The Deputy Chief spotted them not long after, his expression already tense. He strode toward them with purpose, his long coat swaying behind him like a cape in motion. His voice, when he spoke, rolled out in a gravelly baritone that left no room for pleasantries.
"Good you're here," he said, coming to a stop just short of them. "Where's the rest of your team?"
Kali gave a casual glance around the ballroom, then shrugged. "Somewhere nearby. Liv's working the crowd, and Thomas went out for air."
Sorell frowned but nodded. "We can't wait. Come with me, I'll introduce you both."
Without waiting for agreement, the Deputy Chief turned and began moving again, cutting a line through the lavishly dressed attendees. John gave Kali a quick sideways smirk, the look of a man who'd rather be anywhere else, and they followed.
Sorell brought them to a sleek cluster of dignitaries gathered near a translucent display wall showcasing holographic renderings of SynSpec's latest orbital developments. Standing at the center of it all was Alenra Myr.
The SynSpec executive stood with the posture of someone who never let their guard down. Her skin was almost porcelain-pale under the soft gold lighting, her features sharpened by careful makeup and tighter composure. She wore a steel-gray tailored suit that looked like it had been pressed with lasers, every line precise. Even her modest two-inch heels felt intentional, calculated, just high enough to command space, low enough to stay grounded.
"Mrs. Myr," Sorell began, straightening slightly, "allow me to introduce two of our division's finest. Inspector Kali Loveau, and John Arven. CIB Division Seven, recently tasked with dismantling the Willow Teeth syndicate."
Alenra turned to face them, her expression perfectly neutral but her eyes observant, bright with layered interest. She didn't offer a handshake, only the smallest nod of acknowledgment.
"Ah," she said, her voice even and measured, "so the hounds behind the headlines finally appear in the flesh."
"I hope we lived up to the branding," Kali replied lightly.
That earned the faintest hint of a smile, barely there, more in the eyes than the lips. She folded her hands in front of her, the cuffs of her jacket sharp enough to cut glass.
"At Synesthetic Specialties, we take security and social stability very seriously," she said. "It's reassuring to know capable individuals still work within civic structures."
John raised an eyebrow. "We try to keep the illusion alive."
Sorell shot him a warning glance, then turned back to Alenra. "They've been instrumental. Took down the syndicate's central network node with less than three percent civilian collateral."
"That's commendable," Alenra said. Her tone made it unclear if she was impressed or disappointed.
"I'm sure we'll speak again," she added, already half-turning away. "Enjoy the evening, inspectors." She moved off to greet a cluster of planetary delegates, her every step smooth and deliberate.
"Well," John muttered as she disappeared into the diplomatic crowd. "That wasn't terrifying at all."
She hadn't gone far before Deputy Chief Sorell changed direction again, nodding toward a group near the raised central dais. "Come. The Governor is expecting a word."
Kali exchanged a glance with John, whose smirk had thinned into something warier.
The trio moved across the marble floor, past glittering tables laden with imported wines and molecular hors d'oeuvres, until they reached a cordoned space subtly guarded by men in plain black suits with eyes too sharp for party guests. Here stood Proxy Governor Halden Vex and beside him, his daughter.
Sorell made the introductions quickly. "Governor Vex, allow me to present Inspector Kali Loveau and Agent John Arven. They've been at the forefront of the Willow Teeth investigation."
The Governor gave them a long, appraising look before offering a hand. Kali shook it. The Governor's grip was damp and firm, like a man squeezing a deal into place.
"Inspector," Vex said, voice quiet and gravelly, "you've stirred quite the mess in the underbelly. Impressive work."
"I wasn't aware we were making impressions," Kali replied.
Vex gave the ghost of a smirk. "Everyone leaves a mark, Inspector. Some just don't know it yet."
The Governor turned slightly, raising one heavy, ringed hand in a half-gesture toward the young woman standing beside him. "And this is my daughter, Elira," he said. "You two should be about the same age."
His tone was oddly neutral, neither warm nor boastful, more like a man trying to orchestrate familiarity without inviting it.
