Peril was drunk, Lucy realized—a rarity in itself. Peril seldom drank but tonight at EchoChamber she was happily emptying champagne flutes. They were scattered across the table.


    Two glasses usually tipped the scales for the 90-pound stick-thin woman. Tonight she was on her fourth.


    Leaning over the rail Lucy held her own glass. Watching the dancers below. The bass throbbed softly as always. Lights slicing through the darkness.


    They''d danced for hours. Hard and free. A sheen of sweat glistened on their skin catching the strobe lights.


    EchoChamber yet again. Lucy suspected Peril chose it more for its private AV hovercar pad than the music.


    Security dictated much of Peril''s life.


    She recalled their first night together. After the invitation for coffee at Peril''s place they''d ascended to a private hovercar pad on the roof. A matt-black heavy hovercar—more like a van—meeting them.


    Hovercars were absurdly expensive. Peril''s was heavily armoured. Top-tier.


    Months with Peril had shown Lucy this was standard. Peril lived in her loft behind inches-thick glass that could stop a tank-round. She travelled to nightclubs in comfort yet encased in fortified steel. And even here Lioncourt hovered.


    He wasn''t drinking, she noted. Mingling in the private booths. Playing the French fop. But Lucy knew better. He was never more than ten feet from Peril. Always ready to pounce.


    Bodyguard. He''d politely asked to join them—a ruse. He was on duty.


    Even when they danced he watched from the railing above. Poised to intervene.


    Peril’s words were not yet slurred, but clearly giddy. "Come on, my love," she said. "Stop brooding. We''re celebrating here."


    Lioncourt''s friends surrounded them—polite but charmless. Probably vetted to be in this private booth. Lioncourt made them seem like old pals. Another fa?ade.


    Lucy forced a smile. "I''m just happy you''re happy," she lied smoothly.


    Peril gave a wistful smile. "You''ve done so much. Don''t you know the success we''ve had today? It''s a huge win thanks to you and the old man."


    Lucy shook her head. She had no idea what Peril was talking about. Not sure she wanted to ask.


    But Peril was insistent. She hugged Lucy tightly. "My heroes," she murmured, drunk and probably oversharing.


    "MNA is hammered because of you," Peril whispered.


    Lucy didn''t follow business news. "I stick to local stories," she said. All she''d heard about MNA today was a massive round of local layoffs.


    Peril seemed eager to spill. Drunk, her filters were down. She wanted to tell Lucy everything.


    "Their research and blueprints are everywhere now," she whispered. "Thirty years of data given to everyone. Everywhere. Company''s shares crashed forty percent."


    "So that''s what it''s about," Lucy whispered back. "You''re some kind of anti-corporate anti-capitalist? Is that your cause?"


    Peril sniggered. "I''d be the worst anti-capitalist ever. I just made billions shorting MNA stock."


    Lucy blinked. Stunned. Finance wasn''t her forte but she got the gist. Peril had profited—a lot.


    She thought of the technician she''d killed. Probably had a family waiting. The security guards Lioncourt eliminated. All for what? So Peril could get richer?


    She managed a hoarse whisper. "What will you do with those billions?" Did she want to know? She’d avoided these questions.


    Peril sipped more champagne. "Clinics for the homeless. Funds for rebuilding projects. Backing for a new mayor who will get police back on the streets. MNA finished. MNA shouldn''t have existed. They bought their way through anti-trust laws. My friends in D.C. will make sure they''re broken up."


    "This was a win," she whispered.


    Lucy weighed her words. Thousands losing jobs. Bodies left behind. For an anti-trust corporate breakup?


    She shook her head once again. Forced another smile. "I''ll stick to local news. Leave the business stuff to you."


    Peril looked disappointed. Drunk, she didn''t catch the undercurrent. "I''ll get you a business and finance learnsoft," she said. "Get you a college ed. Then you''ll understand better."


    Across on the table nearby Lucy noticed Lioncourt flinch.


    Her chest tightened. Is that how Peril saw her? Someone to upgrade as needed? She knew Peril had attended the best schools. She''d never let their education differences matter.


    She forced a nod. “Maybe that''s a good idea,” she lied.


    Walking back to the rail she gazed at the undulating crowd below. The dancers moved, lost in their various individual rhythms as the cascade of lights melded from yellow to purple with spots of blue.


    She needed air. Not the recycled air of the club. Space—from this relationship. From Peril. A little time away.


    Lioncourt appeared beside her. "She''s drunk," he said gently. “Elle ne le pensait pas.”


