The news doesn't come as a memo. It comes as a tap on my door and my father's voice lowered to the register he uses when something is already too late to avoid.
"Inspection regimen," Dad says, closing the alleyway office behind him. He looks like he hasn't decided whether to be a father or an officer first, and the uniform wins by muscle memory. "New protocol. Not just Boston. Rocky Mountain HQ is rolling it out across partner nodes."
"Partner nodes," I repeat, dry. "That what I am now?"
He exhales through his nose. "They're calling them 'resource associates.' You're on a list. They'll be putting eyes on every drop. Paper trail, serials when available, provenance questioned. Randomized audits."
"Randomized," I say. "Meaning constant."
"Meaning constant," he says, softer. "There's a Major Renner HQ liaison. Hardliner. He doesn't like the idea that a… young civilian is moving volume we can't map."
Young civilian. He almost says kid. He doesn't.
I glance past him at the ledger Lia insisted I keep. Columns of numbers, little fences of handwriting. Beneath that, the real book, the one only I touch. The one that splits "what FEDRA sees" from "what we keep alive on."
"How soon?" I ask.
Tomas hesitates. "They're already at the checkpoint. Voss will try to keep it contained, but HQ's pushing. We can't ignore them."
We can't ignore them. Which means I can't. Which means whatever room I've carved out is about to get measured with someone else's ruler and if they feel my room is too big they will requestion it for someone else who could "better" use it.
"Hmmm. Fuck." As a certain Witcher once eloquently once said.
"Okay," I say pausing for a bit. "We'll brace. We'll give them something to count."
He studies me for a beat, that tight line between his brows I hate because I know it's mine, too. "Keep it clean today," he says. "Please."
"I always do," The lie slips ever so easy from my lips.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The drop is the biggest we've moved since New Year's: crates of broken-down mechanicals, sealed med packs, ammo bricks, two bins of filters. I stage it at the usual mid-zone warehouse with room to swallow an inspection team and still keep my back to a wall.
Cole stands to my left, helmet off, eyes that never stop moving. Alexandra to my right with a clipboard that looks like it's chewing, because she's already found three things she wants to reorganize in the room and she's forcing herself not to. Tasha is somewhere I can't see with a rifle I hope she never fires today.
The FEDRA convoy arrives on time but wrong. Not the usual truck, not the usual bored sergeant and two grunts who just want to smoke and sign. Two vehicles, six men and women in clean vests with fresh stencils, and a seventh in a coat too new for this city's air. The coat's insignia is Boston. The posture isn't.
General Voss comes with them anyway, which is either mercy or theatre. He gives me the briefest nod a man can give without it turning into an apology. "Routine review," he says, so only I hear. "Cooperate. I'll keep it moving." Voss knows that without me he and his men would have been half starved for resources past months due to the HQ trucks still fucking getting hit by those raiders, infrequently now but still happening.
The "shiny" steps forward. Early forties, boots that don't know this floor yet, an expression like paper cuts. "Major Andrew Renner," he says, not offering a hand, what an impolite bastard.
"HQ Liaison."
"Cal," I say. I don't offer mine either. Someone behind him takes notes on a clipboard with a Federal eagle stamped on it like a threat.
Ooooh, so scared they put me on a clipboard because I didn't kowtow before him, god lets just get this over with.
They fan out. Not haphazardly, like they've practiced this. One officer, a captain with a square jaw and greedy eyes, immediately zeroes in on the ammo like it's a bake sale. Another, younger, the kind who still thinks rules save lives, starts photographing lot numbers with shaky fingers. A third, thinner man with an earpiece and a face made to doubt things, doesn't touch anything; he watches me.
Renner taps the first crate with his pen. "Provenance?"
"Recovered from abandoned infrastructure storage out east near the theatre," I say, evenly. "Our documented route available on request, will warn you if you are not quiet you will be swarmed by infected." Documented means whatever Alexandra and I typed up last night to match what they expect to see.
"Serials?"
"Logged if present," I say. "Mixed stock, some pre-event, some repacked. Your quartermasters love a good repack."
The greedy captain, Hale, by the tag pops a crate, pinches a packet of field dressings, whistles when he sees the morphine ampoules in another. He looks up at Renner like a kid who found an extra present under the tree. "Quality, sir."
