My wrist felt naked.

  Without the comforting hum of Handy’s processor against my radial artery, my arm was just an arm. A silent, analog limb made of meat and bone. It was terrible. I kept glancing down at the blackened screen of my smartwatch, expecting a snarky comment about my heart rate or a statistical probability of boredom-induced coma, but I got nothing. Just the reflection of the fluorescent classroom lights and my scowl.

  “You okay, Nikki?” Tessa whispered, nudging me with her elbow. “You look like you’re mourning a dead pet.”

  “Just tech issues,” I muttered, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as we shuffled into AP Physics. “My watch bricked itself. I feel disconnected.”

  “Tragic,” Tessa said, popping a piece of synth-gum. “But look on the bright side. At least your hair looks amazing. The humidity is actually working for you today. Very ‘wild wolf chic’.”

  I nearly tripped over the threshold. “Don’t say ‘wolf’,” I hissed.

  “Why? It’s anaesthetic.”

  We navigated the rows of sleek, hovering desks. The classroom smelled of ozone and dry-erase markers—the scent of academic desperation. Usually, Tessa and I claimed the back corner, the strategic vantage point where we could gossip via text and monitor the door for potential zombie outbreaks. Or pop quizzes. Whichever came first.

  I headed for our usual spot, my eyes scanning the room out of habit.

  Danny Troy. Row two. My stomach tightened.

  He was sitting in the second row—prime "teacher’s pet" territory, which didn't fit his "brooding loner" vibe at all. He was leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out, looking completely at ease in a room full of stressed-out honors students. He’d ditched the heavy winter jacket, thank god, trading it for a long-sleeved black Henley that fit a little too well.

  But the worst part?

  The seat next to him was empty.

  And Barry "The Mouth" Henderson, who was currently narrating his own attempt to balance a pencil on his nose occupied the seat next to that.

  “Tessa, take the back,” I commanded, steering her toward safety. “I’ll sit… anywhere else.”

  I aimed for an empty desk near the window, far away from Danny Troy.

  “Take your seats, people!” Mr. Holder bellowed. “We have physics to abuse and very little time to do it!”

  Mr. Holder was a legend. He was half-man, half-caffeine, with wild gray hair that looked like he’d stuck a fork in a socket and a cybernetic left eye that zoomed in and out with a distracting whir. He didn't believe in assigned seating, usually. He believed in chaos.

  I reached for the window seat.

  “Ah, Miss Nova!” Holder barked, pointing a laser pointer at my chest. The red dot danced on my uniform. “Not today. The window is for daydreamers and pigeons. You’re neither.”

  He swiveled his finger, pointing directly at the empty seat next to Danny.

  “Row two. Mr. Troy looks lonely. Go keep him company.”

  My feet glued themselves to the linoleum. “Sir, I really focus better by the window.”

  “You’re a cheerleader, Nova, not a fern. Sit.”

  Tessa gave me a sympathetic wave from the back of the room as she slid into her seat. Traitor.

  I took a breath, gripped my bag strap until my knuckles turned white, and marched to the second row.

  Ice Queen, I reminded myself. Be cold. Be boring. Be the human equivalent of a dial tone.

  I dropped my bag on the floor and slid into the chair. I didn't look at him. I pulled out my tablet, my stylus, and a notebook. Lining them up. Edge to edge. Perfect angles. Anything to keep my hands busy.

  “Hey,” a low voice murmured.

  The sound rumbled in my chest, bypassing my ears entirely. It was that same gravel-and-velvet tone that had haunted my shower last night.

  I didn't turn. I stared at the blackboard. “Hi.”

  “Watch still dead?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yep.”

  Riveting conversation. I was crushing this whole "boring" thing.

  “Okay, listen up!” Holder slammed the door. “Thermodynamics,” he said. “Is boring. Today, we study decay.”

  He tapped the board, and a massive, gritty image appeared. It was a 3D map of Chicago, but not the shiny, chrome-plated city center. It was the Lower Sectors—the crumbling, smog-choked roots of the metropolis where the sun rarely touched the pavement.

  “This city is rotting,” Holder announced gleefully. “Literally. The structural integrity of the Lower Sectors is failing. Radiation leaks, chemical runoff, structural fatigue. It’s a physicist’s playground of doom.”

  He zoomed in on a nasty-looking block of industrial ruins.

  “Your project,” he announced, “is ‘The Mechanics of Urban Decay’. You are going to map it. You are going to measure it. And you are going to calculate exactly when this city is going to collapse under its own weight.”

  The class groaned.

  “Field work?” someone asked. “In the Lower Sectors? Isn’t that… dangerous?”

