— Chapter Four —

Acciaccato

(attʃakˈkato): Broken down, crushed; the sounding of the notes of a chord not quite simultaneously

The rhythmic patter of water echoed softly in the tiled shower, the sound filling the small, steamy space. Iria sat on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her chin rested on top her forearms as rivulets of hot water cascaded over her hair, plastering the reddish-brown strands to her skin and trailing down her face, mingling with the tears she no longer had the energy to wipe away.

The water wasn't washing away her thoughts. No matter how scalding it was, no matter how tightly she tried to hold herself together, the weight of the data pad's revelation pressed relentlessly against her. His name. His image. Her big brother. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath hitching as the realization replayed in her mind. The bounty—her bounty—had somehow been transferred to the her big brother.

Gren, who had been gone for a year. Who wasn't supposed to be here in any form but memory.

Her fingernails dug into her arms and clung to her damp skin. The gnawing question of why burned in her heart, flaring every time she tried to suppress it. Why was it his name on the receptionist's records? Was it some cruel bureaucratic error? Or was there something she wasn't seeing? Something bigger? A sickening knot formed in her stomach as her mind shifted to the sight of the helmeted stranger at Sabuku. His poise. His silent, knowing presence. The way he seemed to move through her mission as if he belonged there. Could he be connected to this? To Gren?

Her jaw tightened as another thought surged, unbidden: I didn't even get paid. The Kem she needed to keep going, to maintain the life of a Hunter she had thrown herself into over the past year, was gone. The same job she had worked tirelessly to complete had been stolen from her—not just the reward but the purpose. And yet, as she sat there, the emptiness she felt wasn't about the Kem. It hadn't been for a long time...

The truth clawed at her, unrelenting. She had spent the past year throwing herself into contracts, burying herself in lures, Zeiramoids, and dangerous missions, all to fill the void Gren had left behind. Her work had become a mask, a shield against the grief she couldn't let herself feel. She had told herself she was moving forward, but had she really? The jobs had begun to blur together, her victories hollow. Complacency had settled in, and she hadn't even noticed it until now, when Gren's name shattered the fragile illusion she had constructed.

Her eyes opened, the water blurring her vision as it dripped from her lashes. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn't tell if it was from anger, sadness, or something else entirely.

She had wanted to be like him for as long as she could remember—strong, capable, unwavering. Gren had been her protector, her guide, and in his absence, she had tried to emulate him. But she wasn't him. She couldn't be. And now, this strange resurgence of his name, this reminder of everything she had lost, was forcing her to confront the very void she had tried so hard to ignore.

The water began to cool, but she didn't move. She didn't flinch. She sat there, letting the droplets streak down her skin as her thoughts twisted and tangled. Somewhere, beyond the haze of grief and confusion, a spark of determination began to take shape. She didn't understand what was happening, but she knew one thing: she couldn't keep running. Not from this. Not from Gren's shadow. Not from herself.

And as the water continued to fall, a quiet resolve began to settle in her, tentative but growing, like the first fragile sprout breaking through the cracks of a barren desert.

The water had grown more tepid, the once-steaming spray now cold against her skin. Iria exhaled slowly. She reached forward, shutting off the shower with a deliberate turn of the handle, the abrupt silence almost jarring yo ears after the constant rhythm of falling water. Droplets clung to her hair and skin as she stood, her movements sluggish and deliberate, the weight of her thoughts still heavy on her shoulders.

Grabbing a towel from a nearby rack, she wrapped it loosely around herself, the fabric sticking slightly to her damp skin as she stepped out. Her bare feet padded softly against the chilly tiles as she moved toward a small counter in her room, droplets forming a faint trail behind her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror—disheveled hair clinging to her face, eyes rimmed red from tears she hadn't fully shed—and quickly looked away.

Her thoughts drifted to the man at Sabuku once more. It was easier to focus on him than her brother—easier to focus her frustrations. The interloper's aloof demeanor, the way he had seemed both out of place and utterly in control. She clenched her jaw as she replayed his swift actions in her mind. How callous he had been toward the colony, blowing the mine without hesitation as though it were nothing. Yet, she couldn't deny that it had been the most pragmatic move, even if the ethics of it made her stomach turn. His presence felt like another piece of a puzzle she couldn't quite assemble. Who was he? What did he want? Why had he been there? And why did it feel like everything had been thrown off balance since his sudden arrival?

