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Cass Vega leaned on the corner of a rain-slick alley, her breath curling in the cold night air. The busted streetlamp overhead sputtered, casting intermittent light over the lightning bolt shaped burn scar etched along her left cheek. Footsteps echoed behind her. She didn’t need to turn. She already knew who it was. "Demolitions expert Cassandra Vega," a low voice said. "You're coming with me." A cold barrel pressed into her ribs. "Lieutenant Morro,” Cass sighed. “Still dressing like a cop, Jana. Still sneaking up like a thug." Before Cass could bolt, a hand locked her wrist and wrenched it behind her back. Pain flared. “Still using that same move from Bucharest," Cass said, teeth gritted, as she was spun and pinned against the damp brick. "You nearly dislocated my shoulder then, too. "You deserved it then, too," Jana replied. Cass grinned through the ache. "So you missed me." With practiced efficiency, Jana shoved her into an unmarked black transport. The inside smelled of old steel and urgency. The moment the door slammed shut, every screen embedded in the walls flickered to life. Felix Drahn’s face filled the monitors. Shaved head. Cold, surgeon-steady eyes. And that unmistakable tattoo—a spiral inked into the back of his skull. "You built it, Cass," Felix said, his voice crackling through the speakers. "Now watch it work." The screens cut to static. Cass sat rigid, her breath caught in her chest. Jana turned to Cass, arms crossed. "That message came in an hour ago.

Felix took the prototype. The city-killer. He’s got it." Cass closed her eyes. A prototype bomb—her design. She’d built it for theoretical defense modeling. It was never supposed to exist. Jana continued. "We think he’s doing something with the failsafe. The components were separated into four pieces and distributed. Three of them are out there—in the underworld. He’s already got one." One of the displays blinked to a red digital countdown: 9 hours. Cass stared at it. At her design. At her failure. She swallowed. "He’ll need all the pieces to detonate." "You’re going to help us find them." Cass met Jana’s gaze. "Can I say no?" Jana pulled out her sidearm, chambered a round. The inside of the ops van was even tighter than the transport. Banks of computers lined both walls, buzzing and blinking. The only space not covered in gear was a single folding chair. "Cass Vega," Jana said, waving to the wiry figure hunched over a flickering monitor. "Meet Rory Tanaka. Callsign: Glitch." Cass blinked at the figure—half their head shaved, the other half dyed electric blue. An oversized hoodie swallowed their frame, sleeves frayed, pockets bulging with cables and chip readers. Glitch turned and offered a two-fingered salute. "Hey. Sorry about the flicker. My rig's in a mood." Their cyberware sparked at the temples—faint glows pulsing like a heartbeat. The display on the wall flickered again and then blanked out entirely. "Dammit," Glitch muttered, smacking the console. The screen rebooted, stuttered, and came back

up with a low hum. "Anyway. Uh, big fan. Of your older work. Not the... fiery part." Cass arched an eyebrow. "Thanks, I think." Jana stood with arms folded, hand near her hip holster. "Second component’s already in play," she said. "Thermal regulator. It’s being auctioned at a black-market meet under the city. We think it’s the original prototype." Glitch tapped keys, bringing up the blueprint of an old subway station. Archaic lines overlaid with red security nodes. "Here," Glitch said, pointing to a cargo tunnel. "Stage area. High density sensors. Entry point’s tight, but the northeast exit’s a blind spot." "And security?" Glitch’s grin faltered as their display flickered again. "That’s the part I’m still, uh, massaging." "Plan’s simple," Jana said. "Cass identifies the part. Glitch handles systems. I’ll provide external cover." Cass snorted. "What, no warm-up mission? Drinks, at least?" Jana’s jaw tightened. Cass leaned back. "Well, let’s dance." The auction was buried two levels deep beneath the street, hidden in the bones of an abandoned subway line. Criminals packed the station. Men in tailored suits rubbed shoulders with brawlers in street leathers. Currency flashed in every direction. Cass moved through the crowd in a gray coat two sizes too big. She kept her head low and the earpiece high. "Glitch, I’m in," she whispered. Static, then: "Roger. You’ve got three security cameras and two drones. I’m faking a maintenance loop. Don’t get too close to the stage yet." Cass reached the edge of the platform and froze.

