The bullpen was already buzzing with activity when Cassian stepped inside.

It was their second day on the job, but there was no adjustment period, no easing into the routine. C-Sec worked as fast as the Wards demanded. Which meant that when Captain Bailey called them into the briefing room, no one asked why.

Cassian, Jace, Leila, Selyna, and Nyxara filed in, taking their seats around the table.

Bailey didn't bother with pleasantries. He just tapped his omni-tool, and three case files appeared on the central holoscreen. Three names. Three faces. All non-Citadel-born citizens.

And all missing.

Bailey leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Three missing persons," he said. "No ransom demands. No bodies turning up. No clear connection between them – on the surface."

Cassian glanced around, reading the other reactions. Jace was already frowning at the case files, arms crossed like he was waiting for something to make sense. Leila sat back, legs crossed, expression unreadable. She looked too relaxed. Like she was still figuring out what kind of case this was.

Nyxara tilted her head slightly, analyzing the profiles.

Selyna just huffed, already looking unimpressed. "What, and we got pulled for this because…?"

Bailey's gaze flicked to her. "Because I don't think they're missing," he said flatly. "I think they were taken."

The room went quiet.

Jace sat up straighter. "Trafficking?"

Bailey nodded. "That's the working theory."

Leila's smirk disappeared. "What's the evidence?"

Bailey tapped his omni-tool again, pulling up a second set of files.

"Individually, these cases wouldn't have raised red flags," he said. "A guy gets drunk, wanders into the wrong district. A woman stops answering calls, her landlord assumes she skipped town. A turian worker doesn't show up for his shift."

He gestured toward the names on the screen.

"But when you look at them together? All three vanished near transport hubs. No bodies, no personal effects left behind, no signs of struggle."

Nyxara's brow plates furrowed slightly. "Like they just… walked away?"

"Or," Bailey said, "like someone made them disappear."

Jace exhaled, shifting in his seat. "This is a bigger problem than three people."

Bailey nodded. "Exactly."

Leila leaned forward now, scanning the files. "Who were they?"

Bailey started listing. "Garrin Voss. Turian, 38. Worked for a warehouse shipping company. Been here six years, no major debts, no criminal record. Lina Orthis. Human, 26. Relocated from a colony in the Terminus Systems. Took a job at a lower Wards café. No family on the station. Taal Surrek. Batarian, 42. Freighter mechanic. Been living in Zakera for over a decade."

Leila's brow furrowed. "What do they have in common?"

Bailey tilted his head slightly. "That's the question, isn't it?"

Cassian tapped the table. "Any connection to organized crime?"

Bailey shook his head. "Not that we've found. No debts, no gang affiliations, nothing obvious."

Jace rubbed his jaw. "So they weren't taken for ransom. And they weren't random."

"Exactly," Bailey said. "Someone wanted them gone – but didn't want anyone to notice."

The room sat with that for a long moment.

This wasn't just a missing persons case. This was a pattern. And patterns meant intent.

Selyna cracked her knuckles. "So what's our move?"

Bailey pulled up a precinct map, highlighting locations. "You've got three assignments." Bailey tapped his omni-tool, and a precinct map flickered to life over the table. "Three angles," he said. "Three ways in. You're going to figure out which one gets us the truth."

The squad leaned in, scanning the locations flashing on the holo-screen.

Bailey pointed to a dive bar deep in the Wards. "Wilcox, Dawes. You're talking to the locals. Garrin Voss was last seen in a club on the lower levels. If he ran his mouth before he disappeared, someone there heard it."

Jace grunted, arms crossed. "If they'll talk."

"They'll talk to Dawes," Bailey said without hesitation.

Jace's gaze flicked to Leila, who smirked. He wasn't sure which part of that annoyed him more.

Bailey didn't give him time to argue. "Try not to get into a bar fight."

Leila gave him a two-fingered salute and an easy smile. "I'll do my best, sir."

Bailey's omni-tool shifted, pulling up encrypted transmissions. "Vakoris, you're on the tech side."

Nyxara's mandibles twitched in interest. "Solo assignment?"

Bailey nodded. "Think you can handle that?"

Nyxara was already pulling the files onto her own omni-tool, barely even listening anymore. Cassian might have been impressed – if he wasn't already bracing for where he was about to be sent.

Bailey's expression flattened slightly. "T'Veyna. You're shaking down a contact."

Selyna grinned. "Now we're talking."

Cassian sat up straighter, waiting for his own assignment.

Then – Bailey's next words hit like a punch to the gut.

"Solvaris, you're going with her."

Cassian's mandibles twitched. "What?"

Selyna just laughed.

Bailey ignored them both. "There's an elcor smuggler who works out of The Hollow."

Cassian frowned. He knew The Hollow. It was buried in the lower levels of Zakera Ward, deep enough that no one asked questions unless they wanted a knife in the ribs. Not the worst place in the district, but still a far cry from anything respectable. It catered to a mix of smugglers, mercs, and corrupt business types who wanted to pretend they weren't dealing with criminals.

"He's got a reputation for hearing things," Bailey continued. "I want to know what he knows."

Cassian shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure I'm the best choice for this kind of assignment."

Bailey gave him a sharp look. "You an officer or not?"

Cassian bit back his first response. He was an officer. A damn good one.

But this?

Interrogating low-level criminals in a Ward nightclub with Selyna T'Veyna?

This was not what he'd trained for.

Selyna clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning like she'd already won a bet. "Relax, golden boy. I'll show you how the real cops do it."

Cassian's mandibles tightened. This was going to be a disaster.

Bailey shut off the display. "You don't have a lot to go on," he said. "So get something."

No one argued.