Still clutching the towel, she moved to the small dresser against the wall and began to pull out her casual clothes. She tugged on a loose shirt first, letting it fall over her shoulders as she balanced on one foot to step into her pants, the towel slipping from her grip in the process. It hit the floor with a soft thud, but she paid it no mind as she focused on getting dressed. Her damp hair clung to her back as she slid her arms through the shirt's sleeves, still distracted by her lingering irritation with herself. She had come home tense and silent, worrying Kei and Fujikuro in the process, a thought that now left her feeling guilty. She hadn't meant to worry them—they didn't deserve to bear the burden of her turmoil.

She adjusted her pants, tying them securely with the drawstring at her hips. As she leaned over to retrieve the hair beads from her bedside table, her fingers brushed over the smooth, rounded surfaces, each bead familiar and grounding. Just as her hand closed around them, a faint flicker of light illuminated the space beside her palm. The unexpected glow startled her, and the beads slipped from her grasp, scattering across the carpet at her feet.

"Iria," Bob began, his tone sharp but quickly faltering as his orb blinked rapidly. "Uh—oh! You're… uh…" His voice trailed off awkwardly, and his small golden cones clamping down over the orb as if trying to avert its nonexistent eyes. The image flickered briefly before fading entirely. "I'm sorry, I thought you had—"

Iria glanced at the now-empty console and sighed, tugging her loose, slightly cropped shirt into place with a shrug. "I'm decent, Bob. It's fine," she said flatly, bending down to retrieve the towel and beads from the floor and tossing it onto the foot of the bed. "Why the rush?"

Bob's orb flickered back to life on the monitor, its usual smooth spin slightly erratic as though he were collecting himself. "My apologies," he began, his tone unusually measured. "I didn't mean to intrude. But we need to discuss something that has come up—"

Iria sighed, pulling her damp hair over one shoulder as she carefully picked up the hair beads she'd left beside Bob's console. "Yeah, about that…" she started, her voice softer now. She leaned against the edge of her bed, the beads clinking faintly in her hand as she began threading them into place. "I'm sorry I left you in the dark earlier. I shouldn't have done that…"

Bob's projection slowed its spin, his focus clearly on her words. Iria continued working, her fingers deliberate as she tucked each bead into her hair, tucking the strands neatly behind her ears. She took her time, her thoughts tumbling over themselves as she worked. "There's nothing to talk about though," she said finally, her voice heavy with frustration. "They just… didn't pay me."

Her fingers paused for a moment as she rubbed a hand over her face, the tension she'd been holding at bay creeping into her tone. "It wasn't just that the job was rejected, Bob. The payout," she paused for a dense few moments, willing herself to say it, "...was transferred to an account under my brother's name."

Bob's hologram stilled for a fraction of a second before spinning faster, the faint flicker of his projection signaling his intense processing of her words.

"Gren?" he repeated at last, his tone carrying a mix of disbelief and something deeper. Iria could hear it—an edge of pain in the voice, subtle but unmistakable. She envied her AI companion in that moment; at least he could mask his emotions better than she could. "That… doesn't make sense?" Bob continued, his voice tightening as though grappling with the implications. "His accounts were closed a year ago. I made sure of it myself. And even if they weren't, that payment should have defaulted to you?"

"Yeah, well," Iria replied, her voice tinged with bitterness, "Tedan Tippedai said the same thing. The money jumped from one fund to Gren's account and then to mine. But there's still nothing to show for it." She shook her head, her hands moving absently through her damp hair, trying to coax it back into some semblance of its usual volume. Her frustration lingered in her tone, sharp and pointed. "I don't know what's going on, Bob. But this doesn't feel like a mistake…"

Bob's hologram dimmed slightly, his movements slowing as though deep in contemplation. "It's highly implausible that this is an oversight," he said after a moment, his voice quieter but carrying an edge of urgency. "Accounts like Gren's don't just reappear—not even under Tedan Tippedai's convoluted systems."

Iria let out a tired breath, brushing her hand over her face before letting herself flop backward onto the bed. The soft mattress enveloped her small frame, offering little comfort against the weight from the day. She stared up at the ceiling, the golden glow of Bob's projection faintly reflecting on the walls. Her hands came up to gently rub at her aching eyes before falling outstretched to her sides.

"It's not just the money, Bob," she said after a pause, her voice quieter now. "It's… everything." She lay there, her thoughts whorled. "The job... That guy showing up... You freaking out. Gren's name popping up out of nowhere…" She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly. "I want to know more. I want to know what you're not telling me. But at the same time… I just—don't. You know?"