Elira Vex stood with her arms loosely folded, her body angled just enough to suggest disinterest. She looked to be in her early twenties, though the kind of twenties shaped by tailored boarding schools and private vacations. Her eyes, a deeper blue than her father's, flicked over Kali like she was scanning a lesser painting in a gallery she didn't ask to visit.
"That's about all we have in common," she said, her voice silk-smooth and lined with cool detachment.
There was no malice in it, just that particular brand of aristocratic boredom, the kind that saw people as passing scenery.
Her father chuckled, flashing a smile that tried to land somewhere between charming and diplomatic. It fell short of both. His eyes, after all, didn't smile with him.
"I trust I'll be hearing more about your continued... merits, Inspector," the Governor added, with a slight nod that managed to be both vague and expectant.
Kali inclined his head just enough to be polite, but his gaze didn't leave Elira's. She was still watching him, one brow arched faintly, as if trying to decide whether he was amusing, threatening, or just forgettable. Then, with a small turn of her heel, she redirected her attention elsewhere, already growing bored of introductions.
"Charming," John muttered under his breath.
The crowd had begun to shift, thinning toward the dance floor and wine stations as speeches concluded and the orchestra eased into something vaguely classical with synthetic undertones. Kali scanned the room, the electric warmth of too many rich bodies beginning to grate on his nerves.
"There," John said, nodding toward a balcony alcove above the main floor, half-shrouded in hanging vines and soft golden light.
Liv leaned against the railing, sipping something clear from a crystal flute. Her black dress was sleek, almost tactical in its minimalism, and a silver implant coiled subtly around her right temple—more accent than hardware. She spotted them before they could wave, and her expression softened a touch.
Beside her stood Thomas, suit slightly wrinkled, tie already undone. He looked healthier than before, less pale, less like someone who'd recently coughed up blood in an alley. Still, the faint stiffness in his posture and the guarded edge to his eyes said recovery was still ongoing.
John led the way, weaving through an ambient fog of perfume and ego. Liv's eyes flicked between the two men as they joined them, and she offered a half-smile.
"Nice of you to make it," she said. "I was beginning to think you two got swallowed by the governor's entourage."
"Almost did," Kali said. "Got a formal introduction and everything. His daughter may or may not be sizing me up for sport."
"She does that," Thomas muttered. "Or so I've heard."
"Good to see you upright," John said, clapping him lightly on the back.
Thomas winced. "Yeah, I'd rather be horizontal, to be honest."
Kali leaned on the balcony beside Liv, eyes drifting to the protest still pulsing just beyond the perimeter wall, distant chants muffled behind layers of glass and wealth. "Quite the turnout."
"You mean in here or out there?" Liv asked.
"Both," he said.
Thomas's smile faded slightly. "Word is, SynSpec's buying loyalty from half the city council. Tonight's event's just part of the theatre. Prove the CIB's aligned, keep the press fed. Meanwhile, the Willow Teeth plots beneath them."
The music below surged, a glittering string crescendo, and the lights dimmed just enough to cast a more intimate tone across the hall. The momentary lull gave Kali pause.
"We're not going to get answers here," he said quietly.
"No," John agreed. "But we might pick up something… if we listen in the right places."
Kali straightened, adjusting his cufflinks. "Let's mingle with the vultures."
After nearly an hour of what passed for mingling, clinking glasses, forced smiles, and coded conversations that said everything and nothing, Kali had reached his limit. The lights felt too bright, the wine too sweet, and the air thick with a kind of polished rot he couldn't ignore any longer.
He found John by the bar, gave him a short rundown, keep an eye on Alenra Myr, check with Liv about Thomas's theory. John nodded, already halfway through his next drink, eyes narrowed with focus despite the easygoing front.
Without a word of farewell to the hosts, Kali exited the building through the side foyer, trading marbled floors and synthetic orchestras for the cold night air. The valet area buzzed with laughter and idle farewells from Medri's elite.
He was halfway to the valet stand when he saw her.
