Kamina lay stretched across the couch, one arm dangling off the edge and the other resting over his eyes. The office was quiet except for the soft clicks of Imogen's maintenance work. She sat cross-legged on the bean bag near the window, the Barrett-11 disassembled across her lap, each piece wiped clean and set aside with the careful attention of someone who had learned to treat the rifle as an extension of herself.
"How are your eyes?" Kamina asked, his voice slightly muffled by his arm.
Imogen didn't look up from the bolt assembly. "Same as always. Hurt like hell at five in the morning."
She slid the cleaning rod through the barrel with practiced ease. "You don't need to ask every time."
"Just checking."
"Well, stop checking. It's annoying and you are not my dad."
Kamina shifted on the couch, lowering his arm to look at her. "You're annoying."
"I'm bored," she corrected, setting the barrel aside.
"Bored is boring too."
She made a face at him, then returned to her work. The quiet settled back in, broken only by the faint sounds of the city drifting up from the street below. After a few minutes, Imogen clicked the last piece into place and held the rifle up, checking the alignment before setting it gently against the bean bag.
"When are Shmuel and Rowbotham coming back from the Hana Association?" she asked.
"Who knows." Kamina stretched, his back cracking audibly. "Paperwork takes forever. Especially for a former Index Proxy. They probably have to fill out a hundred forms just to explain why he's not dead."
"Or why we're not dead."
"That too."
Imogen sighed and flopped back against the bean bag, her white-red hair spilling over the fabric. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her azure blue dress and began scrolling, her thumb moving lazily across the screen. Trendy food spots. New cafes. Popular dessert places. She stared at the images for a while, bright, colorful, inviting, before the reality of her location settled back in.
District 12.
She let the phone fall to her chest. "Everything good is in the Nest."
"Obviously," Kamina said.
"It's not fair. Why does all the good food have to be behind walls?"
"Because that's where the money is."
She groaned, rolling onto her side. "And it's getting more and more chaotic out there. The Library Phenomenon is creating too much trouble."
Kamina's arm lifted slightly. "The Library's still a mystery. There are theories that it's nested inside L Corp's Nest."
Imogen's head turned toward him. "You know about the Library?"
"I know things."
"Since when?"
"Since Shmuel told me."
She snorted. "So you don't actually know anything. You're just repeating what he said."
"I remember the important parts."
"Which are?"
Kamina paused. "It's a Library. And it's mysterious."
"You are absolutely clueless."
Imogen rolled back onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Everyone's become restless recently. More fights between syndicate members and fixers in District 12. All of them trying to control some part of it since L Corp fell." She paused. "It's like watching dogs fight over a bone."
Kamina sat up slightly. "That bone's the whole district. L Corp's gone. Their Nest is empty. Their territory is up for grabs. Everyone wants a piece."
"It's a big pie," Imogen said, "and everyone wants a slice."
"Some want the whole pie," Kamina corrected. "That's the problem."
Silence settled between them again. Outside, the city hummed with its usual noise, distant engines, occasional shouts, the ever-present buzz of neon lights that never quite turned off. Imogen picked up her phone again, scrolled for a moment, then let it drop.
"I'm still bored," she said.
"Me too."
"Should we go find something to do?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. That's the problem."
Kamina swung his legs off the couch and sat up properly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We could train. Sparring helps with boredom."
"I don't want to sweat."
"You sweat every time you use your E.G.O."
"That's different. That's fighting for my life. This is a Tuesday afternoon." She pulled herself up from the bean bag. "What about the street market? The one near the old overpass. They have those little fried things you like."
Kamina considered this. "The ones with the sweet sauce?"
"Those."
He stood, stretching his arms overhead. "Fine. But if we get jumped by another syndicate, you're explaining it to Shmuel."
"I'll tell him you started it because you are going to be the reason why it started"
"Of course you will."
Imogen slung the Barrett-11 over her shoulder, the strap settling into its familiar place. Kamina grabbed his katana from where it leaned against the wall, sliding it through his belt with practiced ease. They moved toward the door.
"Race you down the stairs," Imogen said.
"You'll lose."