Bob's projection flickered gently, his tone softening with the warmth Iria had grown accustomed to from her partner. "Iria," he began, his voice steady, "I know this isn't easy for you. And I understand what you may be feeling right now. It's been hard for me to process too… on multiple fronts." His orb spun slowly, the gilded adornments shifting delicately around its center. "We don't have to solve this all at once. When the time comes, we'll get to the bottom of it."

Iria nodded slightly, her fingers flicking a few bangs from her face. The simple act steadied her, grounding her in the moment. "Yeah," she said softly, her voice finding a steadier rhythm. "You're right. And I know I need to talk with Kei and Fujikuro too. I've been a mess since I got back..."

Bob tilted slightly, his tone shifting to something more practical. "That's what I actually came to talk to you about," he said, the familiar whir of his projection carrying a note of urgency. "There's a message waiting for you on the mainframe."

Iria waved a hand idly in the air, her fatigue showing in the gesture. "No more jobs today, Bob. Please," she said, her voice weary.

"You know I wouldn't put anything on you that I know you wouldn't be able to handle," Bob said firmly with a twirl. Firm, but resolute and warming. "It's a missive from Dr. Touka."

Iria's eyes snapped open at the name, her exhaustion momentarily replaced with surprise. She sat up quickly, her gaze locking onto Bob's sphere. "Touka?" she repeated, her voice sharper now, laced with curiosity and urgency. "Now him? What does he want?"

Before Bob could reply, a gruff, muffled voice called out from the other side of her closed bedroom door. "Why don't you come out here and read it for yourself!"

Fujikuro's unmistakable tone carried through the walls, cutting through the quiet tension of the moment. Iria blinked, caught off guard, before swinging her legs off the bed. The growing curiosity tugged at her into the adjacent room.

Iria's eyes scanned the living quarters as she stepped in, her gaze settling on Fujikuro, who stood near Bob's main console with his arms crossed. Kei was at his side, leaning casually against the protruding keyboard, her face half-lit by the glow of the monitor. Bob's display showed a split screen: one side dominated by his twisting AI projection, the other by a brief, cryptic message. The text was short—a few clipped sentences followed by what appeared to be a set of coordinates.

Iria approached slowly, bare footed as her curiosity warred with her attentiveness. She glanced between Fujikuro and Kei, finally leaning in to peer at the screen.

"Who knew he was even still on Myce?" Kei said, breaking the silence. She glanced over her shoulder at Iria, her expression wary. "He's not exactly one for house calls?"

"This wasn't sent through any public channel," Bob interjected, his tone measured but tinged with a guarded undertone. His gold adornments spun deliberately, almost as if to emphasize his point. "It was heavily encrypted, and the details—as expected—are intentionally vague."

Iria's eyes scanned the short message again, her brows furrowing slightly. The text was blunt and efficient—little more than a few curt sentences, punctuated by a set of coordinates. She read it twice, her mind piecing together the implications.

"He wants to meet… me?" she asked softly, her voice a mix of curiosity and caution. She straightened slightly, her eyes still fixed on the screen as if trying to decipher more from the sparse words.

Fujikuro scoffed loudly, breaking her focus. "How can you even be so sure it's actually from him?" he said, his arms tightening across his chest as he leaned back slightly, his skepticism practically radiating off him.

Bob chuckled lightly, a sound that carried both amusement and reassurance. "It looks like the doctor anticipated that very question," he said with a slight tilt. The document zoomed in on a specific section, highlighting a single line of text that punctuated the end of the message. The flashing rectangle drew all their attention.

Iria's eyes narrowed as she focused on the highlighted words. Her lips twitched faintly, curling into a sly, unexpected smirk. It had been so long since she'd had a reason to smile, yet the simple line struck something in her.

Your Grandpa, the message signed off, casual yet deliberate.

She shook her head, exhaling softly. The words felt like both a signature and a reassurance, a private touch that no one but the sender would dare to use, though Iria could almost picture how painful it must have been for him to type it out—a reluctant acknowledgment of their coincidental bond.

"No," she said finally through her smile, her voice quieter but sure. "It's him."

Fujikuro raised a brow, seemingly till unconvinced, but he didn't press further.

"Where are those coordinates, Bob?" Iria asked, her focus shifting back to the monitor. Her voice carried a note of determination now, the curiosity in her tone overtaking the hesitation.