Renner doesn't smile. "We'll test for adulteration."
"Be my guest," I say. "We take that personally."
The younger one Lt. Park fumbles with a manifest sheet, glancing between me and Alexandra, who institutional-voice explains the columns like she's lecturing freshmen. Park's pen trembles when he signs the first received line. He's nervous, but not about me. About Renner.
The thin watcher is the one who speaks next. He doesn't have a nametag. The kind of man who files quietly. "And how does a… young civilian procure this at these volumes?" he asks, mild as milk.
"Luck," I say.
"Connections?" he tries.
"Legwork," I say.
"Smuggling?" he offers, as if he's asking if I prefer tea.
"Commerce," I say, and meet his eye without blinking.
Cole doesn't move. He doesn't have to. The message is baked into his stance, into the way Alexandra casually sets her clipboard down to free both hands. We are polite. We are also not alone.
Renner steps closer to the filters, raps his knuckles on the plastic as if authenticity makes a certain sound. "You'll provide route details for these," he says.
"I'll provide what I've always provided," I say.
"That won't be enough," Renner says, still looking at the crate. "HQ has identified leakage in Boston goods not reaching intended destinations. Your operation is flagged. We'll be checking for diversion to hostile elements."
Hostile elements. He doesn't say Fireflies. He doesn't have to.
"Then you'll be happy to know I'm not a charity," I say.
Hale snorts, amused despite himself. Park looks at the floor. The watcher's pen clicks without writing.
Voss moves in, careful, the way you touch a knife someone else is holding. "Major, we have protocols in place," he says. "Young Reyes has thus far reliably delivered on agreements and more... In a timely manner, regardless of various. Inconveniences."
Oof, even Voss is not happy with these bunch, bringing out that I delivered when under fire and they didn't.
"Then he can do so under the new oversight," Renner says. "Randomized inspections. Serial audits. Surprise checks at point of origin, shouldn't be a problem for someone this skilled in delivering while. Inconvenienced, yes?." He lets that sit. "We're centralizing controls. Boston has been… provincial too long."
Provincial. I taste rust. HQ doesn't just want a cut. They want command.
He turns back to me. "Any issue with transparency, Reyes?"
Yes. Many, you fucking prick.
I roll a shoulder under a plate that's two sizes too big. "I sell you what you can't get on your own, be it because you dont know where to look or its too dangerous to look." I say. "You get stricter, I'll get leaner. Either way, you'll still be buying."
Hale's mouth twitches again. Park looks like someone replaced his coffee with acid. The watcher writes something down now, finally. Renner's eyes never leave my face.
"Delivery accepted pending verifications," he says. "Expect follow-ups."
He pivots. The team begins re-sealing, re-labelling, re-owning. They stamp things with hungry administrative ink. It's amazing how quickly a thing becomes theirs when a stamp hits it.
Well. Isn't he all rainbows and sunshine.
While they work, two more things happen.
First: Hale drifts, like an accident, toward the corner where we've stacked a few extra med tins I didn't list. He runs a thumb over one. Looks at me. Looks at Renner's back. Looks at me again. Greed fights self-preservation and loses. He leaves it. For now.
Second: the watcher tries a new angle. He walks the perimeter of the drop zone without looking at all around, then at the exits. Then at me again. "If you were diverting," he says, "you'd hide your best stock where we wouldn't look."
"If I were diverting," I say, "you wouldn't find me here when you arrived."
Cole's weight shifts a half-inch. Alexandra finally gives the watcher a smile that says she could categorize his bones.
Renner signs the receipt line with a crisp slash. "We're done," he says. "For now."
Voss lingers long enough to look me in the eye. It's not apology this time. It's warning and weary respect braided together. "Walk carefully," he says, low.
"Always," I say.
Outside, the convoy noise fades like a bad taste. Rain is threatening again; the building's roof ticks where the last storm loosened something we haven't fixed yet. Cole leans his shoulder into the wall and exhales.
"That one," he says, meaning Renner, "is going to try and own your shadow."
"He can try," I say, and mean it and also know better.
Alexandra jots three notes without looking up. "We need to separate lanes more aggressively," she says. "Compartmentalize drop points, rotate manifest staff. If they're going to randomize, we make sure every random slice looks clean."
