I step out slow, blinking against the bright sun.
It isn’t polished.
It isn’t safe.
It’s rough and tangled and real.
And for the first time since I was a kid, I feel like I can actuallybreathe.
Silpha’s contact—a wiry woman with sun-bleached hair and arms like iron—meets us at the edge of the clearing.
"Name’s Lora," she says, jerking a thumb at the little battered crawler parked behind her. "You’re late."
Traz grunts, shifting Aria higher on his shoulder.
"Had some delays," he says dry.
Lora snorts.
"Always are when you’re ditching past lives."
She scans me up and down, then the kids.
"These your little shadows?"
"Yeah," I say, squaring my shoulders.
She gives a sharp nod.
"Good. Families blend better."
She tosses a battered dataslate to Traz.
"New IDs. Clean. As far as the system’s concerned, you were born here. Always been here."
Traz catches it easy.
"Thanks," he says.
Lora shrugs.
"Thank Silpha. She paid in full before she…"
Her mouth tightens.
She looks away.
The silence stretches sharp and awkward.
Traz clears his throat.
"Property?"
Lora jerks her head toward the crawler.
"One klick that way. Old farmstead. Needs work. Off the grid."
"Perfect," I say, surprising even myself with how fierce it comes out.
