Kirk didn't know how long they'd been running for.
Guilt clawed at his guts with every step, knowing that Detective Delgado – the one person who'd actually decided to stick her neck out to help him – was probably dead now, and there was nothing he could do about it.
All they could do now was try and carry on with the time Delgado had bought them.
He kept a tight hold of Arden's hand as they blundered their way through the alleyways and side-streets, following the course of the river to the west along the docksides – away from his own family, away from Selbray and the markets, away the Cutter Jennings' goons and away from the corps.
Away from everything.
He lost all but the vaguest sense of distance and when they finally stumbled to a halt he didn't even bother trying to figure out where they were. Kirk just stopped, standing in a slender alleyway that opened out onto a grubby bankside veranda and the muck of the Hadrian River beyond.
Arden stumbled to a halt beside him and for a minute they both stood, panting for breath, the noise of the city night blurring into a dull din around them. The swell and crash of the river's powerful flow echoed through the dark, and across that impenetrable water Kirk's eyes lingered on the ruined shadow of Hadrian South.
"Do you think..." Arden stammered eventually, looked back the way they'd come. "Do you think that she made it? Do you think she got out?"
Kirk's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say.
It was answer enough for her. Her face cracked into an expression of utter helplessness as the reality set in. Their only real ally in this mess was gone for good. He couldn't look at her, turning away and looking at the damp ground. His mind went blank for a blissful moment.
"Oh God. Kirk, what are we going to do?" Arden sobbed, her voice shrill with panic. "I mean, what the fuck are we doing to do now? We can't do this! My mum, my sister, I'm not going to see them again! And the corps – oh shit, the corps – they're going to keep hunting for me. This is... this is-,"
Twisting around, Kirk grabbed her and yanked her into a tight hug, cupping the back of her head with one hand and pulling her close. For an instant she froze, the hysterical outpouring stopped dead in her throat. Then her hands snapped tight around him, fingers digging into his back as she buried her face against his shoulder. She let out a muffled scream, all the fear and anger pouring out of her.
Her whole body shook violently, and Kirk fought to keep his own emotions from boiling up out of him. He could feel his heart battering against his chest, tears of frustrated, impotent rage threatening to escape at any moment.
They stood there. He didn't know how long for, but they just stood, clinging to each other as the last sane people left in Hadrian's hellscape. Eventually she shifted her position, exhaling a shuddering breath as she rested her cheek against his chest, fingers curling into a fist with a handful of his jacket. He leaned forward, leaning his face against the top of her head.
Exhaustion; anxiety; fear – it all made him shudder and he squeezed her tightly against him. The last person left fighting alongside him.
"You okay?" she whispered.
Kirk sniffed and pressed his eyes shut. "Not really."
"Yeah, me neither." She unfurled her fingers and patted him lightly on the chest. "I'm glad you're still here though." Arden shifted, and he lifted his head, opening his eyes to find her looking up at her. Her eyes were wide, glinting with unshed tears that she'd forced back down, and he felt her hand gently glide up the side of his neck, cupping his cheek.
Shit, Kirk thought, as a fresh jolt of unwelcome emotion shot through him. He felt his cheeks flush and in a motion sharper than he meant, he stepped away, clearing his throat.
Arden jerked back as though she'd caught an electric shock from touching him. She hesitated for a moment before jamming clenched fists into her pockets, looking awkwardly at the ground.
"Sorry, I didn't-,"
"Forget about it." Kirk shook his head wearily, digging the fingers of both hands into his hair. "I don't know about you but I could really use a drink. C'mon."
*
Even if you were lost, it wasn't hard to find a bar in Hadrian.
With Arden slouching sheepishly along in his wake, Kirk trudged through the unfamiliar narrow streets until he spotted the glare of a half-shattered neon sign. In totally it would have read THE SINKTOOTH, but the march of time had eradicated half the letters leaving it with a less legible, TH- -INK—OTH. It's entrance jutted out of the side of a mottled, four story stain of black concrete, people blundering in out with varying degrees of steadiness.