"We'll build a dummy cache," I say. "One they can discover and feel clever about. Give them a story to take home."
Cole nods. "We move anything sensitive deeper or move it now."
"Deeper," I say. "And now."
Rusty appears in the doorway with a face that usually means something broke or someone did. "You see the ones with the new boots?" he asks. "Walked like the floor owed them money. Didn't like that."
"Get used to not liking things," I say. "It's the flavour of the season."
He snorts, then sobers. "We're not letting them in the tunnels."
"We're not letting anyone in the tunnels," I say. "Not while I'm breathing, hide the entrances behind things and only open them when we move."
Alexandra flicks her eyes at me. "We should assume the first surprise origin check is in the next week. We'll be ready."
We will. Because the alternative is letting them decide what we are. And if FEDRA suspects me if HQ decides I'm not an asset but a risk they don't have to arrest me. They just have to arrive with enough bodies and a piece of paper that says confiscate. And all of this every crate, every plan, every night I've stayed awake sorting names and risks becomes a line item in someone else's warehouse.
In my head, the System does nothing. No quest. No blinking banner. Just the same quiet hum, the same indifferent arithmetic: inputs, outputs, survival.
Fine. If the shitty system won't narrate this part, I will.
Compartmentalize routes. Seed decoy manifests. Rotate faces at the drops. Keep two guns in the room, one gun above the room, and a fallback that isn't a door but a direction. Keep Renner fed just enough to make him think he's starving me on purpose.
Cole pushes off the wall. "What now?"
"Now," I say, and glance at the clock I don't trust on the wall, "we do the same thing we always do."
"What's that?"
"Pretend nobody's watching while acting like everyone is."
Outside, the rain finally starts. A slow, pattering drumbeat on the metal roof, steady as a pulse.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tunnels always felt like they breathed. Moisture dripped from rusted pipes, the air moved in strange drafts, carrying the faint stench of rot or stagnant water. Tonight, though, it was quieter than usual, as if the whole city above was holding its breath.
Cole walked at my side, rifle slung, eyes scanning every shadow like it was alive. Behind us, Tasha carried her long rifle, bullets rattling faintly in her pouch. Two more guards followed, silent, their boots muffled by strips of cloth tied around the soles. We weren't here for a fight, but if it came, I wasn't about to show up unarmed.
The message had come that morning, slipped through one of our runners. A thin scrap of paper folded four times, bearing a simple mark I recognized, the fucking Fireflies' crude moth symbol, fuck sake, and all it said was. "Marlene wants to meet.
For hours, I'd debated it. Ignore it, and maybe they'd back off… or maybe they'd decide I was siding fully with FEDRA and hit me next. Meet them, and risk walking straight into a trap. In the end, I told myself the same thing I always did: I couldn't afford not to know.
The rendezvous was an abandoned tenement near the river, half its roof collapsed. Our boots crunched over plaster and broken glass as we slipped inside. Moonlight spilled through gaps in the ceiling, cutting silver lines across the dust.
They were already waiting.
Marlene stood near the far wall, her hands resting lightly on her belt, a scarf pulled low over her face. She was flanked by three armed Fireflies. Two of them were disciplined, watching with the flat patience of soldiers. The fourth… wasn't. He shifted constantly, eyes narrowing when they locked on me, lip curled like he couldn't believe this was real.
"You are still as young as I remember you," Marlene said finally, her voice steady.
I kept my face still. "You're older than I remembered you."
Cole made a sound, a warning cough but Marlene just raised her brows slightly. A small smile, not amused, more… curious.
"You've made quite a name for yourself," she said. "The boy who crucified raiders. The boy FEDRA buys from. You understand why that draws attention."
I shrugged, though my heart was drumming. "People attacked me. I made sure they wouldn't again. Simple as that."
The twitchy Firefly spat on the floor. "Simple? You turned a block into a graveyard. You strung up bodies like decorations. You think that's simple, kid?"
Tasha shifted, her fingers brushing the grip of her machete. Cole's eyes narrowed.
I gave a face splitting smile and spoke before they could. "I think it worked. Haven't had anyone try since."
