Rilke

After the trio escaped from Vassier’s mansion on stolen V2s, Sylvaine and Juno zoom out, almost breaking the sound barrier. We crashed hard in G Sector—Gideon nowhere in sight—and someone dragged us out of the wreckage before the city could eat us alive.

When I came to, the air was heavy with the stink of oil and scorched metal. My head throbbed in rhythm with the muffled clang of tools somewhere beyond the wall. I wasn’t lying in sand or wreckage anymore, but on a stiff cot shoved into the corner of a workshop.

The place looked like it had been carved out of the city’s bones. Pegboard walls bristled with wrenches, ratchets, and drivers arranged in precise rows. Half-dismantled engines lay on benches under buzzing lamps. The floor was littered with screws that glinted like teeth. Somewhere close, a welding torch sputtered and hissed before cutting out.

I forced myself upright, shoulder aching from the crash. My legs wobbled, but I pushed forward, stepping carefully so I didn’t grind a bolt into my bare foot.

Light bled in through a half-open garage door. Outside, Sylvi sat cross-legged on the concrete, animated as always, chatting with a girl I didn’t recognize.

The girl was striking in an understated way—short hair framing a sharp face, a dark blue cloak hanging loose over her shoulders. What caught me most was the oversized metal glove that swallowed her forearm, its joints creaking faintly as she gestured. She leaned toward Sylvi with genuine interest, her expression lit up by something bright.

“Who the hell are you?” I croaked.

Both their heads snapped toward me. The warmth drained from the girl’s face in an instant, replaced by a stare so flat I couldn’t read if it was disinterest or intent to kill.

“Oh, Juno!” Sylvi hopped up, beaming like she hadn’t just survived a death spiral into the slums. The girl stood too, a little shorter than me, but carrying herself with the kind of confidence that erased any difference.

“This,” Sylvi announced, gesturing between us, “is Rilke.”

Rilke didn’t respond—just studied me, like she was cataloguing a threat.

“Rilke, this is Juno.”

I returned the stare, mirroring her measure for measure.

Sylvi’s grin widened. “Congrats, you both met a super awesome person!”

“You look familiar,” Rilke said suddenly. “Do I know you?”

I folded my arms. “Why are we in some random person’s house?”

“If it makes you feel better,” she said with a shrug, “I was planning to leave you in the wreckage. But—” she tilted her chin toward Sylvi, “—you did save my girl, so.”

Sylvi clapped her hands, trying to cut through the tension. “Well, now that we’re all acquainted—”

“Acquainted?” I muttered. “Feels more like mutual suspicion.”

Rilke adjusted her glove, its metal joints squealing faintly. “Mutual? You think I’m suspicious of you?”

“Aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. “Not yet.”

Sylvi sighed like a mother watching kids bicker.

I glanced back at the tool-crammed walls. “You live here?”

“Why? You planning to move in?”

“Just wondering if this is some random garage or…”

“It’s mine. Well, mine and one other person’s.”

“Friend?” Sylvi asked.

“Something like that.”

“What’s their name?” I pressed.

“Cassian.” She said it like the word carried weight.

“And?”

“And,” Rilke said, sliding a wrench back into its proper slot, “you’ll understand when you meet him.”

Sylvi tilted her head. “So… where is Cassian now?”

“Out.”

“Out where?” I asked.

“Chasing a robot,” she replied, deadpan.

I blinked. “A robot?”

“One with the power to destroy the world. Some kind of detection alert in A Sector.” Her eyes flicked to me. “You were in A Sector, weren’t you?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “…Yeah. That’s where we fell from.”

“Oh.” She thought for half a second. “Then you must’ve barely missed them. A Sector’s not that big—unless you count the wallets.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Do you at least have a table?”

Rilke gave me a look like I’d asked for a throne. “You have the floor.”

Rolling my eyes, I sat down and unfolded the map. “What about something to write with?”

She rummaged around, tools clattering, before tossing me a scorched nail dipped in grease.

“Great…” I muttered.

Using the floor paneling as a guide, I scratched lines across the paper. Sure enough, they intersected just east of Solaris—pointing straight toward Carlotta.

Sylvi crouched beside me, her eyes wide. “Is this what Vassier wanted us dead for?”

“Pretty much.” I tapped the mark. “This has to be the place.”

Autumna’s words echoed in my head: Things that don’t belong here… are dangerous. Even to those they call home.

It made sense now. Solaris—or Orati, depending who you asked—wasn’t safe because of its walls. It was protected by something foreign. Something dangerous. Something that drew monsters instead of repelling them.