    She never understood how he could be so kind and so dangerous.


    “I know, it’s OK.” she lied.


    *


    Lucy''s bike roared north on the I-5. Engine throbbing beneath her. The city lights faded in her mirrors - swallowed by the dawn.


    Her orientation system pinged. A prompt to veer east onto I-90. She ignored it. City girl or not, she wasn''t taking chances.


    Head to the border, she thought. Cross over. Safer. Much safer than the shorter I-90 route.


    She twisted the throttle. Enjoyed feeling the machine surge. The vibration coursed through her, a physical connection to the world slipping by. Images of Lethanda''s fearless giant panther mount flashed in her mind—graceful leaps, silent strides. The memory brought a faint smile.


    When Peril had woken after their night out, Lucy hadn''t wasted time. "I need Ceri''s real-world location," she''d said.


    Peril didn''t hesitate. Within moments the address appeared in Lucy''s neural link messages. She''d cracked it already. Lucy chose not to ask why or how long ago.


    Those are questions for people who want answers, she mused. All she needed was the address.


    "Thank you," she’d said. "I''ll be gone a few days." By 6 am, she was slipping into the fading night, gathering gear for the trip.


    A quick message to Aurum: Ten jobs in a month—need a week off. His reply was swift: Enjoy yourself.


    Damn him. He could''ve at least pretended to be upset.


    The address was on the Canadian side of the Rockies—a small town called Nelson, ten hours away. But Canada meant no guns.


    Lucy stopped at a 24/7 survival shop. Picked up a knife, essentials, a backpack. Without her twin H&Ks, she felt exposed. Even at early morning shopping.


    A basic wilderness survival learnsoft caught her eye. She downloaded it on the spot.


    Wish I had time for a high-end melee combat module, she’d thought, fingering the knife''s hilt.


    First light broke. No point waiting. The predators were asleep. For once, the sky was clear—a lightness in the air Lucy hadn''t felt in days.


    Pulling herself back. She grounded herself in the thunder of the synth-engine below her. Accelerated northward.


    Border soon, she reminded herself. Peril had assured her the fake ID would hold for basic checks.


    "Just a short holiday," she repeated out loud to herself, practicing for the border guards. "A break from the city."


    As a tech specialist, she knew better than to sneak weapons past Canadian border police. They had all the toys and were expecting tricks.


    Ten hours straight, her orientation system calculated. She planned to break it up. ‘Hope’. She noted. The name of a town where she''d stop after lunch. Fitting. Ironic. Ceri would love that, Lucy decided.


    The crisp morning air whipped around her. She moved with the bike, every motion fluid, instinctive. Yet, an unease lingered.


    She still felt oddly naked. Lucy missed the weight of the guns. Their reassuring presence.


    *


    She pulled into the roadside forest park. Engine ticking as it cooled. Silence settled in. Broken only by the rustle of leaves and distant bird calls.


    Swinging her leg over the bike, her thighs screamed in protest. City rides were twenty minutes tops. Her mind knew how to ride for hours; her body hadn''t caught up.


    Paying the dues now, Lucy thought.


    She stretched. Enhanced joints popping. The air was crisp. Carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Green trees towered above. Their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.


    The park was immaculate—grass trimmed, paths clean. A family played near a camper van, children''s laughter slicing through the quiet. It felt like another world.


    "So this is what progressive forty percent tax rates on the richest gets you," Lucy mused, surprising herself. Random flashes of disdain had been bubbling up all morning. She tried to shake them off.


    Must be the learnsofts messing with my head, she considered. Maybe the GED. Probably the GED.


    The U.S. had spent decades painting Canada as some socialist wasteland where the government stole from the wealth creators. Anti-social mobility. Enemy of the American Dream. That''s what every kid was taught in High School.


    Lucy smirked at the idea, Funny, coming from me. She thought.  A criminal tech specialist who won''t ever pay taxes again.


    The irony was almost laughable. Embedded learnsoft nation-hate. Amusing really.


    But the lack of guns. That was unsettling. Back home everyone would be armed. Mom and Dad tossing a ball would have holsters, maybe a shotgun nearby.


    She leaned against the bike before easing toward a picnic table. Her movements were fluid. Each step deliberate despite the soreness.


    Scanning the idyllic scene she felt a dissonance. Would her pistols make her feel safer? Did she even need them here?