They just stood up and got to work.

The moment they stepped into a lower Wards club called The Grindhouse, Jace felt the shift in the air.

C-Sec uniforms didn't belong here.

The place wasn't high-end, but it wasn't a total dump either. It had the kind of neon-lit, smoke-hazed atmosphere that made it easy to pretend you weren't dealing with criminals.

Until, of course, actual law enforcement walked in.

And that was the problem.

The second the other patrons clocked the uniforms, the mood in the bar shifted. Conversations lowered. People turned their backs. A few cleared out entirely.

Leila watched the movement with something dangerously close to amusement. Jace, however, was already annoyed.

"They hate us," he mumbled.

Leila smirked. "They hate you."

Jace shot her a look. "We're wearing the same uniform."

Leila shrugged, stepping further inside. "Yeah, but I don't carry it like it's a warning."

Jace gritted his teeth. "It is a warning."

Leila laughed under her breath, shaking her head. And Jace realized, too late, that she was enjoying this. She led them toward the bar, where the bartender – a tired-looking human woman with a cybernetic eye – was already watching them warily. Jace barely had time to brace before Leila was leaning in against the counter, flashing something close to an easy smile.

The bartender's eyes narrowed. "C-Sec?"

Leila tilted her head, all casual amusement. "Relax," she murmured. "We're not here to ruin your night."

The bartender's expression didn't change.

Jace exhaled sharply. "We need information on Garrin Voss."

The bartender rolled her eyes. "That's cute. You think people here talk to cops?"

Leila slid a few credits across the counter. Jace frowned – he hadn't even seen her pull them.

The bartender hesitated. Then, finally, she took the money. "Voss was here. Night before last," she muttered. "Drinking. Talking too loud. Thought he was making friends."

Leila's smile didn't waver. "With who?"

The bartender's gaze flicked toward a booth in the back corner. "Red jacket."

Jace was already moving. But Leila's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could take two steps. "Easy, soldier boy," she murmured. "Let me handle this."

Jace's fingers twitched. Her grip was light – almost playful.

Almost.

But the heat of it lingered. And when he turned to look at her, Leila was already watching him. Close. Calculated. Like she was waiting for him to argue.

Jace exhaled sharply. "You're enjoying this way too much," he muttered.

Leila's lips curved. "I'm good at it."

The guy in the red jacket wasn't alone. He had a drink in one hand, his other arm stretched lazily across the back of the booth. Cybernetic enhancements glinted under the dim lights. He looked like someone who'd seen enough violence to stop fearing it. Which meant he also wasn't the type to be intimidated.

Leila didn't seem concerned.

She slid into the seat across from him like she had all the time in the galaxy.

Jace stayed standing.

Leila glanced up at him. "You gonna loom all night, or you gonna sit?"

Jace didn't answer, but he didn't sit either.

The guy in the red jacket grinned. "Didn't know C-Sec was sending uniforms to drink with us now."

Leila matched his smile. "It's a new initiative. Community engagement."

The guy chuckled. Didn't buy it.

Leila didn't care, just pressed on. "I hear you met a friend of mine the other night," she said. "Garrin Voss."

His smirk flickered. Subtle. But Jace caught it.

Leila did too, but she didn't push. Not yet. She just leaned in slightly.

And that was the mistake.

Jace saw it happen before she did. The moment her body language shifted, the guy's demeanor changed. His gaze dropped, flickering over her like he'd just clocked an opportunity.

Jace moved before he thought about it. He reached out, gripping Leila's wrist and pulling her back just slightly.

The guy in the red jacket's smirk returned immediately.

Jace felt Leila stiffen. "Relax, soldier boy," she murmured under her breath.

Jace's grip tightened. "Relax when we have a lead."

The guy in the red jacket leaned back. "You two aren't real C-Sec, are you?"

Leila's expression didn't change. "Why do you say that?"

The guy chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Because real C-Sec don't flirt with their partners in the middle of an interrogation."

Leila didn't react.

Jace, on the other hand – his jaw clenched so tight he swore he could feel his teeth grinding.

The guy set his glass down. "Now," he said. "You want something from me? You're gonna have to work for it."

Leila leaned back, smiling. "Oh, honey."

She nodded toward Jace.

"He doesn't like working for things."

The analyst lab at C-Sec was quiet – or at least, it would have been, if Nyxara didn't work better with music. The soft hum of electronic beats pulsed through her earpiece, syncing up with the rhythm of her fingers dancing over the terminal's holo-interface.

Encrypted files, firewalled transmissions, buried metadata. For anyone else, this would take hours. Nyxara was halfway done in minutes.

Bailey had given her the assignment without hesitation – a solo job, which meant he trusted her to get results. Nyxara liked that.

Didn't get it often. Didn't usually need it, either. But still, she had no interest in wasting this shot.

Her omni-tool pinged as the first firewall crumbled. She smirked. "Too easy."

She typed in a few more commands, cycling through the data threads, eyes scanning for the right frequency. The message was buried. Deliberately. But not well enough.

The first line of decrypted text appeared.

Nyxara sat up.

The transmission wasn't a distress signal. Wasn't a ransom demand. It was a cargo manifest.

Her mandibles twitched. That wasn't right.

Nyxara worked faster now, narrowing the search parameters, chasing the decryption key down a rabbit hole of encoded logs. The next few words hit like a punch to the gut.

"Lot 317 – Processed for Departure."

Nyxara's fingers hovered over the keys for half a second before she forced herself to keep going.

She decrypted another manifest. Then another. And another.

All of them listed people.

Not passengers. Not crew. People.

And every single file ended the same way:

"Processed for Departure."

Nyxara inhaled sharply. "Shit."