The man stepped forward, but Marlene lifted a hand. "Enough, Vance." Her voice carried iron. He froze, teeth clenched. She turned back to me. "I didn't call you here to argue over your methods. I called you because Boston is burning from the inside. FEDRA tightens its fist. We fight for the scraps of freedom left. And you… you sit in the middle."
Her gaze sharpened. "You can't sit there forever."
"I can, and I fucking will" I said softly, "if neither of you two delusional bastards touch me."
For a moment, silence filled the ruined room. Only the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance.
Marlene studied me like she was trying to see through my skull. "Alright, we aren't going to ask you to pick a side... Not yet, but we'd like to make sure your people don't point their guns at us. And in return, ours won't point theirs at you."
"A non-aggression pact," Cole murmured, tone unreadable.
Vance scoffed. "He's FEDRA's lapdog. You think he won't sell us out first chance he gets?"
Fuck is his problem?
I turned my head and looked directly at him. He was taller, older, probably had a decade of scars on me. My voice came out steady anyway. "If I was FEDRA's dog, you wouldn't be standing here breathing. You'd be in a cell. Or hanging."
Then I gave the slightest of smirks before putting some childlike mirth in my voice "Or crucified"
That shut him up, though his glare didn't soften.
Marlene tilted her head, the emotion is a mix between approval and annoyance?
"You've got steel. I'll give you that. But steel rusts if it's chained. FEDRA will use you up, boy. They don't care about you. You could help us instead. Help free this city."
I almost burst out laughing, but I didn't, had to bite my cheek really hard, my jaw tightened. "You talk about freedom. But from where I stand, all I see are different uniforms. FEDRA wants control. You want control. Different badge, same leash. And I don't do leashes."
I took a pause looking at all of them. "Tell me, what happens if you win. Then what? You still have to feed people, still have to protect them, still have to make sure they don't start killing each other on the streets. Infected clean-up, raider clean up, and before you know it. You will just be FEDRA 2.0 but under a new management with a different logo and slogan."
For the first time, Marlene's expression flickered, a shadow of something like doubt, respect and is that anger?
"We would have to see then," she said quietly. "No leash. Just… distance. We don't hit you. You don't hit us. If scraps fall our way, food, batteries, medicine we won't refuse. And in return, we'll make sure none of our cells… misunderstand your position."
I nodded slowly. It wasn't a deal I liked, but it was better than the alternative. "Fine. But keep your people away from mine. You watch me, you follow me, you try to push me, it's done."
Vance muttered something under his breath, I ignored him.
Marlene stepped forward, close enough now that I could see the wear in her eyes, the burden she carried like a constant weight, Ellie probably isn't making it any easier. "One day, you'll have to choose," she said. Not a threat, not even a warning. Just… inevitability. "And when you do, I hope it's for more than ration cards."
Jokes on you, by the time you kick start your revolution into overdrive I will either be long gone or untouchable.
She turned, motioning for her people. They melted into the shadows, boots whispering across broken glass, until only their footsteps echoed in the stairwell beyond.
When they were gone, the silence hit harder.
Cole exhaled, muttering, "Well. That could've gone worse."
Tasha shook her head. "I hate this. FEDRA breathing down our necks. Fireflies sniffing at our door. It's like walking between wolves and pretending they're dogs."
"Then we keep walking," I said, though my chest felt tight.
I turned toward the doorway, my boots crunching over shards. My eyes caught a broken window, moonlight spilling through. The night sky over Boston was empty, black smoke smearing the stars.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It was just past dusk when Robert slipped into the alleyway house, wearing that same smirk he always had, like he'd just stolen something and dared you to call him out on it. He didn't bother with a knock; he knew he didn't need one. People at the door let him through with a mix of annoyance and reluctant respect.
I was in my office, a map of Boston stretched across the table, pins marking trade routes, stashes, and suspected Firefly movements. Renner's name had been scrawled into the margin three times in dark ink. Major Renner, the new set of eyes from FEDRA HQ, was making his presence known. He'd been at every drop-off, every inspection. He'd even stopped one of my scavenger teams mid-haul, demanding to see their papers. He was looking for excuses, waiting for us to slip.
Robert leaned against the doorframe, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes flicking to the map. "You're starting to look like one of them," he said.
I didn't look up. "One of who?"
"FEDRA brass. Always hunched over papers, pretending the city's just neat little lines you can push around. Careful, kid. Next thing, you'll be wearing a gray uniform and shouting about curfews."