Bob flickered briefly before responding. "The coordinates lead to the outer rim of Myce, near the old maintenance yards a few klicks from the Tedan Tippedai building," he said, his voice calm as the map expanded to fill the monitor. The view zoomed out to show the location in relation to the sprawling cityscape before narrowing in on a medium-sized building tucked within the edges of the district. "It's remote, far from the usual corporate traffic. If he's there, he's keeping it low-profile for a reason."

"Wait a minute…" Fujikuro muttered, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He leaned in closer, his face reddening as realization dawned. Without warning, he practically shoved Iria and Kei aside, his urgency eclipsing any sense of decorum. "Is that in Sector A-3?" he barked, his tone rising with a mix of panic and disbelief.

Iria blinked, startled by his sudden outburst. "Yeah, so?" she said, glancing between him and the screen with growing confusion.

Bob confirmed with a spin, his tone unperturbed by Fujikuro's antics. "It appears to be a bar."

"A bar?!" Fujikuro's jaw dropped, his voice exploding with alarm. "That's Outland! Are you kidding me?!"

"If that's what it's called, then no I'm not," Bob replied, his tone as measured as ever.

"That place is insane!" Fujikuro straightened, his posture rigid as he waved his arms frantically in objection. "No way, Bob! We can't let her go there! No way!" He turned to the screen, jabbing a finger at the map as if addressing the doctor himself. "Hell, I don't even know why he'd want to go there. They'll eat that old man alive!"

Iria raised a brow, her confusion deepening as she watched the older Hunter's theatrics. "It's just a bar, Fujikuro," she said flatly, folding her arms and giving him a pointed look.

"Yeah," Kei chimed in, her lopsided grin betraying the biting sarcasm in her voice as she wedged herself between them. "And how exactly do you know about this place, old man? You go there when you 'hit up the town'?"

"Shut up, brat!" Fujikuro bellowed, his outrage boiling over as he clenched his fists at his sides. His face was flushed now, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "This isn't about me! I'm saying that place is rough! Bob's little golden bells won't be enough to watch Iria's back if things go sideways."

Bob's eye flickered slightly at the remark but maintained his calm. "Iria has handled herself in worse situations," he interjected with a note of confidence. "That said, Fujikuro does raise a valid point. Outland has a reputation for… unpredictability."

"And that's putting it lightly," Fujikuro added, his tone still heated. "Mercs, bounty jumpers, smugglers… you name it, they're all there. And they don't exactly roll out the welcome mat for new faces or Hunters!"

She rolled her eyes as Fujikuro's objections continued to drone on, his voice as overbearing as ever. He'd always been this way—loud, opinionated, and fiercely protective, like an authoritarian father figure. That tendency had only grown stronger since Bob had brought him on to look out for her after her return from the Karma incident more than a year ago. Iria understood that his concern came from a good place, but that didn't make his antics any less exasperating.

"I understand, Fujikuro," Bob said, his gilded ornaments tilting slightly as if to emphasize his measured tone. "But Kei also has a point. Touka doesn't reach out lightly. If he's contacting Iria—and so cloak-and-dagger at that—it's bound to be important. Your concern isn't misplaced. Caution will absolutely be necessary."

Iria remained unfazed by the commotion, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She stepped closer to the screen, her sharp gaze fixed on the highlighted map coordinates. Her voice was steady, determined. "If Touka's there, he must have a good reason," she said firmly, echoing Bob's sentiment. "I'm going..."

Fujikuro groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Unbelievable. You're not even listening! Fine!" He relented as pointed a thumb into his own chest plate. "... but I'm coming with you. No way in hell you're walking into that place alone."

Kei smirked, glancing up at him. "Yeah, it'd be a shame if some one recognized you?"

He shot her a glare, his face flushing deeper. "Shut it, kid! This isn't about me!"

"You're right," Bob interjected, his tone calm but pointed, cutting through the bickering. "This is about Iria. Only her apparently..."

Iria's attention shifted back to the holo-screen, drawn by Bob's deliberate words. Her sharp eyes narrowed as the monitor emitted a soft melodic beep, a new window snapping into view. The fresh display caught her off guard, the sound cutting through the rising tension.

"A new contract was just posted…" Bob said, his tone growing guarded as his orb rotated slowly.

That single statement silenced the room. Fujikuro and Kei both turned their attention to the screen, their curiosity now matching Iria's.

"It's from the same encryption chain," Bob continued, the monitor now displaying a brief summary of the new document. His words carried an edge of caution. "Completely closed. Addressed directly to Iria—alone."