Kirk joined them, reaching back with one hand. Arden took it without a word, letting him lead her in past leering eyes and slurring mouths until they were inside. The place was your standard dock-side dive, barely half full, with a blare of generic techno rock music crackling out of tinny speakers to drown the low hum of conversation.
A few heads turned their way, but no-one here paid much attention to a couple more no-hopers. Kirk let go of Arden's hand, and swept up to the bar. A young, hollow-cheeked barman served them up two of the cheapest beers he could muster, and then they slumped down into a booth.
He leaned against the torn cushion back, planting his bottle down on the stained wood of the table and sighing heavily. Arden drained half her beer in one go before curling up opposite him, knees tight to her chest. For a moment they sat, letting the ambience this dingy little shack wash over them.
"So what now?" Arden asked softly, easing the bottle back to her lips and taking another gulp.
Kirk blew out his cheeks in a sigh and took a swig from his beer, gently turning the bottle from side to side.
"Well," he said. "That depends."
"On what, exactly?"
"You still want to do this?" He raised his eyes to meet hers. "You still want to take on the corps?"
"You know I do."
"Then..." Kirk shrugged. "Then I guess we've got to keep trying." Sliding the beer to one side, he unfurled the blueprints he'd managed to snag in their flight from Delgado's refuge. Take a deep breath, he smoothed them out on the table.
They were a little scuffed and torn from their flight, but they would still do the job.
"You want to find that place," Arden said. "Where they made the wraiths."
"The wraiths seem to be after Piper. We find them, we find her."
"But how are we going to do that? Without Delgado, without someone with connections-,"
"I don't know yet, I don't know." Kirk flapped a hand at her to be quiet. "I just... I just want to know if you're still with me on this. If you are, then we finish these drinks, find somewhere to lie low and get some sleep. The corps aren't going anywhere."
"Isn't that the inconvenient truth," another voice said, cutting dagger-sharp into Kirk's ears. He looked up sharply to the left, and found a woman standing a few feet from their booth. She was dressed in baggy black cargo trousers, a short sleeved leather jacket and a ragged grey t-shirt – nothing unusual about that.
But she was also carrying an enormous knife with a blade blacker than oil.
The other patrons of the bar quickly parted around her, like fish swimming around a predator. Kirk tensed, catching Arden's eye and giving her a tiny nod. He had no idea who this person was, but the way their luck had been running he didn't really fancy finding out.
"You two, stay where you are," the woman said, pointing at them lazily with her knife. "Everybody else, out."
The last word landed like a hammer on an anvil, and instantly the other regulars were clambering over each other in an undignified scramble for the door. In the scuffle of motion, Kirk sprang upright, sending his half full beer flying at the stranger with a sweep of his hand.
He shoved himself out from behind the table, only to see the woman neatly sidestep the bottle. It flew past, shattering harmlessly against the wall behind.
Arden slid out of the booth, ripping her pistol free as she stood and turned, but the newcomer was too fast. In the blink of an eye she struck, a chop from her free hand sending the revolver spinning across the bar. Then the matte black blade of the knife was against Arden's throat.
She froze, eyes wide with terror as the woman made a tutting sound.
"Sit down," the intruder said. In a flash of motion the knife withdrew and she shoved Arden hard, sending her sprawling back into the booth.
Kirk tensed, aware of the weight of the flick blade in his pocket as he sized up his options. Right now he didn't even know who she was, but if she wasn't a corp skinner then that only left one other logical option.
He'd dealt with Cutter's thugs before, but this individual looked like a very different prospect to the usual enforcers on the docks.
She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with hair the colour of rust, hanging long down the right side of her face while the left side of her head was shaven, revealing a heavily pierced ear and a string of dark tattoos that swept back in an arc over her ear and down the side of her neck.
Did he dare take his chances? He glanced at Arden who'd shuffled up into a sitting position, her jaw tight as she stared, tense and ready to spring. If he went for his knife he might be able to buy enough time for her to get away.
