Page 59 of Burning Ice
Wherever you are, Bekn Zaid, I will find you.
He checked the pulse on his wrist-band. It beat too fast for calm. The need for movement did that to him. It was hunger, not fear.
The Luminary headquarters loomed ahead, a forge of glass and steel. Inside, the low buzz of conversation mingled with the scent of synthetic coffee. Kylix moved through the corridors with short nods and clipped exchanges. Screens blinked with data, the usual rhythm of command.
He walked the metal halls, his boots striking in even rhythm. He checked in with his field team, confirming Vandor had stayed behind at the university to keep an eye on Mirel. Only after the report came through did he head to the command floor.
The lift doors sealed behind him. “Any news on Attica?” he asked over comms.
The pause that followed scraped his nerves.
“We can’t be sure yet,” a junior officer said, stepping forward with a file in hand. “But the South Ring sweep found residue. Same mix as the old pills. They’re back in use.”
Kylix stopped walking. The memory hit sharp. The chemical rush, the blur, the hollow second when he’d realized he was no longer in control. That they had taken Helianth. “Keep it contained,” he said finally. His voice stayed even, but the heat under his skin betrayed him. “No press. Not like the prison leak.”
He looked up from the file, eyes cutting across the room. “Anyone know more about that?”
No one answered. The silence stretched.
“Sure,” Kylix said. “Didn’t think so.”
He let the moment hang just long enough for the threat to settle before turning away.
He continued toward the data pit, where analysts sat hunched over glowing terminals, the tension sharp in the air. The sound of the machines filled the room. Heat pooled near the consoles, rising off the circuitry in waves. Kylix moved between the rows, the static brushing against his wrist as if the air itself resisted him. The forge glass above caught the light, burning faintly orange, and for a moment he could see their faces reflected there, pale with exhaustion, eyes bruised from too many nights without rest. One of them rubbed his temples, whispering about phantom signals and misfired alerts. It was how fear began here.
“Still no entry point,” one said. “Every time we think we’ve got it, it shifts again.”
“The code’s alive,” another muttered. “Like it knows we’re looking.”
Kylix approached, scanning the flickering projections. “That’s what you said yesterday.”
“Yes, sir,” one replied quickly. “It keeps changing. Same coordinates, different data every time. It’s like someone’s toying with us.”
“Someone is,” Kylix said under his breath. He could feel it, Bekn’s hand, invisible and precise. “Keep the trace active. If it moves again, I want to see it in real time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Time passed. By the time Yure arrived, the light through the forge glass had shifted to late-afternoon gold. He was still in his university uniform, computer under his arm, the scent of coffee trailing after him. “Couldn’t wait,” he said, grinning. “You all would’ve crashed the system without me.”
He made his way through the rows of desks, unpacking wires and screens, trading a few jokes with the analysts before finding an empty seat near the main console. They bent over their work, their talk low and fast, all focus on the rebel encryption still refusing to crack.
Kylix opened his multi-slate and typed quickly.
Vandor, how’s everything at the academy?
The reply came seconds later.
Quiet so far. Boy’s fine. Keeps his head down.
Kylix stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the keys. He hated that he needed to ask, hated the pull that kept his attention there when he had a city to run. With a sharp breath, he closed the slate.
A sudden rise in voices drew his attention back to the analysts. “Still no entry point?” he called.
Yure leaned forward, scanning the code. “It shifts every hour. Whoever wrote this doesn’t want us finding the source.”
Kylix frowned. “Yeah, I heard. Someone’s toying with us.”
Yure didn’t look up. “No, sir. I think someone’s watching us.”