I finally glanced at him with annoyance. "You got something to say, or you just here to annoy me you old fuck?"
His grin widened. "Both. But mostly the first. Meredith's on her way, too. Thought we should talk."
That got my attention.
A few minutes later, she appeared, Lia trailing behind her with wide eyes. Meredith carried a bottle in one hand and a small stack of notes in the other, her face sharper than usual.
She didn't waste time. "You've got problems, Cal. Bigger than you think. Renner's not just poking around, he's digging. Word is he's been sending reports straight to Rocky Mountain HQ. That means they're watching you closer than ever."
I felt my jaw tighten. "I know. I've seen him sniffing around. Doesn't change what we're doing."
"It changes everything," Meredith shot back. "FEDRA's paranoia isn't just about the Fireflies anymore. It's about you. About how a thirteen-year-old's running a hundred people with guns and supplies.
Robert slipped in smoothly, voice casual but deliberate. "Which is exactly why we're here. You're walking a line so thin it's practically invisible. FEDRA on one side. Fireflies on the other. Sooner or later, one of them's going to shove. What you need…" He spread his hands, like unveiling a card trick. "…is neutral ground."
I frowned. "Neutral?"
"Yeah." Robert pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Stop trying to play both sides in secret. Make it public. Be the middle. Be the guy no one touches because everyone needs him. FEDRA, Fireflies, independents, hell, even smugglers like me. You set up your outfit as strictly business. No allegiance, no politics. Just trade. You give FEDRA their supplies, you throw scraps to the Fireflies when you have to, you keep the little people fed. Everyone knows you don't play favourites, and that makes you too useful to crush."
Meredith nodded slowly, though her face was tight. "It's not a bad idea. There's precedent. In Colorado, I heard about a smuggler group that declared themselves neutral territory. FEDRA and Fireflies both tolerated them, barely because shutting them down would've meant losing their only reliable supplier. You could do the same."
Tasha, who'd been leaning in the corner like a shadow, finally spoke. "Neutral sounds nice. But it also sounds like painting a target on our back. You declare it, you're daring them to test it, and if one of them wins then they will turn towards you."
Robert shrugged. "They'll test you no matter what. At least this way you've got a flag to wave."
I leaned back in my chair, arms folded. The idea wasn't bad. But I hated how much sense it made coming from Robert. "And you'd just what? Be my ambassador? My spin doctor?"
He grinned, unbothered. "Let's just say I've got experience smoothing feathers. FEDRA trusts me enough to keep me around, Fireflies hate me enough to respect me, and the independents… well, they like my booze. Everyone likes my booze."
My dead fish eyed stare said enough about my thoughts.
Lia let out a small laugh at that, though Meredith shot her a look to keep quiet.
Silence hung in the room for a moment, filled only by the faint scratching of rain against the window.
Neutral ground. It sounded smart. It sounded… survivable. But I could already hear Renner's voice in my head: There's no such thing as neutral, boy. You're either with us, or against us.
I looked at Robert, then Meredith. "You're both right about one thing. Renner's breathing down my neck harder than anyone before. But the Fireflies are watching too. If I declare neutrality, I'm basically admitting I'm a player in their game. That's going to put me on every board, every move watched."
Meredith softened slightly. "You're already on the board, Cal. You don't get to choose that anymore. What you can choose is how you survive it."
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring down at the map. Pins, lines, notes. All of it meant nothing if either side decided to crush me flat.
Cole stepped into the room then, silent until now. His voice was calm, steady. "If we do this, we'll need to enforce it. Make examples of anyone who breaks it. FEDRA patrol harasses our people? We push back. Fireflies try to lean on us? We push back. It won't be neutrality by words. It'll be neutrality by fear."
Robert smiled thinly. "Now you're starting to sound like me."
I didn't answer right away. My thoughts were moving faster than my mouth. Neutral ground… or no ground at all.
I stayed quiet long after Robert stopped talking. The rain outside drummed harder, filling the silence the way my thoughts filled my head. Neutrality. Independence. Fear. Every word they'd said was true and none of it gave me any real way out.
