The cafe was quiet at this hour. Not empty, nothing in Acedia was ever empty, but quiet enough that the few other patrons kept to themselves, nursing drinks in shadowed booths, not looking at each other, not looking at anything. The tired demon behind the counter had gone back to wiping glasses, his three eyes half-lidded, his movements robotic.

  Rhaene had been staring at the same spot on the wall for twenty minutes.

  Arbor sat across from her, motionless, his optics scanning the room in slow, methodical sweeps. He'd done this enough times to know that silence was sometimes necessary. That words could wait. That Rhaene would speak when she was ready.

  It was clear she wasn't ready yet.

  The coffee in front of her had gone cold an hour ago. She hadn't touched it since that first bitter sip. Her hand rested on the table, fingers spread, as if she were trying to feel the wood grain through the worn laminate. Her other hand stayed in her pocket, wrapped around the horn.

  Arbor watched her. Processed her posture, her breathing, the micro-expressions that flickered across her face. Grief. Anger. Exhaustion. The same loop, over and over.

  "Your heart rate is elevated," he said finally. "Has been for three hours. At this level of sustained stress, cognitive function will begin to degrade."

  Rhaene blinked. Looked at him. "Was that supposed to be comforting?"

  "It was an observation. Comfort was not calculated into the statement."

  "Well then recalculate, bolthead." She shifted in her seat, pulled her hand out of her pocket, flexed her fingers. "Sorry... I know you're trying. It's just... not your thing."

  "My thing?"

  "Your thing. Comforting people. Being... you know. Normal."

  Arbor's optics flickered. "I am not normal. I am a robot with a faulty logic chip. Normal was never an option."

  Rhaene snorted. It wasn't quite a laugh, but it was close. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

  A moment of silence. Different this time. Less heavy.

  "The hat suits you," she said.

  "I disagree."

  "I know. That's why it's funny."

  Arbor's processors cycled. Humor. He still didn't fully understand it, but he'd learned to recognize when it was happening and its meaning. Rhaene was... joking. After everything, she was joking.

  "That was an attempt at levity," he said.

  "Yep."

  "Noted. I will file it for future retrieval in occasions of similar grief."

  Rhaene almost smiled. "You do that then, Tinman."

  She picked up her coffee, made a face at how cold it was, and set it back down. "How long do you think he'll be?"

  "Nerium? The archive is extensive. If he is thorough, several hours. If he encounters obstacles, longer. If he has been killed, we will not see him again."

  "Optimistic as always."

  "I prefer being called realistic."

  Rhaene leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. Her joints popped. She winced. "I'm getting too old for this."

  "Your age is not a significant factor. Your accumulated injuries are. You have not once undergone a complete renewal before accepting the next contract."

  "Complete renewal? That's what we're calling sitting 'round twiddling our thumbs now?"

  "It is accurate and concise."

  She shook her head, but there was something almost fond in the gesture. "You're something else, you know that?"

  "I am aware."

  The tired demon appeared at their table, a pot in his hand. "More coffee?"

  Rhaene looked at her cold cup. "Sure. Why not."

  He refilled it, topped off Arbor's untouched cup, Arbor didn't drink coffee, but the demon kept bringing it anyway, pouring it over the spill line and then disappearing back to his post when Arbor stopped him.

  "He's been doing that all night," Rhaene observed. "Just... pouring. No questions. No comments."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Observational data suggests he is either exceptionally idiotic or exceptionally indifferent."

  "Maybe both." Rhaene wrapped her hands around the warm cup. "idiocy and indifference. That's this whole city, isn't it? People either don't understand you or ignore you, and sometimes you can't tell which is which."

  Arbor considered this. "In my experience, Idiocy is more common. Indifference is statistically anomalous."

  "Yeah." She stared into the dark liquid. "Cid was anomalous."

  The name hung in the air between them. Arbor didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

  Rhaene took a sip of her coffee. It was hot, bitter, exactly what she needed. "Tell me something."

  "Query."

  "Anything. Something random. Something that has nothing to do with any of this. I need to think about something else for five minutes."

  Arbor's processors searched for appropriate data. "The average temperature in the Foundry District varies by seventeen degrees between day and night due to the thermal mass of the industrial equipment."

  "Not that random. That's still work."

  "Apologies. Let me recalculate." A pause. "There is a species of fungus that grows in the lower levels of the Dripstone Marrows that emits light through bioluminescence. It is often harvested by residents for illumination. "

  Rhaene's expression softened. "That's a nice thought. They're like stars put deep underground. Tell me more."

  "Pre-collapse records indicate that the area now known as the Slagmire was once a residential district. Before the city expanded vertically, people lived in houses. With yards."

  "Yards?"

  "Small plots of land attached to dwellings, often used for growing plants or recreation."

  Rhaene stared at him. "People just... had land? Outside? That they could walk on whenever they wanted?"

  "Correct."

  "Huh." She processed this. "Sounds fake."