Something told him that would be a one way ticket to a casket.
"I wouldn't," the newcomer said, looking straight at him. One of her eyes was green; the other was a synthetic – a good one too – gleaming silver metal with a burning blue iris. "Why don't you take a seat with your girlfriend?" She indicated the booth with her knifepoint.
"Kirk," Arden whispered. "Don't. Just go."
"I wouldn't try that either." With a languid motion, the woman tugged a stub-nosed handgun from her thigh holster. "I'm not in the habit of shooting people in the back, but I've been known to make exceptions." She indicated the booth with nod. "Sit."
Knowing he didn't have a choice, Kirk slowly stepped back over to the booth and lowered himself into it. Taking a deep breath, he gave Arden what he hoped was a reassuring nod before clasping his hands on the table in front of him.
The newcomer smiled; looked away long enough to signal the bartender with a flick of her free hand. The man quickly scurried over, with a bottle of clear spirit and three small glasses. He put them down; didn't ask for payment and disappeared back behind the bar.
"You see? Now, let's keep this civilised." The woman slid her gun back into its holster and dragged a bar stool over to them, where she perched upon it, her black knife resting across her thigh.
As though she didn't have a care in the world, she poured them each a glass of liquor. Taking a sip of hers, she relaxed back into the chair, drink in one hand and knife in the other. Kirk eyed the bottle dubiously. Beside him, Arden swallowed hers down in one gulp, stifling a cough and staring at the tabletop.
"Kirk Balfour," the woman said eventually, her voice dripping like corrosive acid. "Didn't think that you of all the people in the world could cause this much trouble."
He shrugged, clearing his throat nervously. "Not like I meant to. Who are you?"
"My name's Nevay," she replied. "Uncle Cutter sends his regards."
Fuck.
Kirk swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying not to show just how scared he was as he held her gaze. She smiled with such malevolence that a shudder went straight up his spine. The knife tapped against her thigh and she leaned back in her seat, regarding him curiously.
"How'd you find us?"
Nevay's smile broadened. "Had a tail on your friend, Detective Delgado, ever since that little disagreement at the markets. I was getting ready to have a little chat with her when those fucking corps turned up." The smile lost some of its edge at the mention of the corporations.
"Delgado," Kirk repeated. "What happened to her?"
"Got shot to bits from what I could see." Nevay sighed. "Shame. She gave the little tin soldiers a good run though, left plenty of bodies behind."
"What do you want?" Arden hissed through gritted teeth.
Nevay's gaze flicked briefly to her. "You're the baby Russell, eh?"
"I'm seventeen."
"Good for you."
"Answer the fucking question."
"No need for that," she chuckled, pointing at Arden with her knife. "We sent Kirk here a little invitation not so long ago, but he declined. Problem is, it wasn't really optional."
"I've got nothing to say to Cutter," Kirk grunted.
Nevay's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, it isn't all about you is it? Seems like Piper Russell's on everybody's top commodity list right now. Cops, corp spooks, us. But seems like she went up in a puff of smoke the night Barson was killed."
"We don't know where she is," Kirk said quickly.
"I know that," Nevay leaned forward, gently pushing the blueprints on the table around with the point of her knife. Her lips pursed with interest. "Been busy, haven't you?"
"We're trying to track the wraiths," Arden said. "We think they can lead us to Piper."
"Is that so?"
The door of the bar swung open again and three grim-faced men trudged inside, more of Jennings' crew from the look of it, but a little more formally kitted out. Their slate-grey body armour looked properly fitted over their lean frames, and they carried identical black machine pistols.
"Nev," the man in front said, inclining his head to her respectfully.
Nevay flashed him a vicious smile before turning back to Kirk and Arden. "Well, let me save you some time. Rather than trying to find Piper, we're going to bring her to us." The knife rose, glinting in the light of the bar. "I find people reappear very quickly when you threaten something they love."
Draining her glass, she stood up and slid her knife into its sheath, nodding to the newcomers. "Let's take our friends for a ride."
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