Renner wasn't going to let me sit still. He wanted me leashed, predictable. The Fireflies weren't going to ignore me either. They'd circle like vultures, waiting for me to slip, waiting for weakness. If I waved a "neutral" flag, I'd have to fight twice as hard to make sure both sides believed it meant something.
I looked at the pins on the map, routes, stashes, safehouses but in my head I saw chains. No matter how I moved them, the board didn't change: FEDRA on one side, Fireflies on the other, both pulling.
The idea of neutrality wasn't safety. It was another kind of gamble, another bluff I'd have to keep selling every day.
I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking under me.
"I'll think about it," I finally said. My voice came out quieter than I meant, but it was steady.
And that was all I gave them.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The lamps burned low, lantern wicks trimmed to a whisper so the room glowed in pale amber instead of fire. Shadows bent across the maps spread over the heavy desk, the edges weighted with empty magazines, a chipped mug, and a revolver. Every inch of paper was dotted with pins red for FEDRA patrol routes, blue for known Firefly caches, black for abandoned safehouses. Thin strings stretched between them, turning the surface into a web of pressure points and threats.
Cal sat at the head of the desk, hood pulled over his hair, hands pressed flat against the paper as if he could anchor the whole mess through touch. Around him, his lieutenants gathered Cole, Alexandra, Noah, Rusty, Kev, Joe, Lia and Tasha, each with their own slouch or tension, weapons leaning within arm's reach, faces tired but sharp.
Nobody spoke at first. The only sound was the faint scratching of rain on the roof above, mixing with the hiss of the lantern.
Finally, Cal broke the silence. "Robert thinks neutrality's an option. Meredith does too. I don't buy it."
Cole leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Neutral just makes us the biggest target in the room. FEDRA we'll still want us on the leash, and Fireflies will keep sniffing for cracks. Being neutral just means you're isolated."
Rusty nodded grimly. "The way things are shaping, they're both gearing up for bigger fights. Sooner or later, one of them is gonna start testing us hard."
Cal tapped his fingers against the map, slow and deliberate. "That's why we don't just plan for tomorrow. We plan for after. Past the QZ."
The room shifted at that. Eyes cut toward him, some wide, some narrowing, but none dismissive.
"Leaving Boston?" Noah asked, voice low. "As in… for good?"
Cal lifted his gaze. "Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next month. But we can't live boxed between FEDRA and Fireflies forever. Both sides are treating us like an asset. And assets get used until they're broken. If we're gonna survive, we need to know there's a way out. Somewhere that's ours."
The words hung heavy, but he could see the spark in some of them, Joe straightening slightly, Alexandra's hand tightening on the edge of the table, Tasha's lips quirking like she wanted to argue but didn't.
He reached out and pointed to the edge of Boston's map. "There's plenty of city left, ruins FEDRA doesn't patrol, places the Fireflies avoid because they're too dangerous. If we can find ground that's not infested, we could fortify it. Worst case, if we can't find that here, we need to know where to go outside the Boston itself."
"Scouts," Cole said immediately, nodding once. "Send them deeper into the ruins. Look for abandoned strongpoints, bridges, rail yards — anywhere defensible."
"And spies," Cal added. "We buy information. FEDRA HQ logs, Firefly caches, maps of old military sites. I don't care if it comes from Robert, Meredith, or someone's drunk uncle, if it tells us where to move, we take it."
Kev frowned. "That's dangerous. Buying info, snooping around if Renner gets wind of it…"
Cal cut him off with a sharp look. "If Renner gets wind of it, then we make sure he doesn't live long enough to matter. We don't wait for him to choke us."
Silence followed that. Cold, sharp silence, until Joe broke it. "You want me and my scouts to start looking tomorrow?"
"Yes," Cal said, nodding firmly. "Start with the ruins near the river. The old commuter lines. Anything that looks like it could be locked down and held. And if it's clean, mark it. If it's crawling, torch what you can and move on."
He turned his gaze to Alexandra. "I want your people listening for FEDRA chatter. Anything about supply caches or places they've written off as lost. Same for Firefly movements. If either side thinks a place is too dangerous to bother with, that's exactly the kind of place we want to know about."
She smirked, sharp and humourless. "Ears open, mouths shut. We'll find it."
Cal shifted back in his chair, letting his hands drop to his lap. He could feel their eyes on him waiting, weighing, trusting. They were older, stronger, more experienced in some ways. But they listened when he spoke.