“I have to get there,” I murmured. “I need to open the gate.” The words slipped out like they weren’t mine.

Sylvi studied me, quiet for once. “Alright,” she said finally. “Let’s go.”

“Well, it’s not that simple,” I explained. “The thing will take me home.”

“What do you mean?” she asked softly.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Before she could reply, Rilke leaned over. “Where you two going?”

“A road trip.”

“Is Sylvi going?”

“Yes…” I sighed. “She’s going.”

“Then I’m going too.”

“What—”

Her gloved fist clenched, glowing faintly burgundy.

“No ma’am,” I said quickly. “The more the merrier.”

Her eyes lit with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to ride a V2. Who’s driving?”

Sylvi and I exchanged looks.

“We are riding there right?”

We set out not long after. Thirty minutes trudging toward the G Sector desert exit left Sylvi and me dragging our feet like corpses, while Rilke strolled like she could walk forever.

“How are you not tired?” I groaned.

She shrugged. “Glove changes my density. Even myself. Five seconds light as air, then reset. Makes walking easy.”

“Can you use that on me?” I asked hopefully.

Rilke gave me a dirt look. “Why would I waste it on you? If Sylvi asked, maybe.”

Figures.

After another half hour, the slums finally loosened their grip. Rusted roofs and smoke-stained alleys fell away to open sky and rolling dunes. The city’s noise died, replaced by the low howl of wind.

The desert stretched endless and golden, broken only by the bones of ruined machines half-buried in sand. Heat shimmered across the horizon. For the first time in hours, I could breathe.

Rilke hummed as she walked ahead, kicking at the sand like it belonged to her. I slowed, letting her drift farther. Sylvi matched my pace without question.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “For… all of it. Since the start.”

Her smile was soft, teasing. “All of it? You make it sound like I’ve been carrying you on my back.”

“Haven’t you?”

She laughed lightly. “I just wanted your cloak back then.”

“…Cloak?”

She tugged my hoodie sleeve, smirking. “That thing. You don’t even wear it right.”

I looked down. “…Oh. I’m still wearing it backwards.”

“Get out of Exidus mode,” she chuckled as I twisted my arms to fix it.

“Better?”

“Almost tolerable.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile. For a moment, the walk didn’t feel so heavy.

But my chest tightened. I couldn’t dodge it forever. “Sylvi—there’s something I need to tell you. Been meaning to for a while.”

Her eyes softened, curious, almost tender. “What is it?”

I swallowed. The words I’d been carrying pressed at my throat like they were fighting to escape, like if I didn’t speak now, I never would. My chest tightened. My pulse was a drum in my ears.

I opened my mouth—

BANG.

The world split open.

The gunshot cracked through the desert with a force that stole the air from my lungs. Sand burst at my feet in a violent spray, grains stinging my shins like shrapnel. The echo rolled across the dunes, bouncing back on itself until it sounded like the whole wasteland had turned into a war drum.

“Threat located,” a voice intoned, mechanical and merciless, flat as steel. “Forty-seven feet away.”

I froze. My blood turned to ice.

Slowly—like I was turning in someone else’s body—I whipped around.

They were there.

Three figures standing against the ridge, silhouettes carved sharp against the burning sky. The setting sun caught their outlines, branding them into my vision like scars. For a heartbeat I thought the desert itself had summoned them, that they weren’t men at all but phantoms conjured to punish me.

One in front. A trench coat trailing in the wind, pistol low and smoking. A faint ember of a cigarette burned beneath the brim of his hat. His smirk bent upward like he’d been waiting for this very moment, like he’d always known it would end here.

Another, just behind him. Familiar. Too familiar—

Gideon?

His fists knotted white at his sides. His eyes weren’t on the horizon. They weren’t on Sylvi. They were on me. Only me.

And the third.

The third was no man.

Seven feet of armored inevitability, standing impossibly still. Matte steel plates sealed at the seams by faint veins of red light. A helm smooth and faceless, except for a single slit of burning crimson that cut across where eyes should be. That light didn’t blink, didn’t waver—it just stared, unbroken, unhuman.

The thing didn’t breathe. Didn’t shift. Didn’t exist the way anything alive did. It was the future, standing in judgment, humming faintly with the promise of ruin.

The desert wind fell silent. Even the sand seemed to still beneath its weight.

The desert had chosen a grave.

Not for all of us—no. For one.

A scrape, a wound, a scar—that would have been mercy. This was different. Irrevocable. Final.

One heartbeat from now, one breath too long, and blood would stain the sand.

One of us wasn’t leaving this place alive.