    When did bearing arms become a necessity? Lucy thinks. Probably back in the 2060s, her GED knowledge whispered back.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Lucy unzipped her pack, pulling out a food bar from the wilderness shop. Unscrewed the flask and poured steaming coffee into the lid. The rich aroma mingled with the scent of cedar and pine.


    The kids were seven, maybe eight. Faces flushed, eyes bright. Their laughter was unguarded, free. The parents watched with easy smiles, relaxed in a way that seemed foreign.


    She sipped the coffee, feeling its warmth spread through her. They look... happy, she thought. Content.


    A breeze brushed her face, cool and gentle. The leaves above danced in patterns of light and shadow. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sounds wash over her—the giggles, the rustling branches, the distant hum of the road. It felt briefly like being online with Lethanda, walking through the Forest.


    Maybe this is normal, she pondered. A life without the weight of shadows.


    She wasn''t sure how to feel about that.


    Opening her eyes, she watched as the mother lifted the younger child. Spinning in a slow circle. The girl''s laughter rang out. Pure and unfiltered.


    Lucy took another sip. The bitterness of the coffee grounded her. "Enjoy it while it lasts," she told herself.


    Her gaze drifted to the horizon. Mountains met sky. The vastness was humbling. She felt small, yet oddly at peace. Lucy had to admit the views where stunning.


    Nature''s got a way of putting things in perspective, she thought.


    The ache in her muscles had dulled. She knew she''d have to get back on the road soon. Ten hours was a long haul, and Lucy was only barely a few hours in.


    But for now, she allowed herself this moment. No missions, no deadlines. Just the simplicity of a forest park. The innocence of children at play. The quiet strength of the wilderness surrounding her.


    She packed up her things, movements smooth and efficient. Glanced once more at the family, then back to her bike.


    "Time to go," she murmured.


    As she swung her leg over and started the engine, Lucy took a deep breath. Filling her lungs with the crisp air.


    Yes. Lethanda would like it here, she decided.


    *


    The warm pain in her thighs. Her backside. Her back—it was all a constant. An inescapable reminder that her learnsoft system had definite limits. No amount of downloaded expertise could prepare her delicate areas for six hours hard riding on the powerful Kawasaki.


    Lucy was thankful for the small-town pharmacy. Cooling gels. Lotions. balms—all now soothing her most chafed and sore areas. Some thin cooling packs wrapped in bandages to keep them in place.


    Who would''ve thought that a day on her bike could do such damage? Not her. Sure. It wasn''t a laid-back cruiser. But it was a civilian version of a racing machine with a decent seat.


    Yet here she was. Still four hours from her destination. Physically unable to continue. The roadside motel—quaintly called an "inn"—had a bar attached. The thought of a cold beer had been appealing.


    "This is Lethanda''s scene. Not mine," she mused. Lucy wouldn''t be caught dead in a bar alone. Bars meant trouble. Men hitting on her as a lone girl. Expecting something.


    But Lethanda loved bars. She loved the smells—the wood. The fireplaces. The chatter. The confident Ranger would feel the grain of the table. Inhale the smoky air.


    Lucy sipped her beer wishing for the familiar weight of her H&Ks.


    At least the hotel had decent connectivity. She''d patched into her skill libraries and bought an expert-level martial arts learnsoft which had an emphasis on knife-fighting. Kali – a sub-segment of the Arnis Filipino martial art – had sprung out from the page as exactly what Lucy needed. Armed as she was with only the survival knife, in a country where her guns were off-limits.


    The full learnsoft would take four days to assimilate. Another two to layer in, especially for the full muscle memory. Fifteen hundred hours of real-time training compressed into less than a week to make her an Arnis black belt.


    Lucy had prioritised knife-fighting using her learning accelerator’s AI, just letting the rest happen as it would. She wasn''t naive. She had some lean muscle now. But at barely 130 pounds no amount of virtual training would make her a heavyweight. But maybe she''d stand a chance to get a stab in before she was raped. Or worse.


    She distrusted statistics. This area of Canada supposedly had three murders per 100,000 people. Rain City had 130. Magnitudes worse. But everyone in the U.S. knew Canada lied about its crime rates. They had to be lying.


    An old-timer sitting nearby at the bar caught her eye. Pulling her from her thoughts.


    "Nice bike outside, that''s some serious Japanese muscle," he said, nodding toward the window. "Haven''t seen one like that in years." He’d clearly noticed her outfit’s luminous racing green colours matching the big motorbike.


    She shifted slightly. Muscles protesting. Considered leaving. But decided on one more beer.