  “Life is dangerous, Mr. Perkins!” Holder’s cyber-eye whirred. “Crossing the street is dangerous! Eating the cafeteria meatloaf is a statistical gamble! This is science! It requires risks!”

  He tapped the board again. A list of names scrolled down.

  “You will work in pairs. I have selected your partners based on a complex algorithm involving your grades, your temperaments, and my own personal amusement.”

  I scanned the list, my heart sinking.

  Nova / Troy.

  Of course. Because the universe wasn't content with just frying my watch; it wanted to fry my social life too.

  “Mr. Holder,” I raised my hand, voice steady. “Question.”

  “If it’s about switching partners, the answer is no,” Holder said without looking up from his console.

  “But—”

  “No, Miss Nova. Mr. Troy is new. He needs a guide who knows the city. You know the city. You have… street smarts. I’ve seen you navigate a pep rally. It’s practically urban warfare.”

  “But I have cheer practice,” I lied. “My schedule is tight. Danny… Mr. Troy… probably needs someone with more free time. Like Perkins. Perkins loves decay.”

  “I do not,” Perkins whispered from the back.

  “Denied,” Holder snapped. “The pairings are final. Learn to collaborate. It’s a life skill. Like dodging taxes or fixing an ancient VCR.”

  I slumped in my chair. Defeat tasted like bitter almonds.

  I risked a glance to my right.

  Danny was looking at me. He wasn't gloating. He wasn't smirking. He was just… smiling. A small, genuine, barely there smile that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he whispered.

  “Don’t look so happy about it,” I muttered, opening a new file on my tablet labeled DOOM PROJECT. “I’m a terrible partner. I’m bossy, I’m impatient, and I don’t share my snacks.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. He leaned closer, just an inch, and the scent of mint and cold iron washed over me. “I’m pretty good at following orders.”

  My breath hitched.

  Handy, I screamed internally. Reboot! I need backup!

  My wrist remained silent. I was on my own.

  “Okay,” I said, turning to face him fully. If I couldn't run, I’d fight. “Here’s the deal. We do the work. We get the A. We don’t talk about… yesterday. We don’t talk about feelings. We measure radiation, we calculate structural load, and we go home. Deal?”

  Danny held my gaze. His eyes were deep, swallowing the light from the room. He looked at me like I was a puzzle he was just starting to solve.

  “Deal,” he said.

  He didn't offer his hand to shake. He knew better now.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  We spent the rest of the period plotting coordinates on the map. Every time his arm brushed mine, I flinched. Every time he asked a question, his voice low and rumbly, the wolf in my head perked up and wagged its tail.

  It was going to be a long week.

  The Steelpot Cyber-Cafe was located three blocks from school, tucked into an alleyway that smelled of burnt sesame oil and overheated servers. It was the place where the V-space was faster than the service and the neon signs buzzed with a headache-inducing flicker.

  It was perfect.

  I sat in a booth near the back, nursing a cup of "Zen Master Green Tea" that tasted mostly like hot water and grass. My tablet was open on the table, displaying a schematic of Sector 4’s industrial district.

  The bell above the door chimed.

  I didn't look up. I knew who it was. The cafe went quiet. Not silent, just... wary. The chatter of the gamers at the counter dipped for a microsecond.

  Danny slid into the booth opposite me.

  He looked different outside of school. Less guarded. He wore a gray hoodie under a leather jacket that looked old and soft, and his dark hair was windblown. No uniform. No posture check. He sat with his shoulders slumped, scanning the door.

  “You’re early,” I said, tapping my stylus against the screen.

  “You said 4:00. It’s 3:58.”

  “Early,” I repeated. “I like punctuality. It’s efficient.”

  “I’ll try to be late next time,” he said, a dry amusement in his tone. “Wouldn’t want to be too predictable.”

  He signaled the drone hovering nearby. “Black coffee. No sugar.”

  “Hardcore,” I commented. “Most people here drink the ‘Sugar-Rush Sludge’.”

  “I need the caffeine.”

  The drone buzzed away. Danny leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands. His fingers were long, pale, and artistic. I tried not to look at them. I tried not to think about how easily they had plucked a metal tray out of the air.

  “So,” he said, looking at the map. “Sector 4. That’s deep in the Rust Belt. Isn’t that where the old synth-meat factories used to be?”

  “Yeah,” I said, scrolling the map. “It’s a structural nightmare. Rusted girders, sinking foundations, occasional pockets of methane gas. Mr. Holder really wants us to work for this grade.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “It sounds like tetanus waiting to happen.” I looked up at him. “Okay, ground rules. Since we’re actually doing this.”

  “I thought we established the rules in class. No feelings. Just physics.”