There it was. Cylindrical. Matte black. Cooling fins sharp as razors. It hummed faintly, even from here. Her thermal regulator. She whispered, "I see it." "Bidding’s about to start," Glitch said. A gravel-voiced auctioneer barked out the opening price. Five hundred thousand credits. Cass scanned the exits. Too many eyes. Too many guns. "We’ll need a distraction," she muttered. "Wait for my signal," Jana’s voice came through. "Ready... now." Somewhere above, the fire alarm screamed. Sprinklers burst open, drenching the room in artificial rain. Cass didn’t hesitate. She vaulted the barrier, hit the stage at a sprint, and snatched the regulator from its pedestal. Gunfire cracked. Screams echoed. Chaos bloomed. "Go northeast tunnel!" Glitch shouted. "Blind spot—" The voice cut out. "Glitch?" Silence. Cass swore and ran anyway. The regulator was heavy in her arms, humming with stored heat. She reached the tunnel and dashed into the dark, breath ragged, feet splashing in old runoff. Then she stopped. Figures emerged from the shadows. Tactical gear. Helmets. Rifles. Cass backed up—nowhere to run. One of them stepped forward. Removed his helmet. Felix Drahn. He looked the same. Too young to be this dangerous. Too calm to be sane. "Cass," he said, voice smooth as cut glass. "Are you playing the hero?" He plucked the regulator from her hands like a teacher taking back a failed test. "Remember the thermal coupling? I told you it was unstable. You said it was 'good enough.'" "Seventeen people, Cass.

Tsk, tsk, tsk… One of them, mine." He met her eyes, calm and steady. "You built a grave, signed off on it, and walked away. I didn’t." His voice didn’t rise. That made it worse. He leaned close, his breath warm on her cheek. "Now your shortcuts will burn a city to ash." She tried to punch him. Didn’t make it. A baton cracked across her temple. Darkness fell like a curtain. Cass had came to, out of the tunnel, in a van a few blocks over. Her head pounding, but otherwise free. The regulator was gone. So was Felix. So were the guards. They hadn’t killed her or left her for those at the auction. She thought she knew why. Felix wanted her to see the fallout. Maybe he wanted her to suffer. Either way, she couldn’t wait around. Forty minutes later, bleeding from the temple, she reconnected with the team. She decided she needed to make a deal. The underground lounge throbbed with low-frequency bass that made the floor pulse like a living thing. Red light bled through cracked overhead fixtures, casting shadows that swam through the haze of cigar smoke and vapor clouds. Cass stepped through the curtain of hanging chains, boots thudding against the scarred concrete, every pair of eyes turning toward her. One dealer paused mid-handshake. An arms merchants tucked a weapon under their coat. A woman at the bar nudged her companion and whispered, “That’s Vega.” Cass didn’t flinch.

She walked straight through the crowd like she still had her reputation—and maybe she did. The crowd parted, wary. She’d built bombs for half these freaks. Dismantled others. Everyone had heard about something. Almost nobody knew the truth. At the back, seated like a king over rot, lounged Bishop Roke. Gold grill glinting in the neon wash, smile tattoo stretched across his throat, he looked every bit the nightmare that whispered secrets for a fee. A faux-fur coat hung off his wiry frame like royalty. His fingers tapped out the beat on the armrest of his throne—a gutted jukebox turned sideways. “Cass Vega,” he drawled. “Come to settle up?” She stopped short. “Nah, not yet. I’m here for intel.” Roke grinned wider. “Always so warm. What’s the ask?” “Trigger chip. Felix has two components. I’m not letting him make it three.” His grill glinted as he leaned back. “Felix… hmmm. So that’s what that chatter was.” Cass narrowed her eyes. “You’ve heard something.” Roke shrugged. “Might’ve heard about something in a case that someone won’t let anyone near.” “You sure it’s the chip?” His face sobered. “I’m not sure of anything. But I know where.” Cass waited. Roke watched her for a beat. “So. What’s it worth to you?” “What’s the price?” “A cut,” Roke said, rising. “Whatever the payload, I want a piece. Even if it’s just bragging rights.” Sounded fair and the countdown clock blinking on her wrist said 7 hours, 30 minutes, 12 seconds.