"I'll have a head start."
And she was already out the door, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Kamina followed, grinning despite himself, the boredom momentarily forgotten as the city waited below.
Kamina stepped off the seventh-floor railing and dropped.
He fell in a clean line, coat snapping behind him, and hit the ground in a crouch that barely bent his knees. By the time Imogen shoved through the stairwell door, he was already leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"That's cheating," she said, still catching her breath from the stairs.
"You should try doing that more."
"It's showing off."
"Same thing."
"If I need to pull something like that off, I would need to activate my psychoment."
She punched his arm without enthusiasm and started walking. Kamina fell into step beside her, matching her pace even though his legs were longer. The street stretched ahead of them, still damp from last night's rain, the neon signs buzzing to life as the afternoon crept toward evening.
The market was a few blocks away. They walked without hurry, the kind of walk that didn't have a destination so much as a direction.
"What kind of jobs do you think we'll take next?" Imogen asked.
"Big ones."
"I mean realistically."
Kamina glanced at her. "Realistically, Urban Plague would fit our grade for once. That's probably what Shmuel will push for."
"That's what I was thinking too." She adjusted the rifle strap on her shoulder. "But knowing you, that's not what you want."
"Urban Nightmare," he said. "Minimum. Rowbotham's with us now. A strong guy like him changes what we can handle as an office. We're not the same group that got thrown around in the Ring's hideout when it's just me and Shmuel."
Imogen considered this. "Urban Plague alone could kill us."
"That's because we were a bit lacking back then."
"Urban Nightmare is different. That's raid-scale. Multiple offices, Association coordination or even Corps taking interest in it, Shmuel explained it before… the gap between each classification isn't small. It's a cliff."
"Then we climb the cliff."
She didn't argue. That was the thing about Imogen, she never actually argued against the direction. She just made sure the direction was seen clearly. "And if someone offers a Star of the City contract?"
Kamina's grin spread slowly. "Then we take it."
"Of course you'd say that."
"That's the whole point."
"To reach heaven." He said it without theatrics, just simple certainty. "Everyone at the office should aim for that. If you want to walk that path with me. I know that everyone, especially you of all people, should be living out everything you could."
Imogen was quiet for a moment, the sounds of the street filling the space. Then she said, "Star of the City is in itself a disaster."
"Then we'll be the ones standing in the middle of it."
She looked at him sideways. "You're not going to let this go."
"Never."
A cart vendor passed them, wheels clattering on uneven pavement. The smell of grilled meat drifted over, warm and smoky. Imogen's stomach made a small sound she ignored.
"Urban Plague is already hard enough," she said, her voice thoughtful rather than resistant. "Even with Rowbotham, even with everything we've learned, it's still the kind of fight where people don't come back. And Urban Nightmare is worse. That's when the large group of interest starts treating it like a small war." She paused. "And Star of the City…."
Kamina listened. He didn't interrupt.
"So I'm not saying don't reach for it," she continued. "I'm saying when we reach, we should know what we're grabbing."
He nodded slowly. "That's why you're the sniper."
She blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You look before you shoot. You see what's in front of you. You don't pull the trigger until you know what you're aiming at." He tapped his own chest. "I'm the one who jumps first and asks questions later. Shmuel's the one who knows the rules. You're the one who sees what's coming."
Imogen didn't respond immediately. She adjusted the strap again, even though it didn't need adjusting. Then she said, "So what does that make Rowbotham?"
"The wall," Kamina said. "For Shmuel to overcome. His role will come soon enough."
She snorted. The market entrance came into view, strings of lights hanging between stalls, the noise of bargaining and cooking rising around them.
"See all evil," Kamina said, and his voice had shifted slightly. "Speak all evil. Hear all evil."
Imogen looked at him.
"So that one can always be ready to do what their heart feels content with. Without the feeling of hiding anything." He met her eyes. "That's how we aim for it. Not by pretending the climb is easy. By looking at the cliff and climbing anyway."
She held his gaze for a moment. Then she rolled her eyes, but there was no sharpness in it.
"You're so dramatic," she said.
"I'm just that guy."
"You're a headache."
