A second drone zipped up alongside her.

“EMERGENCY OVERRIDE AUTHORIZED. PLEASE DESCEND FOR AIRSPACE ASSESSMENT—”

“I’m… I’m fine! I’m so sorry!” Luma yelled, panicked.

Her aura flickered uncontrollably.
A pulse of glow surged down her arms.

“YOU ARE UNREGISTERED. IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED.”

“I just—! I just flew too high! I’m new! I didn’t mean—!”

Her voice cracked.

The patrol paused.
Scanned her.

“AURA TRACE DETECTED… REGISTERING LEVEL-R GLOW. MATCH NOT FOUND.”

One of the droids hovered closer.
A narrow beam swept her throat.
Her pulse.
The faint marks still glowing on her chest beneath the coat.

“ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”

Luma blinked.

“…No,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“…I think I was… but I’m not anymore.”

“Reroute to Tier 3 airpath. Stay beneath the raillines.”

The patrols drifted back into place.

Luma flew slow.
Low.
Quiet.

She didn’t look up again.
She didn’t want to.

The wind cut against her wings as she landed in a half-stumble.

She was sore.
Tired.
Wearing a coat too big for her shoulders—
but warm like a heartbeat.

The warehouse stood quiet.
Abandoned.

Dust clung to broken crates.
The floor cracked with time and old tread.

It looked the same.
But the smell told the truth—
mold in the walls, rust in the seams, the stale rot of a place left behind by a crew who had given up on her.

Luma stepped through the shattered door, fingers brushing the rusted frame.

The collar was gone.
The chains still pinched beneath her shirt.
And the coat…
She refused to take it off.

Inside, the silence hummed.

A cube blinked on the floor—soft blue glow against the dust.
She crouched.
Tapped it with two fingers.

It pulsed.

“Archive feed available. View?”

Luma swallowed.
Her voice cracked.

“…Yes.”

The projection lit up.

She curled on a crate, coat tight around her, legs drawn up, hands trembling.

The date in the corner?
Almost one year ago.

Clip One

The raccoons whispered.
One lit a flare.
Another checked his comm.

“You sure she’s glowing?”
“Saw it myself. When she was sleeping. Couldn’t hide it if she tried.”
“Spice is gonna pay triple.”

Luma’s breath hitched.

“She doesn’t even know what she is.”

Clip Two

The feed skipped.

A crash.
A ripple of black and violet energy slammed through the warehouse.

Rue appeared.
Boots hard.
Aura sharp.
Not alone.

One of them, a small, sharp-toothed girl with shark-gray skin, dragged her blade lazily down a support beam. Her grin was wicked. Too eager. Too alive for a place like this.

Another figure stood behind her. Tall. Silent. A black mask sealed her lower face, body wrapped in something darker than the room itself. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She was a blade waiting to be drawn.

The raccoons froze.

“This is it?” the shark girl asked, blade humming.

“Match came from the Den’s export trail. It’s connected,” the masked woman said flatly.

Rue said nothing.
Just walked.
Each step slow. Measured. Eyes scanning the space like a verdict.

She reached one of the raccoons.
Fist closed on his collar.
She slammed him against a crate.

“You trafficked five women through this route. One of them was the daughter of a diplomatic officer.”

Her voice was steady.
Lethal.

“Who were the women? If any of them are still alive…”

The raccoon scoffed.

“What, you care now? You think you’re gonna save them?”

The shark girl stepped forward, grin sharp.
“You were being asked nicely.”

Rue let go.
Didn’t say another word.
Just turned.

Toward the back.
Toward an old room.

She stopped outside the door.
The floor beneath it was worn.
Dust disturbed.

Rue knelt.
Fingers grazed a threadbare blanket still tucked in the corner.

And then it hit.

The scent.

Old.
Faint.
But unmistakable

Clip Two (continued)

That salve.

Rue froze.
Still as stone.

The woman with the mask called through comms.
“We’re pulling the crew. You coming?”

Rue didn’t respond.
She just stared at the door.
Head bowed.

Clip Three

The raccoons again.

“They bought it. Didn’t even ask. Said Venin Den was enough.”
“Soon as she’s taken, we’ll say we don’t know shit.”
“She’s glowing. There hasn’t been a glow in years.”

Luma’s nails dug into the coat.

Clip Four

Rue returned.
Alone.

The raccoons were lounging.
Laughing.

The moment the door opened—
Violence.

One hurled into crates.
Another slammed against the wall.

“You lied.”