No time for negotiation anyway. “Fine,” she muttered. “Safehouse. South edge of El Coro sector. Cartel joint, reinforced as hell.” Roke slid a data stick across the table. “Also, try not to get dead. You still owe me from Bucharest.” Cass pocketed the stick without answering and turned to leave. Behind her, the lounge buzzed again—but this time, the crowd didn’t part as much. They’d smelled blood. The cartel safehouse was a converted warehouse wrapped in concrete, steel bars, and years of murder. Cass crouched behind a stack of crates across the street, earpiece buzzing as Glitch whispered in her ear. “Perimeter’s tight. Two guards at the front. Three rotating on the upper walkway. No aerial drones.” Beside her, Jana Morro double-checked her sidearm. “On your go.” Cass tapped her mic. “Glitch, door one.” Glitch’s fingers danced across their touchscreen. “And… unlocked.” They slipped through the side door like smoke. Glitch running to follow close, hoodie bunched up, nerves high. The second door was older—keypad, bio-lock, motion sensors. Glitch popped open a panel and plugged in. “Give me thirty.” Jana stood guard. Cass scanned the hall, eyes sharp. Halfway through bypassing the third lock, Glitch froze. Their hands twitched. The display glitched into static. “Shit—not now!” The keypad lit red. An alarm wailed. Cass didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, yanked her jacket open, and started assembling parts from loose pockets—capacitor, solder, a battery clipped from her glove. “EMP device, on the fly,” she snapped. “Cover me!”

Jana opened fire as guards burst from the end of the hall. Muzzle flashes lit the dark. Cass’s hands didn’t tremble. Every motion exact. She clicked the charge together, twisted two wires— A pulse burst from the device. Lights died. Lock disengaged. So did every screen Glitch carried. Their rig went dark. “My system’s fried! We’re blind.” “Sorry, had to improvise.” Cass kicked the vault door open and stormed in. The biometric case sat on a pedestal inside the vault. Sleek. Secure. Waiting. Cass yanked out a thin blade, popped the lock, and twisted the latch. It clicked. Inside lay the trigger chip—a translucent square etched with glowing circuits. Smaller than a coin. More dangerous than a goddamn tank. She pocketed it just as bullets slammed into the vault wall behind her. Jana screamed. Cass turned to see her fall, clutching her thigh, blood soaking her pants. “Shit—Morro!” Cass hauled her up, slinging Jana’s arm over her shoulder. Glitch fired wildly behind them with a borrowed pistol, hands shaking, eyes wide. “MOVE!” Cass barked. They sprinted. Bullets pinged off steel beams. Cass didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. They exploded out a side exit, dove into the getaway car. Glitch hit the gas. Tires screamed. Rounds shattered the rear window as they tore into the night. In the backseat, Jana clutched her leg. “I’m—fine.” “You’re not,” Cass snapped, ripping off her jacket to staunch the bleeding. “Glitch—get me a line.” “To who?” Cass hesitated. Swallowed hard. “Sera. It’s me.

We need a kit.” The safehouse was a condemned apartment three stories tall and still sagging from the last blackout riot. They dragged Jana to the kitchen table and cleared the junk. Fifteen minutes later, Sera Vale walked in. Eyes flat. Tension filled the room like poison gas. She didn’t speak to Cass. Just opened her kit, scanned Jana’s wound, and got to work. Silence. Cass stood off to the side, arms crossed. Sera didn’t look up. "You called me like nothing happened," Sera said quietly as she disinfected Jana's wound. "I needed… people needed help," Cass replied. Sera didn’t answer. Just tightened the tourniquet with one clean pull. “Still just thinking about yourself,” Sera muttered. “No apologies.” Glitch crouched nearby, prying open the trigger chip casing with a set of micro-tools. Their eye flickered faintly. “This isn’t standard,” they said, voice hushed. “Felix reworked it. These circuits… they’re elegant. Sharp.” Cass looked over. Glitch continued. “You said he warned you about design flaws? Well… He fixed them.” Cass didn’t speak. Her hand went to her scar and then to a necklace, tracing the initials etched on the back—K.S.—it was from a tech who hadn’t made it out. As Glitch’s voice faded into the background saying, “Track his signature to hack it.” Cass remembered. They were in the lab, six years ago. Felix pacing. Agitated. “You’re pushing it too hard,” he’d said. “The thermal coupling’s too fragile. If it overheats—” “Not now, kid,” she’d cut him off. “It’s a test.