    "Thanks," she replied. "Bit of a restoration project."


    He smiled. "Good to see someone appreciating the classics."


    She offered a tight smile back. Small talk wasn''t her strength but the bar was quiet.


    "Keeps me busy," she said.


    He glanced at her. "How''re you coping without being surrounded by guns?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "We''ve had a few Americans through lately. Seem on edge without their sidearms."


    He chuckled. "You can spot an American tourist by the way they keep patting their empty holsters." And the obvious accent, it went unsaid.


    She found herself laughing. "Mike," he introduced himself extending a hand.


    "Lethanda."


    "Pleasure Lethanda. Missing the familiar weight?"


    She nodded. "Feels strange. Can''t believe no-one''s carrying here."


    Mike leaned back on his stool. "I remember visiting the States back in the ''40s. Different time. Not everyone was armed then. Crime rates like you see now were only in hot-spot places like Mexico or South Africa at the time."


    "At least we have our low taxes," she ironically offered in return, raising her beer in a mock salute.


    He laughed. "This old-man’s on a full state pension and a bit of savings. Taxes don''t bother me much."


    The evening wore on. The bar filled up slightly. Before she knew it she''d had two more beers chatting with Mike. Easy conversation. Unexpected.


    "I should call it a night," she said eventually. "Need a clear head tomorrow."


    "Safe travels," he nodded. "And watch out for those sore muscles."


    Lucy smiled. "Will do."


    The bar was still half-empty as she made her way out. Despite her mind and senses telling her she was safe - her unease lingered.


    Back in her rustic but pleasant enough room, Lucy eyed the flimsy door and frame. A far cry from her steel-reinforced setup at home. Anyone could burst through with minimal effort.


    Her learnsoft had cycled through some beginner knife-fighting moves thanks to AI prioritising. By morning she''d have another hundred hours of training under her belt. Her muscle memory would still be garbage though.


    She knew logically it was safer here. But years of living in a crime-ridden city of eight million people weren''t easy to shake.


    Lucy wedged a chair under the doorknob. Unsheathed her knife and placed it within reach. Six inches of carbon steel. Not much. But it would have to do.


    She lay back on the bed. Muscles and delicate areas still aching, but the various cooling gels and lotions having some effect. The sheets smelled of clean linen. A hint of lavender.


    From outside the sounds of the sleepy quiet town seeped in. The distant hum of a passing car. The rustle of leaves in the night breeze.


    Lucy closed her eyes. Tried to focus on her breathing. The cool air against her skin. The softness of the pillow. Sensations she rarely allowed herself to notice.


    "Just get through the night," she told herself. Lucy refused to admit to herself just how terrified she was.


    Sleep came slowly. But eventually it came.


    *


    The bike''s engine growled to a stop outside the unassuming bungalow. Mountains loomed behind forests stretching into the horizon. The air was crisp. Scented with pine and damp earth. It was beautiful, Lucy thought. No wonder Ceri was always happy. Living here.


    Her aches were less today. The strong painkillers helped. Still the four-hour ride left her stiff. She''d stretched before setting out—her learnsoft AI recommended Arnis knife drills. She''d worked through them for an hour. Muscles moving with precise grace.


    "I''m trying to distract myself," she admitted, staring at the simple green door. "Trying to control the fear."


    She remembered her stress training. Began a breathing exercise. Eyes flicked around the front garden—the reds of the flowers. Greens of the leaves. The rough texture of the wooden porch. She counted the features back. After a few minutes her heart rate steadied.


    She summoned the courage. Walked up to the door. Knocked. Minutes passed.


    A thin frail voice crackled through a side intercom.


    "You don''t look like my home help," the woman said.


    A pause.


    "Oh my," the voice continued. "I know those features."


    Locks clicked. The door swung open. An elderly woman in a wheelchair faced her. An oxygen mask covering her face connected to a small tank by her side.


    "Lethanda," the woman said, voice muffled.


    "Lethanda, oh my dear. It really is you." She laughed softly. "I''m sure I''m not what you were expecting."


    Lucy noticed her eyes—old cybernetics. Passable as human from afar but up close the only occasional blinking was unsettling. No-one that old should have eyes so bright. So alert.


    "Hello Ceri," Lucy said. "I''m not sure what to say. I apologise for coming to see you in person. I''m..." She trailed off. This was all unexpected.


    Ceri''s voice held a teasing tone. "What? Not expecting an eighty-four-year-old crone? Come in, come in."


