-wash buffeting other vehicles. Navia leaned into the acceleration, her plasma pistols still hot against her hips. The thought of Ondrik’s enforcers laying hands on Nico tasted like bile and copper. They sped through the city's underbelly, the air thick with the smell of ozone and exhaust. Every hard swerve threw her shoulder against the armored chassis. Jaro kept his hand clamped over her forearm, steady and unyielding. “We’ll get him,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping the monitors displaying traffic and threat assessments. “He’s smart. He’ll find a way to hide.” Minutes later, the limo screeched to a halt outside the Corton Dormitories, a brutalist concrete structure now scarred with fresh scorch marks. The main entrance was a gaping maw, its reinforced doors ripped from their hinges. Debris lay scattered across the polished floor of the common area, upturned holographic tables and shattered statuettes. Navia drew both blasters, her thumbs flicking the power toggles to lethal. “Clear,” Jaro reported, his suppressed rifle already at the ready as he swept the common room. “But they left a mess.” Navia didn’t answer. She was already sprinting towards Nico’s wing, Jaro a shadow at her back. His room was a disaster zone. Holo-display shattered, datapads crunched underfoot, his clothes scattered like refuse. The small, neat bed was slashed to ribbons, synthetic stuffing spilling out. Ondrik’s men hadn't just searched; they’d brutalized the space, a clear message. “Nico!” Navia yelled, her voice raw. She tore through the wreckage, overturning furniture, her gaze frantic. Nothing. No sign of him. Acid pooled under her tongue. Had they taken him? Had they— Jaro pointed to a dislodged ceiling panel near the corner of the room. “Look.” She tracked his gloved finger upward. The panel was askew, revealing a dark crawl space. “Nico?” she whispered, pulling herself up, ignoring the jagged edges of the metal frame. The space was cramped, smelling of dust and stale air. Then, a faint scuffling. “Navia?” A small, wavering voice. Nico. He wriggled out from the deeper darkness of the shaft, dust-smudged and shaken, but whole. Navia hauled him down, crushing him in a fierce embrace. His thin frame felt fragile in her arms. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” she repeated, burying her face in his hair, the relief almost buckling her knees. “I heard them coming,” Nico mumbled, pulling back, blinking against the glare. “Hid like you taught me, in the vents. They didn’t find me, but they trashed everything.” He held up a small, battered datapad. “But they didn’t get this. I decrypted it.” Navia took the datapad, her hands trembling. It was the shadow ledger. Nico had been tracking the suspicious transfers, the flow of untraceable credits funding Ondrik’s expansion. The screen flickered, displaying lines of encrypted data, now mostly resolved. Her eyes scanned the latest transactions, the names of shell corporations, the vast sums flowing into Voss Transport’s coffers. Then, a single, devastating name at the bottom of the payee list, repeated several times: **C. Hauk.** The name blurred under her thumb. Corso Hauk. The air evacuated her lungs. Corso. Her trusted mentor, her handler, the man who had guided her, *protected* her, since she’d awakened. He was the one funding Ondrik. He was the one who had set her up to die in that xenocite blast. He had orchestrated her original downfall, not just to betray her, but to clear the path for Ondrik, for *his* puppet. Every word of comfort, every piece of 'guidance,' every calculated move... it was all a lie. A meticulously crafted performance by her own murderer. Her vision narrowed, the wreckage of Nico’s room fading into a distant blur. The goal to burn Ondrik’s empire felt insignificant now. Ondrik was just a pawn. Corso was the true architect of her suffering, the hidden hand pulling the strings. Her brother, her Jaro… she had almost walked them into a fatal ambush, just as she had been led to her death years ago. She had nearly walked Jaro and Nico straight into the butcher's yard. Her pulse hammered behind her temples, sharp and vicious. Before she could articulate the crushing revelation, a new sound cut through the silence: heavy boots outside, followed by a familiar, solicitous voice. “Navia? Nico? Are you in here?” Corso. And he wasn’t alone. The shadows of several heavily armed figures appeared in the doorway, their tactical gear gleaming under the emergency lights. Corso stepped forward, brow pinched in faux distress, his gaze sweeping the destroyed room. He wore a pristine, tailored suit, a stark contrast to the grime and chaos. “Thank the stars! My men tracked Ondrik’s goons here. Are you two alright? We came as fast as we could.” He opened his arms, a picture of relief. Navia swallowed the copper tang rising in her throat. She forced her features into an expression of dazed gratitude. Her hand tightened on Nico's shoulder, a silent warning. This man, her murderer, was playing the savior. She had to play along. She had to. For Nico. For Jaro. She stepped into his embrace, her body rigid, pressing her face against his shoulder, fighting the urge to tear out his throat. Corso’s arms tightened around her, a comforting, paternal squeeze. His voice, a low rumble, brushed against her ear. “I’ll always protect you, little bird.”

The Venting Shaft