It’s good enough.” Her fists clenched. Jaw tight. More guilt. This was her fault. As Sera slips away to make a call. Cass stepped out onto the crumbling balcony, watching the skyline flicker with neon and ash. The city was still sleeping. It didn’t know it had a countdown. Inside, as Glitched yelled, “I matched the uplink,” a shadow moved. Cass turned—but it was too late. The first blast hit the front door. Windows shattered. Smoke poured in. Shouts. Gunfire. Cass raced back inside. Jana was on the floor, firing with her good arm, pinned behind an overturned table. “Sera’s gone!” she shouted. Cass ducked, scanned the room—and saw them dragging Glitch out the back, chip in hand. “NO!” She sprinted, dove—too slow. A baton slammed into her ribs. Electricity exploded through her spine. She hit the floor hard. Felix’s voice crackled over the stolen comms. “You’re losing, Cass. Always too slow.” She looked up. Sera stood in the doorway, flanked by Felix’s men. Expression blank. “He told me you were rebuilding it. That chip proved it.” Cass locked eyes with her. No words. Just Betrayal. And the sound of retreating boots echoing down the hall. The warehouse office stank of cordite, sweat, and rot. Water leaked from a ruptured pipe above, dripping onto a dusty steel desk scarred with bullet holes and burn marks. Over it, a tactical map fluttered under the draft of a busted ceiling fan.

Cass Vega leaned over the table, one hand gripping the edge, the other shaking slightly as she checked her wrist device. 3 hours, 32 minutes, 15 seconds. The red numbers pulsed like a heartbeat. Across from her, Jana Morro slammed her fist on the desk. “We chase Felix. Now. But with Glitch there, maybe we’ve got a shot –If they don’t kill him first.” Cass winced as she shifted. Her left leg was bandaged but swollen, throbbing from a shrapnel graze that hadn’t stopped bleeding since the raid. Sweat clung to her face, highlighting the burn scar that stretched along her jaw. She didn’t flinch as the pain lanced through her. Pain was old news. “Coolant core’s the next piece,” she said. “No core, no detonation. We control that, he’s done.” Jana shook her head. “But what if Felix tortures Glitch to gets them to break the failsafe’s military seals—” Cass cut her off. “We don’t have time to play rescue and bomb squad at once.” Bishop Roke leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, gold grill flashing under flickering lights. He toyed with the sequin belt holstering his vintage revolver, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm. “Look, I don’t like ticking clocks. But I really don’t like meatpacking ganglords with glowing tech in their safes. Let’s be smart and not die in two places at once.” Cass nodded, her voice steady despite the pain. “We split. Jana, you track Felix. I’ll hit the compound with Roke.”

Jana stepped toward her, trench coat billowing under emergency lights. Her lip curled, not quite a sneer. “If you’re not at the rendezvous in ninety minutes,” she said, “I come in hot.” Cass didn’t argue. She holstered her sidearm, pulled out a homemade breaching charge, and set to work loading its shell. Her hands trembled—just a little—as she twisted wires into place. The Scorpion gang’s compound squatted in the industrial dead zone like a tumor—old slaughterhouse, wired for war. Razor coils topped rusted fences. Motion sensors blinked red behind shattered windows. Cass crouched in shadow, Bishop beside her, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “Blind spot there,” he whispered, pointing with two fingers. “Service path between the processing vats. They’re lazy. Assume the stench keeps people out.” Cass glanced at the building’s frame. Her demolitionist brain took over—support beams, wall weaknesses, ventilation shafts. She’d blown up places like this. She knew where to press and where to run. “My contact says the core’s in the boss’s safe,” Bishop said. “Third floor, northeast corner.” Cass nodded. “Then we take the low road and climb.” They moved. Bishop flashed gang tattoos at the first checkpoint, tossed a name, promised a favor, and a bag of counterfeit stim chips. The guards let them pass, half-laughing. Inside, the corridors pulsed with heat and bad intent. Thugs counted money at long metal tables. One room was stacked with weapons—pistols stripped, polished, reloaded. Another held crates of packaged drugs stamped with scorpion symbols.

