The safehouse was a concrete bunker stitched together with scrap and secondhand charms, but to UMBRA it was as close to sacred ground as they'd ever find. The industrial district beyond was a wasteland of broken glass, trash fires, and the sour tang of mana-waste from a dozen failed startups. But inside, the air was crisp, filtered, and absolutely dead to every surveillance net in Nueva Arcadia.
Jane and Ellen made it in first, Ellen half-carrying Jane, whose left arm had been splinted with the business end of a high-end shotgun. Jane's face was pale but set, teeth bared in a way that dared the world to try and finish what it had started. Ellen's expression was clinical, her gaze tracking every angle of the room before she let Jane slump onto the nearest folding cot.
The Arcana Bridge was in a shock-case, triple-locked, resting on a crate in the center of the main room. Even in its dormant state, it pulsed—soft, irregular, like a living thing dreaming under plastic.
Hazel was already there, wrapping gauze around Shiori's ribs. Shiori looked like hell—one eye swollen shut, half her hair hacked off, but she was alive and, more importantly, present. Owen stood behind them, back to the wall, arms folded across his chest. For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Jane broke the silence, her voice a ragged whisper. "Report."
Hazel finished the bandage, then slid to the floor, exhausted. "Black site's gone. Minerva Lancaster marked, humiliated, and probably still screaming. No pursuit on our tail."
Ellen sat next to Jane, pulled a flask from her jacket, and took a swig before passing it on. "Security at the plant was a joke. The Bridge is here, untouched. But they'll know it's missing in—" she checked the clock on the wall "—about twenty minutes, give or take."
Owen scanned the room, eyes never still. "The city is in blackout. Nexar's running roundups, but Mouse spoofed their grid. For now, we're ghosts."
Shiori sat up, wincing. "And what happens when the city wakes up?"
Jane smiled, and for the first time all night, it reached her eyes. "By then, we're gone. Bridge and all."
There was a long, slow exhale from every member of the team. It was the sound of something done—not finished, but done.
Hazel looked at Shiori, then at Jane. "Why'd you come for her? Contract was over."
Jane's jaw flexed. "Because we're not like them. And because, at the end of the day, the only thing worth doing is what nobody expects you to."
Ellen raised the flask. "To contracts fulfilled. And to surviving."
Owen reached for a set of battered glasses, poured out four shots—one for each of them, and a fifth he slid across to Shiori. She looked at it, then him, and smiled, crooked but real.
They drank.
For a while, the only sound was the soft hum of the Bridge and the distant thunder of AVs scouring the sky.
Shiori turned the glass in her hand, watching the way it caught the blue light. "What happens now?"
Jane leaned back, winced at the pain in her arm, and shrugged. "We hide the Bridge, sell the story, then wait for the next disaster. Someone will always need us."
Hazel shuddered, then tucked her knees to her chest. "You ever wish we could just… quit?"
Ellen answered, voice low. "We did. A hundred times. But the world has other plans."
Owen drained his glass, then looked at Shiori, his eyes heavy with something old and unspoken. "You could run," he said. "Start over. But if you stay, you're one of us."
Shiori considered, then shook her head. "Running never works. I'll stay."
Jane nodded, as if this was the only answer that ever made sense.
The night dragged on, the exhaustion so thick it blurred the edges of the world. Ellen ran checks on the Bridge, hands moving with the steadiness of someone for whom survival was just another habit. Jane slept in fits, muttering curses at old ghosts. Hazel curled on the floor, glasses askew, hair covering her face. Shiori watched the ceiling, counting the cracks.
Owen paced, then stopped, then paced again.
Just before dawn, Hazel's comm pinged. She blinked awake, checked it, then groaned. "City net is back. They're blaming the blackout on Sombra gangs. Nobody even mentions the Bridge."
Jane grinned, teeth bright in the gloom. "Told you. Ghosts."
Outside, the city's first sirens wailed, distant but closing. The safehouse's charm flared once, then dimmed, as if to remind them that all sanctuaries are temporary.
Jane stood, her arm already swelling purple, and addressed the team. "Time to vanish. Ellen, you take the Bridge. Owen and Hazel, you clean the trail. Shiori—" she paused "—you ride with me. You earned it."
They packed in silence, the weight of the night settling on their shoulders. As they left, the Bridge pulsed one last time, its light almost hungry.
Hazel lingered, watching the containment case, her breath fogging in the cold. For a moment, she thought she saw a reflection in the crystal—her own face, but different, older, harder.
"Guess we're never really alone," she said, softly.
Owen put a hand on her shoulder. "No. We're not."
Outside, the city was already awake, hungry for the next story. In the safehouse, a single red light blinked from the corner—a camera, maybe, or maybe just a warning.
Hazel smiled, then walked away.
In the end, the only contract that mattered was the one you made with yourself.
UMBRA vanished into the dawn.