  “Addendum,” I said, holding up a finger. “Rule one: We stick to the perimeter. We don’t go deep into the structures. I don’t want a building falling on my head.”

  “Sensible.”

  “Rule two: If I say run, you run. You don’t ask why. You don’t look back. You just sprint.”

  Danny’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Expecting trouble?”

  “It’s the Lower Sectors, Danny. There’s always trouble. Gangs, scavengers, rogue drones. It’s not a field trip.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can catch a lunch tray,” I said, keeping my voice dismissive. “But catching a lead pipe swung by a stim-crazed scavenger is different. Just… trust me on the running thing.”

  He studied me for a second, that intense, void-like gaze dissecting my bravado. “Okay. Rule two: Run on command. Got it.”

  “Rule three,” I said, pointing my stylus at him. “No heroics. If something happens, you worry about you. I worry about me. We don’t do the whole ‘human shield’ thing again. It’s inefficient.”

  Danny’s coffee arrived. The drone set it down with a clatter. He took a sip, steaming hot, without wincing.

  “Inefficient,” he repeated. “Is that what you call saving someone from a broken nose?”

  “I call it unnecessary risk. I have reflexes. I would have been fine.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “But maybe I don’t like watching people get hurt.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong city.”

  I took a sip of my grass-water. It was getting cold.

  “Why are you so prickly, Nikki?” he asked suddenly.

  It wasn't an accusation. It was a genuine question.

  “I’m not prickly,” I said defensibly. “I’m… textured. It’s a survival adaptation.”

  I glared at him. “Are you psychoanalyzing me? Because I charge by the hour for access to my trauma.”

  He smiled again. It was dangerous, that smile. It made him look less like a statue and more like a boy you could actually talk to.

  “Just observing,” he said. “You have a lot of walls for a cheerleader.”

  “Cheerleading is war, Troy. Be tough.”

  “I believe you.” He leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the booth. “So, when do we start this expedition into the Rust Belt?”

  “Tomorrow after school,” I said. “We have a two-hour window before sunset. I don’t do the Lower Sectors after dark.”

  “Scared of the dark?”

  “Scared of what lives in it.”

  He went quiet at that. His gaze drifted to the window, watching the neon sign of a noodle shop flicker across the street. A shadow passed over his face—not a physical shadow, but an emotional one. A darkness that went deeper than just mood.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”

  For a second, the Ice Queen mask slipped. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to ask him what he was afraid of. Was it the sun? Was it the silence? Or was it something with teeth?

  Don’t ask, I told myself. Don’t dig.

  The bell above the door chimed again.

  “Nikki! There you are!”

  I flinched.

  Cody Miller crashed into the booth. He was wearing a headset around his neck and a t-shirt that said LOADING… in pixelated font.

  He spotted us instantly. His eyes went wide, then narrowed into a look of exaggerated suspicion.

  “Aha! I knew it!”

  “Knew what, Cody?” I sighed, rubbing my temples.

  He slid into the booth next to me, squishing me against the wall. “The secrecy! The disappearing acts! The intense staring contests in the hallway! You guys are totally on a date.”

  “We are not on a date,” I said, shoving him over to give myself breathing room. “We are working. Physics project. Holder paired us.”

  “Likely story,” Cody grinned, stealing a sip of my tea. He grimaced. “Ugh. Grass water. Why do you drink this?”

  He looked across the table at Danny.

  “So, you’re the Mystery Man,” Cody said, sizing Danny up. “The Lunchroom Ninja. The Guy With The Scrambler.”

  Danny didn't flinch. He just looked at Cody with mild amusement. “And you’re the Guy With The Gelatin.”

  Cody laughed, slapping the table. “Guilty as charged! That was legendary, right? I mean, catastrophic, but legendary.”

  “It had style,” Danny admitted. “A little messy on the execution, but the trajectory calculations were impressive.”

  Cody beamed. “See? He gets it! Nikki just yelled at me.”

  “I didn't yell,” I grumbled. “I advised you to seek legal counsel.”

  “Danny, my man,” Cody leaned across the table, offering a fist bump. “I’m Cody. Nikki’s handler. I make sure she doesn’t take life too seriously.”

  Danny bumped the fist. “Danny. And I think she handles herself pretty well.”

  “Oh, she’s a tank,” Cody agreed. “But even tanks need maintenance. So, what’s the deal? Where you from? Why the mystery? Are you a spy? An alien? A time traveler here to save us from bad pop music?”

  I kicked Cody under the table. Hard.

  “Ow!” Cody rubbed his shin. “Hostile work environment!”

  “I’m from New York,” Danny lied smoothly. “Not a spy. Just… wanted a fresh start.”