Cass planted small charges as she passed. Enough to cause noise. Confusion. Not kill. She moved like a shadow, Bishop trailing, talking fast, charming thugs with tales of rare weapons. When one guard got too curious, Bishop pulled out a disassembled plasma pistol and launched into a spiel about arc-core retrofitting. As the guy stopped blinking, Roke paused at the door. "Don’t get clever in there, Cass. You still owe me." She raised a brow. "I didn’t know you cared." "Only for the special ones." He gave her a look—flat, brief—and turned away. Up the stairs. Down the hall. She reached the office door and popped the electronic lock in sixty seconds flat. Inside, the safe was embedded in the wall behind a painting of a sandstorm. Classic cliché. She rolled her eyes, dropped to one knee, and cracked it open using her own gear—a bypass stunner and a magnetic code reader. The coolant core glowed pale blue inside, nestled in foam. She wrapped it in her jacket and stood. Then the alarms screamed. “Company’s coming!” Bishop’s voice crackled through her earpiece. “Move your ass!” Cass ran. Strobes lit the hallway red and white. Gang members spilled from doors, guns raised, shouting in three languages. Cass ducked low, set off her pre-planted charges. One exploded behind her, dropping support beams across the main passage. Another shorted the lights. Chaos erupted. Gunfire shredded the air. She pushed through the smoke.

At the side exit, Bishop waited, jacket torn, sequin belt missing, coat peppered with holes. His gold grill flashed as he yelled, “Go!” They bolted down the stairs, almost clear—when a net gun fired. Bishop was yanked backward mid-stride, tangled and slammed against a wall. “Run, you idiot!” he shouted. Cass skidded to a stop. Her hand hovered near her last charge. Bishop looked up. Bloody. Calm. “Go,” he mouthed. Cass turned and ran. She didn’t look back. The industrial district was a graveyard of failed machines and forgotten debts. Cass ducked through wreckage and dripping pipes, the coolant core pressed tight to her chest. Her comm buzzed. Felix’s voice slithered through. “Still…. losing, Cass.” Then: coordinates. He wanted her to see something. Jana’s boots crunched over gravel as she crept through the perimeter of an abandoned server farm. She’d tracked Felix’s vehicle here—silent, cloaked, leaving no trail but timing. She moved fast. No backup. No margin for error. Inside, cold air pulsed from servers still humming off stolen power. And in the center of it all— Glitch. Their blue-dyed hair matted with blood, face pale. Wires snaked into ports from their rig. Their fingers flew across holographic keys, teeth clenched, eyes wide. Felix stood beside them, calm, watching as systems fell. Military firewalls crumbled. Locks blinked red, then green. The countdown ticked faster. 2 hours, 59 minutes, 48 seconds. Jana lifted her sidearm, took aim— Felix looked at her. Then the turret behind her activated. She dove. Fired back.

The hallway erupted. Too many guards. Too much fire. She retreated, dragging herself behind dead servers, breathing hard. She’d failed. Cass sat on a concrete ledge above a drainage tunnel, blood dripping from her thigh, her coat soaked through. The coolant core sat in her lap, humming faintly. Her comm buzzed. Jana’s voice—weak, angry. “He’s in. Glitch is wired. I couldn’t stop it.” Cass didn’t speak. She stared at the glowing core in her hand. One component saved. Bishop gone. Glitch captured. The clock still bleeding down. Two hours, 48 minutes, 12 seconds. She closed her fist. And the rage hit. The coordinates led her into the sewer grid—a mile-long stretch of tunnels. Jana had gone dark. Cass just hoped she wasn’t dead. Cass limped down the slick maintenance tunnel, concrete damp beneath her boots, blood trickling from a gash above her right eye. The world narrowed to gunmetal and pain. Her last mag was empty. Her knife was gone. Her breathing sounded like it belonged to someone else. Ahead, Felix’s men emerged from the gloom—half a dozen, armored, rifles raised. Cass didn’t beg. Just stood there, fists clenched. A voice crackled from a wall-mounted speaker—Felix’s voice. Calm. Unhurried. “Time’s nearly up, Cass. Two hours left.” She tried to move, but her knees buckled. The butt of a rifle struck her gut. Another cracked across her back. Then zipties around her wrists, too tight. They dragged her, feet scraping wet concrete.