The screen flickered again, pulling up the contract in full. Its details were sparse, just like the previous message, but it carried an unmistakable air of necessity. Fujikuro leaned in closer, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher its significance.

"What is he playing at?" Kei asked, her voice low but tinged with concern. "Or is it even him?"

Iria's jaw tightened as she scanned the new text, her mind racing. The isolated nature of the message, the connection to the coordinates, and now a direct contract—it all felt deliberate, almost calculated. She glanced at Bob, her voice calm but laced with unease.

"Does the contract contain any details, Bob?" she asked, her hands instinctively resting on her hips as her gaze flicked back to the screen.

"Nothing beyond the initial message and details of the payment," Bob replied, his tendrils spinning with analytical exactitude. "The content is vague, but the instructions are clear—it's linked to the coordinates we just reviewed. Whoever sent this is ensuring it ties directly to your meeting with Touka."

Fujikuro folded his arms, his scowl deepening as his sharp eyes narrowed on Iria. "This smells like a trap," he muttered, his tone heavy with skepticism. "Nobody goes to the Outland for a friendly chat, and sending a ciphered contract for it? That screams trouble. You need to think this through, Iria."

"Maybe," Iria replied, her voice steady but resolute. "But after everything else that's happened today? If Touka reaching out is what tops it all? I'm not going to ignore it." She turned to Bob, her expression firm as she gave a decisive nod. With a sharp pivot on her heel, she started back toward her room. "Flag the contract. I'll leave as soon as I'm ready."

Fujikuro groaned, running a hand down his face in frustration. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good," he grumbled, his voice muffled by his palm. "I'm telling you, this is a bad idea!"

Iria stopped in her tracks, turning back toward the older Hunter with a sharp but fatigued glare. "Look buddy, I've had a day, okay?" she snapped, her tone edged with exasperation. She shook her head dismissively, her hair beads clinking faintly with the motion. "I think seeing Gramps will be the least of my worries."

Fujikuro's dark eyes met hers, his gaze narrowing as if he were trying to piece together her meaning. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a mix of concern and suspicion.

"If it makes you feel any better, Fujikuro…" Bob interjected, his tone laced with a veneer of humor, "...the contract pays thirty thousand."

Fujikuro's head snapped toward the screen, his expression frozen mid-thought. "Thirty… thousand?" he echoed slowly, the words tumbling from his lips like he couldn't quite believe them.

"Up front," Bob added nonchalantly, his orb spinning as if to punctuate the statement.

Fujikuro's reaction was immediate. His lightning-fast glare shifted from Bob to Iria, his jaw slack in disbelief. She met his look with an impatient hand on her hip, her expression flat. She shrugged slightly, her expression matter-of-fact, as if to tell him she told him so. The small gesture sent Fujikuro over the edge.

"Thirty thousand?!" he repeated, louder this time, his voice almost a shout. Without missing a beat, he shook himself out of his daze and sprang into action. "Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Get your gear on!"

"What—?" Iria's eyes widened as Fujikuro bolted across the room to the rack where her rifle and a fresh cloak were hung. Before she could process what was happening, he had snatched them up and was back at her side, practically shoving the items at her.

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, clutching the gear he had unceremoniously dumped into her arms.

Kei, still leaning against the console, stared at the scene unfolding in front of her with growing confusion. "Wait a second!" she interjected, stepping forward and waving her hands for attention. "Didn't you just say this place was dangerous?!"

Fujikuro waved her off with a dismissive chuckle. "Ah, c'mon! She's a big girl!" he said, turning back to the Hunter with an almost mischievous grin. "She can handle it! Right, Iria?"

"I—uh—" Iria stammered, her mind scrambling to catch up with Fujikuro's sudden shift in attitude. She glanced at the rifle and cloak in her arms, then back at him, unsure how to respond.

"See! Told ya!" Fujikuro said triumphantly, clapping her on the shoulders with a hearty pat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, his enthusiasm almost contagious—almost. "If some drunk touches her, she can just shoot him! Hell, it'll liven up the décor. They won't mind!"

Iria gawked at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he gently but firmly turned her toward her bedroom door. Before she could object, he gave her a nudge in the direction of the door frame.

"Now get on the hop, Iria!" he said, his voice booming with the confidence of someone who had clearly decided this was the best plan.

"I—what—" she started, but the words got tangled in her throat. With a heavy sigh, she adjusted the gear in her arms and reluctantly started toward her room in silence. As the door slid shut behind her, she could still hear Kei's exasperated voice.