"A headache that wins."
The market swallowed them up, lights and noise and the smell of food. Imogen pointed toward a stall with skewers, and Kamina followed, still grinning. Somewhere behind them, the city kept turning, fights in the backstreets, Syndicates clawing at the remains of L Corp, a Library somewhere in the ruins waiting to be found.
Kamina bought three hotdogs. Imogen bought three hotdogs. They sat on a low wall near the edge of the market, legs swinging, eating in comfortable silence while the crowd moved past them. The buns were soft, the sausages slightly burned at the edges, and the sauce was sweet enough to make Imogen close her eyes on the first bite.
"These are good," she mumbled.
"Of course they are," Kamina said around a mouthful. "I picked the stall."
"You picked the stall because it had the longest line."
"That's how you know it's good."
She rolled her eyes and took another bite. The market buzzed around them—vendors shouting prices, children weaving between legs, the clatter of pans and the hiss of oil. When they finished, Imogen wiped her fingers on a napkin and stood, already scanning the stalls.
"We should buy ingredients," she said. "To cook at the office."
"You can't cook."
"I'm learning."
She clicked her tongue and started walking toward a produce stall. "Shmuel said I'm improving."
"Shmuel's too nice to tell you the truth."
"I'm buying apples," she announced, ignoring him. "And maybe some vegetables. And eggs."
Kamina followed, hands in his pockets. She moved through the stalls, stopping to inspect apples. She held one up to the light, turned it over, and set it back before picking up another.
Halfway through her inspection, she said, "Remember about the Brithelm?"
Kamina leaned against a nearby pole. "Yeah. They gave us a hell of a run when they were chasing their runaway princess."
He reached over and ruffled her hair with one hand. She swatted at him but didn't actually move away.
"It was the only option I had to live my life fully," she said quietly.
"I know."
She picked up another apple. "Now that you mention it…"
"I didn't mention it."
"You brought it up."
"I said the Brithelm chased you. You're the one bringing them up now."
"Because you mentioned them first!"
"I was responding to you!"
"You responded wrong!"
"Respond wrongly to a statement of fact?"
"By bringing up the past when I'm trying to shop!"
Kamina threw his hands up. "You literally just asked if I remembered the Brithelm!"
Imogen took a breath, visibly composing herself. "The Brithelm, as a whole, is classified by the Hana Association as an Urban Nightmare. And if we're going to do a Star of the City case in the future…" She paused, her fingers still curled around an apple. "I'd like us to go against the Brithelm. At least just a single time."
Kamina's playful expression settled into something more serious. "Are you aiming for revenge? For what they did to you?"
"No. Of course not."
"Because I won't allow you to walk that path." His voice wasn't harsh, but it was firm. "I made a promise to Sophia. About being your guardian. After the funeral of your childhood friend, she asked me to keep you safe. From them. From yourself, if it came to that."
"I know," Imogen said.
"Then what?"
She set the apple down and turned to face him properly. "I want to show them that I won't be fearful when facing what's in the past. I do hate my stepmother. For the arranged marriage. For trying to stop me from leaving the Castle of Maidens. For sending knights after us." She paused. "But I'd rather finish my bucket list than chase revenge. That's what Pisanio wanted for me."
Kamina looked at her for a long moment. Then he reached out and placed his hand on top of her head, much more gently this time, and let it rest there.
"Pisanio would be proud if he saw you now," he said.
Imogen didn't answer. She just stood there under his hand, her hair still slightly ruffled from earlier, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance.
Then she sniffed and picked up the apple again.
"This one's bruised," she said.
"That one's fine."
"It's bruised. You eat it."
"Give it to me."
She tossed the apple at him and turned back to the stall, already picking through the rest. Kamina caught it one-handed and took a bite, watching her with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and something softer.
"Hey, brat," he said.
"What?"
"Your list still has any fishing thing on it?"
"Already did the fishing thing"
"That was a good day."
"It was a terrible day. We almost died."
She shook her head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The market hummed around them. The apples sat in neat rows, red and green and waiting.
"Come on," Imogen said, holding up a bag. "Help me pick the rest."