    She wheeled around. Moving further into the house. Lucy hesitated. Go in or leave? She crossed the threshold.


    The air inside was warm. Filled with the scent of herbal tea and old wood. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on the floor. Ceri headed to the kitchen. Lucy noticed the house was designed for a wheelchair—everything low. Within reach.


    She realised Ceri was making tea at a small table. The ritual seemed deliberate. Measured.


    Lucy didn''t know what to say. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.


    Ceri regarded her with those young eyes. "You came looking for an answer to why I''d left. And expected something else?" she teased.


    Lucy finally found her voice. "My friend... she gave me a name—Margaret Ceres—and an address from your account details. But nothing else. I had no idea."


    "I should be asking about the utter violation of my privacy, or how your ''friend'' hacked into a secured account," Ceri said in a gentle tone. "But honestly I don''t really care."


    "There are a lot of things you stop worrying about," she added softly.


    "It''s impressive," Ceri continued. "Do you mean to rob me or harm me?" She looked up a hint of mischief in her eyes.


    "No!" Lucy replied horrified.


    Ceri nodded. "Then I''ll take this as misguided love and nothing else. Hell knows - after three marriages I know enough about matters of the heart."


    She laughed. "For goodness'' sake sit down Lethanda and drink some tea. It''ll help with the nerves and the shaking."


    Lucy realised her hands were trembling. She sat—the seat was lower than expected. Bringing her level with Ceri. The warmth of the teacup seeped into her fingers.


    "I''m sorry," Lucy began. "I shouldn''t have done this. You''re right. This is a total invasion of your privacy. It''s wrong. You have every right to send me away." A tear slipped down her cheek.


    "There, there Lethanda," Ceri said gently. "I''m sorry too. I wish I could have said more. It was abrupt. Me leaving. I know, and you were so invested."


    "I had no idea how capable you were outside the game," she added.


    Her voice was weak; she coughed but didn''t seem distressed. Lucy noticed how frail she looked in the chair. How thin. This was not a well woman.


    Ceri noticed Lucy''s gaze. "Don''t worry, I''m not in any pain," she said. "This is my fourth and final battle with the big C, and after the second I had the pain editor mod installed. Got sick of the awful feelings from the chemo back then."


    She continued, "Sadly, shutting off all pain. Biofeedback completely. It knocks out playing a deep-dive MMO." There was genuine regret in her voice.


    "I''m surprised," Lucy said. "You seem... well..." Her voice trailed off.


    "What? Older than you''d expected?" Ceri laughed, a sparkle in her eyes. "My dear, I''ve been a gamer since before you were born. You think old people aren''t gamers too? Trust me, we''re out there."


    Lucy wasn''t sure what to say.


    She sipped her tea; the warmth helped. "I''m so sorry. I''m not sure what to say. I feel so small. Stupid. I never imagined you''d have something like this going on," she finally managed weakly.


    Ceri seemed more upbeat. Her voice frail but light. "You were expecting some passionate twenty-something?" she teased. "Maybe even a hot hook-up in real life?" She laughed.


    Lucy looked horrified. "No, no, I just... I''m so stupid. I''m sorry. I''ll leave."


    "I was teasing," Ceri said. "I do that a lot. No. I''m sorry."


    She reached out a thin hand resting it on Lucy''s. Her skin was cool. Paper-thin. "I''m not dead yet," she said kindly. "But I am lonely today. Especially without Gates of Baraadon. So all I can offer is tea and conversation."


    She stared at Lucy, eyes piercing. "Can I ask you about the real Lethanda?" she asked. "Who was the woman behind the Elf Ranger I loved? You look so much like her. Surgery? I have questions too."


    Lucy felt a dam break within her. The air felt heavier. The sounds of the forest outside fading. She wanted to open up.


    "Yes," she began softly. The room seemed to hold its breath. The soft hum of Ceri''s oxygen machine was the only sound.


    "I underwent surgery," she admitted. "To become more like her. To feel... whole."


    It was a truth Lucy had never admitted. Even to herself before. The need to change how she’d looked to avoid police detection had just provided a convenient excuse. She’d wanted this.


    She gazed out the window—the trees swayed gently. Leaves rustling in the breeze. The scent of pine filled the room mingling with the aroma of tea. A bird chirped outside. A sharp note cutting through the silence.


    She took a deep breath. "I wasn''t always... this," she said, gesturing to herself. "I grew up in Rain City on the streets. It wasn''t easy."


    Ceri listened intently. Eyes never leaving her.