Her voice was low.
Even.
Deadly.

“You told me there was no link.”

“We didn’t know! We didn’t know she mattered!” one stammered.

Rue’s gaze didn’t waver.
Her slit mouth edged wider.
Enough said.

“You sold her.”

Not a shout.
Not rage.
Just verdict.

A frail raccoon was lifted clean off the ground.
The cameras blurred under the weight of it—
fur, teeth, violence, all swallowed in silence.

Final Clip

Rue sat in front of Luma’s door.

The jacket was gone.
Folded neatly at her side.

Her sleeves pushed up, runic markings trailing her wrists.

Head bowed.
Fist clenched.

“You were here…” Luma whispered.
“You were here the whole time.”

Rue didn’t move.
Not for a long time.

She just sat there, silent.
Until the screen flickered to black.

Luma clutched the coat.
Buried her face in the collar.

Her voice fissured.
Tears streamed unchecked.

“Who are you…”

She whispered it again.
Softer.
Breaking.

“Who… are you?”

The warehouse didn’t answer.
Only the soft rustle of the coat around her—
and the ache that pulsed in her chest like a name she didn’t know how to speak.

The room went quiet again.

Except for her.
And the way her heart broke all over again.

The warehouse shower still worked—barely.

It spat and clanged when she turned the knobs, groaning like it hadn’t been touched in a year.
Maybe it hadn’t.

The water came out as more steam than pressure.
More ghost than warmth.

But she stepped into it anyway.

Rue’s jacket slid from her shoulders at the door.

She folded it slowly.
Tenderly.

As if it were still warm from Rue’s body.

She set it on the counter.
Her fingers lingered at the collar.

She didn’t want to leave it.
Didn’t want to step into the stall without it wrapped around her.

But she did.

She stripped stiffly. Mechanically.

Her shirt clung to her back like skin.
Her pants peeled off like paper.

The chains were still on.
She hadn’t dared touch them.

She hadn’t wanted to forget where Rue’s hands had been.

The moment the water hit, she gasped.

Not from pain—
but from memory.

Rue hadn’t touched her with cruelty.

But Rue had left marks.
Not just on her body.

Beneath her skin.
In her mind.
Her pulse.
Her breath.

The chains hissed under the water.
Silver.
Soft.

She stood motionless for a long time.

Letting the heat rise.
The water pressure build.
The noise fill her ears.

Her hands moved slowly—
apprehensive.

She unwrapped the chains.
One coil. Then another.

Pausing as water and steam traced down the center of her back.

Her chest ached.

The chains fell to the tile with a clink louder than it should have been.

She slid down the wall.
Wings flaring wide under the spray.

The tiles were cold.
She didn’t care.

Her head tipped back.

Water poured over her bare chest—
over the places Rue had steadied her,
claimed her,
taught her how to fly again.

And something inside her pulsed.

She closed her eyes.

And let herself remember.....
Let herself feel.....

She let her head fall back.

Water poured over her bare chest—
over the places Rue had steadied her.
Claimed her.
Taught her how to fly again.

And something inside her cracked.

Not pain.
Not relief.

Something worse.
Something hollow.

She closed her eyes.

And let herself remember.

Rue’s hands.
Not large. Not cruel.

Long-fingered.
Steady.
Deliberate.

Every touch had carved her into something fragile.
Something precious.

Only to abandon her.
Unfinished.

The memory ached like a bruise pressed too deep.

Her chest heaved.
Her breath stuttered.

Tears blurred into the steam until she couldn’t tell water from grief.

The chains clinked faintly against the tile at her feet.

Luma slid down the wall.
Curled into herself.
Wings arching wide under the spray.

Her whisper cracked between sobs.

“Who are you…”

Her voice broke again.

“Why can’t I forget you…”

No answer.

Only the hiss of water.
The echo of chains.
And the ghost of Rue’s touch still burning inside her.

When the steam finally faded
and the water turned cold,
she dragged herself out of the stall.

Only then did she reach for Rue’s coat.

She wrapped it around herself like armor.
Pressed her face into the worn fabric.
Breathed in the fading ghost of thunder.
Velvet.
Sky.

And said nothing at all.

She didn’t know how long she sat there.
Curled against the shower wall.
Clutching Rue’s coat like a lifeline.

When the water turned cold again
and the ache became too sharp to ignore,
she rose.

Tomorrow would come whether she wanted it to or not.

And if she couldn’t forget her…

Then maybe.....
just maybe.....
she could find a way to remember herself.