Pip chirped, tilted his head, and tapped the cube twice—same as the first night. It meant, she decided, both yes and stay.

His weapon lowered. For a moment, the drone's whine softened, the city's edge blurred. You could see it then: Pip's influence wasn't just chemical or biological; it was a bridge.

Jade laughed once, a short, surprised sound, and curled back against her blankets with Pip curled on her chest. The city hummed on below them, indifferent and alive. Above, in the dark, distant and enormous, a single point of light blinked in time with the cube.

A small chirp from behind an overturned holo-bin made her freeze. There, huddled and shivering under a foil blanket, was a creature no older than a kitten: two bulging eyes that reflected the city lights like polished glass, skin the color of wet moss, and three spindly fingers on each hand that flexed like curious leaves.