  "The historical records are reliable. It was a different era."

  "Must've been nice." She looked toward the cafe's small window, where the first hints of gray were starting to lighten the sky. "Just... having space. Not being stacked on top of everyone."

  "It was not without its problems. But yes, by modern standards, it was comparatively spacious."

  They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky lighten. The cafe's other patrons began to stir, a demon in a patched coat shuffling out, a new one shuffling in. The cycle continued.

  Rhaene finished her coffee. Set the cup down. "You ever think about what you'd do? After you get your chip?"

  Arbor's processors paused. "I have considered it. Simulation results are still unclear."

  "Unclear how?"

  "My primary objective has been the chip itself. Post-acquisition is incalculable without the chip itself. But, if I had to approximate my actions. I would return to the Queen's guard. Serve with efficiency. That is the intended outcome."

  "But do you want that?"

  "Want is an emotional construct of people. I am not designed for wanting."

  "Makes no sense cause you want the chip, don't you?" She gestured at him. "You're full of glitches, Tinman. Might as well lean into it at this point."

  Arbor was quiet for a long moment. "You do appropriate an interesting query. What is the difference between my desire for acquisition and a organic's desire for want. Even if they were equivalent, I do not know what I want besides the chip."

  "Then figure it out. You've got time." She leaned back, closing her eyes. "We've got time. Assuming flower boy doesn't get himself killed."

  "He demonstrated resourcefulness. The probability of his survival is higher than initial estimates suggested."

  "High praise from you."

  "I am capable of adjusting assessments based on new data."

  Rhaene smiled. A real one, small and tired but real. "That's neat."

  They fell into comfortable silence. The cafe hummed around them. The sky continued to lighten.

  An hour passed. Then another.

  The door chimed.

  Rhaene's eyes snapped open. Arbor's optics focused.

  Nerium stood in the doorway.

  He looked like hell. Covered in dust, his lab coat torn, his hands scraped and bleeding. His eyes were red-rimmed, hollow, but there was something else there too, something that looked almost like purpose.

  He walked to their table on unsteady legs. Sat down heavily. Reached into his pocket and pulled out a datapad.

  "I found it," he said. His voice was hoarse, scraped raw. "Everything."

  Arbor extended a hand. Nerium passed him the datapad. A small port on Arbor's thumb extended, connected, and data began to flow.

  While it downloaded, Rhaene studied Nerium. "You look like shit."

  "Feel like it too." He leaned back, eyes closing. "Climbed a wall. Crawled through a vent. Spent hours in a dark archive staring at screens. Found nothing useful until..." He trailed off.

  "Until?"

  Nerium opened his eyes. Looked at her. "She sent me an email. Cid. The day of the explosion. An attachment with all the data we needed. Shipments, locations, patterns. Everything."

  Rhaene went very still. "She... sent you that?"

  "To my personal account. Must've known I'd check it eventually." His voice cracked. "She used her last seconds to send me the key to everything."

  Arbor's thumb detached. "Data transfer complete. Analysis will take time, but initial review confirms the information is comprehensive of everything save for the floorplans. I will fill in those gaps in the following days."

  Rhaene looked at Nerium. At this broken, exhausted, unexpectedly brave human.

  "You did good, man," Rhaene said quietly. "Cid would probably look your way a bit more if she knew you'd go this far."

  Nerium nodded. Swallowed. "I'd hope."

  They sat with that for a moment.

  Then Arbor spoke. "The data indicates a shipment schedule. Raw materials arrive at the warehouse on specific dates. The next delivery is in approximately two days."

  Rhaene's eyes sharpened. "Two days."

  "Correct. If we act before then, we disrupt the supply chain, but leave them time to regroup and recollect. If we act during the delivery, we have an opportunity to intercept information, personnel, and materials simultaneously." He paused. "The probability of success increases if we prepare in advance."

  "Then we prepare." Rhaene looked at Nerium. "You got somewhere to crash? You're useless if you collapse."

  Nerium nodded weakly. "I have a cot. In my lab. It's not comfortable, but it's..."

  "Good enough. Go. Rest. We'll meet back here tomorrow night, figure out the rest of the details."

  He stood, swayed, caught himself on the table. "You'll wait?"

  "We'll wait." Rhaene's voice was firm. "Go, flower boy. You did good."

  Nerium looked at her for a long moment. Then at Arbor. Then he turned and limped out of the cafe, the door chiming softly behind him.

  Rhaene watched him go. "He's going to pass out the second he lies down."

  "Almost certainly."

  "And then he's going to wake up."

  "That is the pattern organics tend to follow, yes."

  She shook her head slowly. "Kid's got guts. I'll give him that."

  Arbor's optics flickered. "He has more than guts. He has motivation. That is often more valuable."

  "Yeah." Rhaene looked at the datapad, "I guess it is."

  The cafe hummed. The sky brightened. Two days until the next move.

  They'd be ready.