He glanced back down at the map, tracing one finger along the strings between pins. "Neutrality doesn't keep us safe. FEDRA doesn't keep us safe. Fireflies don't keep us safe. The only thing that does… is us. So we find a way out. And we take it, before someone else decides for us."
The council broke apart slowly, the scrape of chairs and shuffle of boots muted under the weight of what had just been decided. Nobody needed Cal to repeat himself; the orders were clear, heavy as iron, and every lieutenant carried them out with the same grim purpose they'd carried into battle months before.
The alleyway house's lower floor became a tide of quiet movement. Cole and Noah moved first, pulling trusted lieutenants aside, voices low but urgent. Rusty took a notebook and began scribbling lists of who had the best memory for maps, who had contacts on the streets, who could barter without raising suspicion. Alexandra, as always, slipped like smoke between clusters of people, whispering names and assignments, already hand-picking spies from the ones who knew how to listen without being noticed.
Cal stayed in the middle of it all, arms folded, watching it ripple outward. He wasn't giving new speeches now he didn't need to. His people weren't waiting for inspiration anymore; they were waiting for instructions, and when those instructions came, they obeyed.
Two runners, thin, sharp-eyed kids barely older than Cal were pulled aside by Alexandra. She handed one a folded scrap of paper, the other a small pouch of ration cards. "Robert and Meredith will have leads. Don't pay more than double market value for info, and don't mention Cal's name. You're just looking for old maps, military logs, anything. Understand?"
They nodded, nerves hidden behind practiced blank faces. One of them tucked the pouch into his boot, the other slid the paper into his shirt. They left immediately, slipping out into the tunnels with the casual air of kids going scavenging, though everyone knew what they carried was worth more than bullets.
Further down the hall, Tasha pulled aside two older men, both ex-scavengers turned guards. "FEDRA's been rotating new patrols. Find out where. Ask around the checkpoint lines, slip a few cards if you have to. We need their schedules."
They grunted, one spitting into a corner before tightening his coat. "Consider it done."
At the skyscraper exit, Joe and Cole had already begun preparations. They moved like men who'd done this a hundred times, laying gear out on an old office table scavenged from the ruins. Rifles stripped and reassembled, ammo counted and packed, cloth wraps tied around boots for silence.
"Pairs of three," he ordered, his voice carrying over the low hum of activity. "No one goes alone, no one loses sight of the river. You see something worth holding? You mark it. You see a swarm? You don't play hero, you get the hell out."
One of the younger scouts, barely fifteen shifted nervously, staring at the stack of molotovs lined up in old beer bottles. Joe caught the look, grabbed one of the bottles, and pressed it into the kid's hand. "You throw this before you get grabbed. And if you do get grabbed…" He shrugged, stone-faced. "Make sure you take a few with you. That's all there is to it."
Cal appeared at the doorway then, silent but watchful. He walked the line of scouts slowly, his eyes sharp, weighing each one. Some straightened under his gaze, others avoided it. He said nothing, just placed a hand briefly on a shoulder here, a weapon stock there, until every scout had felt his presence. When he stopped in front of Joe, he gave a single nod. Joe returned it, and that was enough.
Upstairs, Tasha and Kev were rearranging the defenders. The skyscraper, with its layered barricades and narrow choke points, was their strongest fortification, but even strong walls meant nothing without eyes on them.
"Three on watch at all times," Tasha muttered, her rifle slung casually over her back. "Night rotations cut to two hours. Anyone spots something weird footprints, noise, shadows you don't check it alone. You wake the next pair, no matter what."
Kev grunted agreement, hauling a crate of nails up the stairwell. "Scouts are out there, FEDRA's sniffing around in here. We don't get sloppy."
By the time the orders had fully rippled outward, the house had fallen back into its uneasy rhythm. Scouts prepared quietly in the skyscraper, spies had already vanished into tunnels and alleys, and the guards rotated with sharper eyes than ever.
Cal returned to his office, the lantern still burning low over the maps. He stared at the pins, at the thin red lines marking patrols and supply lines. Somewhere beyond those marks was a place that wasn't anyone else's. Not FEDRA's. Not Firefly's.
But his and his peoples.