The command center was a repurposed subway control room wired to hell—monitors on every surface, showing grainy shots of the bomb site, the city skyline, and the blinking red countdown clock. Felix Drahn stood at the center, tall and still. His gray coat draped like a flag, eyes glowing faintly in the monitor light. Cass was dumped in front of him. He looked down at her like a disappointed teacher. Then turned to the camera and began to speak. “Citizens of New Bastion… you should know who built your bomb. Cassandra Vega. Six years ago, she ignored warnings, cut corners, and killed seventeen people. No consequences. No justice.” Cass’s breath caught. “She has one chance to make this right—public confession. Or I detonate her creation and level this city.” Felix gestured. A monitor zoomed in on the timer. 58 minutes, 43 seconds. And falling. Cass didn’t blink. But she felt something crack inside. She kept her head down, voice brittle. “You win, Felix. I’ll confess. Everything.” “Great!” His men hauled her to her feet, marched her to the bomb site—an abandoned subway platform where the prototype sat coiled and ready. Its casing was open, internals exposed like a dissected god. Felix walked ahead, his voice calm. Cass barely listened. Her eyes scanned exits, guards, angles. She watched, waiting for a moment. In the control room, Glitch sat cross-legged amid a mess of exposed wires. Their fingers danced across a keyboard, sweat soaking their hoodie. Their eye flickered. Systems buckled.

“Come on, you piece of junk,” they hissed. “Let me breach.” The timer blinked: 47 minutes, 12 seconds. Glitch hit the command. A blackout rippled across six city blocks. Emergency lights buzzed. Back on the platform, Felix paused. Cass didn’t. She drove her head backward into a guard’s nose, heard the crunch, spun, caught his rifle as it dropped. The stock smashed into a second guard’s throat. Felix turned, surprised—genuinely. Cass raised the rifle. A small tinge of guilt and regret in their eyes. A side door exploded outward. Jana Morro charged in, pistol raised. “FPPD! Drop your weapons!” Sera followed, shotgun leveled. No hesitation as she aimed at Felix. Felix’s men scattered, opening fire. Bullets tore through concrete. Sparks rained from blown lights. Cass dove behind a support pillar, rifle clutched tight. Nearby, the bomb hummed, the timer reading: 23 minutes, 47 seconds. Felix retreated toward the platform’s center, barking orders. Jana moved like a machine—precision fire, tactical advances. Sera limped but didn’t stop. She fired in rhythm, covering Jana with cold-eyed resolve. Cass called out across the chaos. “Thought you abandoned me!” Sera racked the shotgun. “Changed my mind. Broadcast changed things. Some things ain’t worth dying for.” Cass nodded once. Then moved. She met Felix atop the bomb. The final fight wasn’t pretty. His strikes were clean, trained. Precision over power. Hers were messy. Elbow. Knee. Throat. His coat tore open. Her jacket shredded at the sides. They slipped. Scrambled.

Blood spattered across the bomb casing as the timer hit: 5 minutes. Felix slammed her down, pinning her against the hot metal. Her arm flared with pain. “You never listened,” he growled. “She’s dead because you cut corners.” Cass stilled. Silent. Then: “You’re right,” she said, voice low. “I messed up. I ignored you. I got people killed.” Felix froze for just a second. “But I won’t let you kill thousands more.” She drove her forehead into his jaw. He reeled. She flipped him, pinned him, one knee on his neck. Then tore open the control housing with her bare hands. The countdown blinked. 47 seconds. Her fingers flew. Wires. Codes. Failsafes. “I built it,” she whispered. “I can damn well unbuild it.” 3 seconds. The timer froze. The platform fell dead silent. Felix stopped struggling. Cass sat back, trembling. Jana stepped in, cuffed Felix. His eyes—once bright with purpose—were just pale now. Empty. Glitch limped into view, hoodie bloodied, one eye sparking, grinning like a fox who’d escaped the trap. “Told you I could hack his system.” The four of them stood amid wreckage. Smoke. Broken glass. Burned dreams. Enemies. Traitors. Partners. Survivors. Jana locked eyes with Cass. “Go. You’ve got five minutes. I never saw you.” Glitch pressed something into Cass’s hand. A burner phone. “If you need a hacker,” they said. Sera just nodded. Cass didn’t speak. She turned. Walked into the shadows. Her boots echoed. A few weeks later: The phone buzzed.

1 New Message: “Need your skills. Bigger problem.” Cass read it once. Her scarred face hardened. She didn’t hesitate. She walked into the dark.