  “New York,” Cody said. “Pizza capital. Rats the size of terriers.”

  “It’s better,” Danny agreed. “Less neon, more grease.”

  “Respect.” Cody looked between us again. “So, seriously. You guys bond over… what? Structural integrity?”

  “We’re mapping urban decay,” I said. “It’s thrilling.”

  “Sounds depressing,” Cody said. “You know what you should do? Ditch the rust and come to the Arcade. New shipment of retro games just unlocked. Danny, you game?”

  I opened my mouth to say no. To say Danny was busy. To say I was busy.

  “Sure,” Danny said. “I used to play a bit.”

  “A bit?” Cody grinned. “I smell a challenge. Nikki is the reigning champion of Street Fighter 3000, but only because she button-mashes.”

  “I do not button-mash!” I protested, indignant. “I use complex combos!”

  “She mashes,” Cody whispered to Danny. “It’s violent.”

  Danny laughed. It was a real laugh this time, deeper and warmer than before. It transformed his face, softening the sharp angles and chasing away the shadows in his eyes.

  “I’ll have to see it to believe it,” Danny said, looking at me.

  I felt the blush creeping up my neck. I hated it. I hated he was charming. I hated he was nice to Cody. I hated he looked at me like he was in on the joke.

  “We have work to do,” I said, tapping the tablet. “Physics first. Games later.”

  “Buzzkill,” Cody muttered. He stood up. “Alright, I’m gonna go dominate the leaderboards. Danny, you’re cool. Nikki, you’re… you.”

  “Get out of here, Miller,” I said, fighting a smile.

  Cody saluted and bounded off toward the gaming terminals in the back.

  Silence settled over the booth again, but it felt different now. Less sharp. The tension had shifted from defensive to… something else.

  Danny watched Cody go, then turned back to me.

  “He’s a good friend,” Danny said.

  “He’s a menace,” I corrected. “But yeah. He’s loyal. Which is rare.”

  “Loyalty is expensive,” Danny murmured, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “Usually costs more than people can afford.”

  The melancholy was back. I looked at him, seeing the crack in the armor again.

  Who hurt you, Danny Troy?

  I wanted to ask. The question burned on my tongue.

  But then my wrist buzzed.

  I jumped, nearly knocking over my tea.

  Static shrieked in my ear. White noise. Then, a voice, broken and skipping.

  “Sys...tem... re...stored.”

  “Handy!” I breathed, relief flooding me.

  “I’m back,” the AI grumbled. “And I have a lot of questions about why my internal chronometer says I lost four hours of my life. Did we get abducted? Please tell me we got abducted. It’s better than the alternative.”

  I looked at Danny. He was watching me stare at my wrist.

  “It’s alive,” I said to him, tapping the screen.

  “Good,” Danny said. He sounded relieved too. “I was worried I’d owe you a new arm.”

  “Just the watch,” I said.

  “Alert,” Handy said, his voice sharpening. “Proximity scan active. Detecting… whoa. Nikki, why is the walking signal-jammer sitting three feet away from you? And why is your heart rate doing the tango?”

  We’re working, I thought fiercely. Physics project.

  “Physics,” Handy deadpanned. “Right. Because sitting in a dim cafe with a boy who smells like ozone and secrets is definitely about thermodynamics.”

  “We should get going,” I said abruptly, closing my tablet. The air was getting too thick again. Too charged.

  Danny nodded. He finished his coffee in one swallow.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “After school. The Rust Belt.”

  “Don’t be late,” I said, sliding out of the booth.

  “I won’t.”

  He stood up too. We stood there for a second, awkward in the narrow aisle.

  “See you, Nikki.”

  “See you, Danny.”

  I turned and walked out of the cafe, past the gamers, past Cody who waved frantically from a racing sim.

  I stepped out into the alley, inhaling the smoggy air like it was oxygen.

  “Okay,” Handy said. “Fill me in. What did I miss? And why does that boy have a localized gravity field?”

  “You missed nothing,” I said, walking fast toward the train. “Just a lunch tray incident. And a static shock.”

  “A static shock that knocked me offline? Nikki, that’s not static. That’s an EMP with a pulse.”

  “I know,” I whispered, touching my wrist.

  I looked back at the cafe window. Danny was still there, sitting in the booth, staring at the empty seat where I had been.

  “He’s dangerous, Handy,” I said.

  “Agreed. We should stay away.”

  “We have a project together.”

  “Of course we do. The universe loves irony.”

  I walked home, the setting sun painting the sky in colors of bruise and fire. The wolf inside me was quiet, satisfied.

  It knew something I was trying to ignore.

  The hunt had begun. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I was running away from the danger, or running straight into it.