Xavier rode slow through the lower wards, Ryn crouched tight behind him, hands gripping his jacket. The bike ate the dark — headlight cutting a pale path through the fog and dust — and the slums rolled by in a blur of corrugated metal, neon scraps, and laundry lines that looked like they'd been dragged through every color and curse the city had to offer.

They pulled off in a side street where the asphalt turned to mud and the air smelled like old food and burned wires. Xavier killed the engine. The silence after that was deadly— only the hiss of a distant exhaust and the low chatter of someone arguing over a crate of parts down the lane.

They walked. Shoes splashed through puddles, boots scuffed past broken toys and empty bottles. Ryn moved quiet, watching the alleys, the windows, the faces that blinked at them from behind curtains. The place was full of little lives trying not to be noticed.

"Think this is the right block?" Ryn asked, shoulder brushing a wall, eyes scanning every doorway.

Xavier pulled out his phone and used AR to calibrate the location. "Got the address," he said. "But there's a hundred houses that look the same and the holo grids don't bother mapping small slums properly. Everything's the same color and the alleys sound alike. You miss one turn, you're lost." He shrugged. "Still—somewhere in here."

They moved between a noodle stall and a scrap yard, ducked under a low pipe, passed a kid with a battery-operated toy that died mid-drive. The place smelled like rice and rust and a touch of piss. Every house had a different criminal scrawl on the wall, like someone had tried to mark territory with spray paint and curses.

And then, Xavier spotted it. It was a narrow door with a faded number, a fresh smear of paint around the handle like someone had renovated the place recently. He pointed and they angled toward it. The place looked worse from up close: loose boards, a sagging roof, a single dim light on inside.

Xavier paused, listened. Voices from the room inside — a radio, someone laughing too loud, the clink of bottles. He stepped forward and knocked, once, solid. The sound swallowed into the thin walls.

Ryn leaned in and whispered, "What you gonna do if they open and it's just kids or some old woman?"

Xavier didn't blink. He didn't hesitate. "They don't deserve to live," he said casually, as if reciting a fact. "They've been making choices that cost other people everything. It was because of Mira I was able to get out of the prison. If it weren't for her, I would have already been dead. So I gotta make sure I let her rest in peace."

Ryn's jaw tightened. "That's… extreme."

"Maybe." Xavier's hand rested on the wood of the door, his thumb tapping slow. "But I'm tired of excuses. Tired of people selling others like they're tools. Tonight's not about mercy."

They waited. The knock echoed twice more. Footsteps shuffled. The door cracked open an inch — a narrow slit, a pair of eyes peeking out, cautious and stupid with fear.

Xavier's shadow filled the gap. He watched those eyes and felt nothing but the shape of what he'd come to do.

Xavier shoved the door open with his shoulder, the old hinges crying out as it slammed into the wall. Dust fell from the frame, and a woman stumbled back, clutching three kids close to her chest. They were small — one barely able to stand, the oldest no more than eight — all wide-eyed, clutching onto the edges of her torn shawl like it could protect them from monsters.

The woman didn't look any older than 30, and her face turned pale, when she saw Ryn's swords glint in the low light, and she dragged her children behind her like a shield. "W-who are you? What do you want?" she stammered, her voice cracking.

'Yeah, this woman can't be Mira's mother. She is far too young and there is no visible resemblance between them. This woman looks like an immigrant.'

Xavier stepped forward, his boots heavy against the weak wooden floor. He glanced around the cramped room — one couch, broken tiles, flickering lights. Nobody else. "I'm looking for someone," he said simply. "You might know them. Mira's parents — Elias and Rina Vale."

The woman blinked, then frowned as if digging through memory. "They… they used to live here," she said hesitantly. "But they sold the place a few weeks ago."

Xavier's jaw flexed, the muscle in his cheek twitching. "Sold it?"

She nodded. "They said they were moving somewhere better. New life and all. They didn't say where, but… I heard they got a place in the Nexus Tower."

A sigh escaped Xavier's throat, long and tired. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the cracked floor, letting the pieces click together in his head. Mira's parents — the same people who had cried for help when it suited them — had sold off their home, their grief, their past… for comfort bought with blood money.

A cold smirk pulled at his lips. "The benevolence," he muttered.

He lifted his gaze back to the woman, who still looked like she might faint any second. "Appreciate the info," he said, his tone softening just a little. "And… sorry for the scare." He tapped on his wrist console, sent a quick transfer, and the woman's old terminal beeped alive with a number she probably couldn't even read without blinking twice.

A million credits.

Her mouth fell open. The kids peeked from behind her, confused. Xavier crouched slightly and waved a hand at them with a small, fleeting smile. "Stay safe, alright?"

He turned before she could stammer a thank-you. The floorboards creaked as he left, Ryn following silently behind him. Once outside, Xavier pulled his jacket tighter, that calm grin still flickering at the corner of his mouth.

Ryn looked at him, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You just dropped a fortune on strangers."

Xavier straddled the bike and started it up. The engine purred, low and smooth. "They've got nothing," he said. "Might as well change that for once." Then he glanced toward the towering skyline ahead — the Nexus Tower gleaming like a needle stabbing the clouds. "Besides, we've got people to visit."

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