The Price of Knowledge

The air in the undercity tasted of ozone and despair, a familiar blend Anya was beginning to associate with this world. Kaelen’s hand, a blur of motion, had pulled her into the shadowed alcove just as a patrol of enforcers had swept past, their metallic boots clanking an ominous rhythm on the grimy ferrocrete. Anya’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She’d been too careless, too caught up in the raw, gnawing hunger for answers.

“They’re getting bolder,” Kaelen murmured, their voice a low rasp that barely cut through the hum of the city’s unseen machinery. Their eyes, sharp and assessing, flickered towards the direction the enforcers had gone before settling back on Anya. “And you, Detective, are drawing their attention like a beacon.”

Anya swallowed, the dryness in her throat a testament to her frayed nerves. “I need you to tell me everything, Kaelen. About Elara Vance. About what she knew.”