Chapter 5: The Silent Currents

Dawn in Mingo Harbor was a strange thing. The light never truly touched the streets; it filtered down in fractured beams, caught in the grime-coated glass and sprawling megastructures above. For the few who ventured out this early, the world felt half-formed, a suspended moment before the chaos resumed.

Coza found himself walking along one of the Harbor’s outer ridges, his legs heavy and his thoughts heavier. Below, the vast ocean stretched into the horizon, the water tinged with an iridescent sheen from decades of industrial runoff. Automated freighters glided silently across its surface, their cargo bound for destinations Coza would never see. The Harbor seemed quieter here, the hum of machinery softened by the wind sweeping in from the sea.

His arm throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, the torn fabric of his coat sticking to the wound. The sphere’s faint pulsing against his chest felt like a heartbeat—constant, unrelenting, and strangely reassuring. It had been hours since he escaped the wreckage, and though no one had followed him this far, the tension in his body refused to dissipate.

He reached a section of the ridge where the walkway ended abruptly, the safety rails twisted and broken as though a massive hand had wrenched them apart. Beyond the edge, the waves crashed against the base of the Harbor, sending sprays of mist into the air. Coza sat on the jagged metal, his gaze fixed on the water.

For the first time in days, he allowed himself to breathe.

“Not many come this far,” a voice called out.

Coza spun, his pulse spiking as his eyes locked onto a figure perched on a stack of rusted crates. It was a man, his features obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The stranger’s posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that set Coza on edge.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Coza said cautiously, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the sphere rested.

The man chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. “This place doesn’t belong to anyone. Least of all to me. But you look like someone carrying trouble.”

Coza hesitated, his mind racing through possible responses. The Harbor was full of people who thrived on secrets, and sharing the wrong one could mean a quick end. “Just passing through,” he said finally.

“Passing through with half a jacket soaked in blood?” the man asked, tilting his head. “That doesn’t sound like the kind of trouble you can walk away from.”

Coza didn’t answer. He shifted his weight, ready to move if the situation turned sour. The man raised a hand in a placating gesture.

“Relax, kid. I’m not here to take anything from you. But if you’re bleeding and carrying whatever it is you’re hiding, I’d wager you need help more than you think.”

Coza studied the man. His clothes were patched but sturdy, his boots scuffed from long journeys. A scavenger, most likely—someone who lived on the fringes of the Harbor, trading in the forgotten and discarded. Coza had met people like him before, though never this far from the inner districts.

“What kind of help?” Coza asked warily.

The man smirked. “The kind that doesn’t ask questions. For a price.”

Coza considered his options. The wound on his arm wasn’t life-threatening, but it wasn’t healing on its own either. And if the strangers from the plaza were still hunting him, he couldn’t afford to stay exposed for long.

“I don’t have much to offer,” Coza admitted.

The man slid off the crates, landing lightly on the metal platform. “You’re carrying more than you think. And I don’t just mean that shiny bit in your coat.”

Coza stiffened, his hand instinctively gripping the sphere. “What do you want?”

“Information,” the man said simply. “Not about you, but about what’s coming. The Harbor’s been quiet lately—too quiet. I want to know why. You tell me what you’ve seen, and I’ll patch you up and point you somewhere safe.”

Coza hesitated. He didn’t trust the man, but he couldn’t deny the logic in his offer. Finally, he nodded. “Fine.”

The man led Coza to a small hideout carved into the side of the Harbor’s outer wall. The space was cramped and dimly lit, its walls lined with shelves of salvaged equipment and makeshift tools. A battered medical kit sat on a workbench, next to a steaming mug of something that smelled faintly metallic.

“Name’s Taka,” the man said as he motioned for Coza to sit. “Let’s see that arm.”

Coza removed his coat reluctantly, the sphere still tucked safely in its pocket. Taka worked quickly, cleaning the wound with an efficiency that suggested experience. As the sting of antiseptic bit into his skin, Coza recounted the events of the past two days—the malfunctioning crate, the strangers, the creatures in the tunnels. He kept his words measured, omitting any unnecessary details about the sphere.

Taka listened in silence, his hands moving deftly as he wrapped Coza’s arm in clean bandages. When Coza finished, the scavenger leaned back, his expression thoughtful.

“Machines in the tunnels, strangers in reflective visors, and an artifact that’s got them both hunting you,” Taka murmured. “Sounds like you’ve kicked a nest you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Coza said. “I just—”

“You didn’t need to,” Taka interrupted. “Things like that,” he gestured to Coza’s coat, “don’t care whether you want them or not. They find you for a reason.”

Coza frowned. “You sound like an old man I met in the market.”

Taka smirked. “Maybe he’s smarter than he looks.”

Silence settled between them, broken only by the faint hum of the Harbor’s machinery. Taka stood and rummaged through a crate, pulling out a small metal disc. He handed it to Coza.

“Here. It’s a signal disruptor. Short range, but it should buy you time if they send drones after you again.”

Coza took the disc, its surface cool and smooth in his hand. “Why are you helping me?”

Taka shrugged. “Let’s just say I like knowing what’s going on in my Harbor. And right now, you’re the most interesting thing to happen in weeks.”

As Coza left the hideout, the sky above the Harbor began to darken once more. The wind carried the scent of salt and rain, promising another storm. Taka’s words lingered in his mind, their weight pressing against the questions he couldn’t answer.

He didn’t know what the sphere wanted from him—or what he was supposed to do with it. But as he walked along the ridge, the horizon stretched out before him, vast and unknowable. Somewhere out there, the truth waited.

And for now, that was enough.