Annie sat cross-legged on the edge of the protest line, her back against a concrete planter overflowing with artificial vines. The crowd behind her had thinned, the chants long since faded. Most of the protesters now simply watched as the powerful slipped back into their cars and convoys, some eating takeout from battered cartons, others glaring silently, their anger no less potent for its quietness. It had cooled into something heavier. Something that simmered under the skin.
He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street.
As he moved through the line of onlookers, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations tapered. A few eyes turned sharp, guarded. Protesters leaned away subtly, as if Kali carried something that might burn them by proximity. To them, he was another man in a suit.
Then Annie looked up and saw him. "Kali!" she said, surprise flickering across her face like a light turning on too fast. "I didn't think you'd come."
"I didn't," he said, pausing a few feet from her.
Only now did she seem to register the suit, the tailored waistcoat, the tie knotted with surgical precision, the slick shoes untouched by the dust of the street. Her eyes ran over him, and something in her expression shifted. Not quite disappointment. Not quite hurt. Just… recognition. Like she was seeing him clearly for the first time in days.
"You look…" she trailed off.
"Out of place," he finished for her.
She smirked, faintly. "I was going to say expensive."
He gave a tired shrug. "Same difference."
"You didn't have to come over," she said, quieter now. "I know what this looks like from your side."
"I'm not on a side," he said. "Not tonight."
Annie gave him a look. Skeptical, sharp. "Everyone's on a side, Kali. Even when they don't want to be."
He glanced over his shoulder at the trickle of guests still emerging from the SynSpec building, laughing, embracing, stepping into sleek black vehicles like nothing outside the velvet rope could touch them.
"You're not wrong," he murmured.
Then, without ceremony, he lowered himself beside Annie and sat on the cold pavement, just inches away from her. His suit creased awkwardly at the knees, but he didn't care. The contrast between polished fabric and stained concrete wasn't lost on him. It made a kind of sense.
"Do you think this city could get better?" he asked, voice low.
Annie turned toward him, blinking. "You don't?"
He gave a short, mirthless laugh and shook his head. "Not in a million years."
She didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted out across the square, at the empty plates, the handmade signs resting against the curb, the quiet crowd that still lingered like ghosts of a noise that had already passed.
"It does look that way," she admitted, her voice softer now. "But I choose to believe."
He looked at her, surprised by the certainty in her tone.
"I believe," she continued, "not just in the people here with me, but in myself. That I can make things different. That maybe all of this," she gestured to the silent protest, the cold city, the walls of glass and steel "isn't meaningless. It can't all be for nothing."
Kali didn't respond immediately. He just nodded, thoughtful, as her words settled over him like dust.
She didn't have to be here. That much was obvious.
Her coat was tailored, subtly reinforced with smart-thread, the kind you couldn't get on a protester's salary. Her boots were real leather. Her apartment, he remembered, cost as much as his and that was no small number. She had the polish of someone raised in comfort, maybe even wealth. Her posture, her diction, the quiet way she held herself in a crowd, it all spoke of someone who'd had choices.
So why this?
What drove her to sit on a dirty curb with the angry and forgotten, instead of sipping cocktails inside?
Was it pity? Guilt? Some form of noble altruism?
Or was it something deeper, something lonelier, a personal kind of rebellion?
He didn't ask. In the end, it wasn't his place. Whatever fire burned in her chest, that was hers to name, not his to pry open.
So he rose slowly, brushing off the back of his suit. He gave her a quiet nod, a gesture of respect more than farewell, and turned without another word.
As he strode back toward his car, the sounds of the city dulled into a low, static hum behind him. Protesters murmured among themselves, engines purred to life, distant music wafted from the grand hall, but it all felt distant now, like he was stepping out of one world and into another.
Halfway across the street, he slipped a small communicator from his coat pocket, sleek, matte black, and untraceable. There was only one contact stored on it.
He tapped it.
A few moments later, a soft voice answered on the other end. Familiar. Calm. Female. "Kali… is that you?"
He hesitated, his breath fogging in the chill air. "Yes," he said quietly. Then, after a long beat, his voice hardened into something else, resolve, maybe. Or regret.
"It's time."