"Are you serious, Fujikuro?!" Kei demanded, her voice muffled but clearly incredulous.

"Hey, thirty thousand is thirty thousand!" he shot back. "You don't just walk away from that!"

Iria, inside her room, let her head fall forward slightly as she leaned back against the closed door. What the hell have I gotten myself into now? she thought...

Iria set the rifle at the corner of the door frame and tossed the cloak onto the foot of her bed. She inhaled deeply, the air heavy and warm, her thoughts a tangled mess as she moved toward the small rack against the far wall where her multiple sets of fresh equipment hung orderly. Piece by piece, she began methodically pulling on her gear, starting with her long white boots.

The familiar rhythm of preparing herself for the field brought a small semblance of control to her chaotic thoughts. She tightened the straps on her bracers, the leather creaking faintly under her touch. The cool metal alloy of the torso armor pressed against her as she fastened it in place, the snug fit grounding her as the weight settled on her pauldron capped shoulders. She moved on to the belts, her fingers working deftly to secure them around her waist, every buckle snapping into place with a satisfying click. For a brief moment, the repetitive motions dulled the cacophony in her mind, giving her something to focus on besides a swarm of swirling questions.

Her hand hovered over her crimson cloak, fingers curling slightly, hesitating. Her brow furrowed deeply, the tension she had temporarily pushed aside creeping back. Why now? she thought, her lips pressing into a tight line. What could possibly be so urgent? A warning? Something else entirely?

Her fingers twitched as her thoughts spiraled further. She shook her head sharply, forcing herself back to the task at hand. Speculating would only drive her mad before she even set foot outside her room.

Her gaze steeled as she grabbed her cloak with a gloved hand. "Whatever it is," she muttered under her breath, moving toward the bedroom door, "I'll find out soon enough."

As she reached for her rifle, a faint murmur from the other side of the door caught her attention. She paused, her hand stilling mid-reach. The muffled voices of Fujikuro and Kei carried through the walls, joined by Bob's smoother, digitized tone. Iria's eyes drifted ostensibly beyond the door, her curiosity piqued.

She hesitated, then leaned in closer to the smooth surface, her ears straining to make out the conversation.

"...I'm telling you, it doesn't add up," Fujikuro grumbled, his voice low but weighted with frustration. The faint edge of disbelief carried through the walls.

"You're not kidding," Kei chimed in, her words sharper than usual. "Gren's name showing up like that? It's not just weird—it's impossible. He's been gone for a year." There was a pause, a heaviness that hung in the air, as if even speaking Gren's name brought the gravity of his absence crashing down around them.

Iria pressed her hand lightly against the door frame, her breath catching as the name echoed in her ears. A dull ache settled in her chest, that familiar pain that never quite left her. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay silent as the conversation continued.

"I've been looking into it," Bob interjected, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "But I haven't been able to trace the origin of the payment. The transfer chain is heavily encrypted—whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. It's as if they wanted us to notice, but only just enough to spark questions."

"And what about that guy from the colony mission?" Fujikuro's tone sharpened, his frustration pivoting to a new target. "Got anything on him yet?"

Iria leaned closer, her pulse quickening as she strained to hear every word.

"Nothing concrete yet," Bob admitted after a brief pause, the hum of his voice faint but steady, even through the door. "The records are either nonexistent or deliberately erased."

Kei's voice, uncharacteristically subdued, cut through the pause that followed. "Do you think it's all tied together?" she asked, her usual sarcasm softened into genuine thoughtfulness. "It's too much for this all to be random, right?"

"I'm not sure," Bob finally replied. His tone was measured, yet there was something unmistakably careful about it. "But the timing… it's more than suspicious."

Fujikuro's voice followed, quieter now but with a biting edge. "You don't have to spell it out, Bob. You and I both know, there's no sense keeping it from Iria if there's a chance she get dragged into another mess..."

A silence lingered, filled with unspoken tension. Iria's chest compressed further at the cryptic exchange. She leaned forward again, gently pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the door with a soft exhale.

Bob's tone was even more deliberate. "Possibility, yes. But for the moment, let's not jump to conclusions."

Fujikuro let out a sharp breath, his frustration barely restrained. "I'm not jumping to anything. But you're thinking it, and so am I."

Kei's curiosity slipped through again. "Are you guys seriously not gonna say it out loud?" she asked, her tone a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Who do you think he is?"

Fujikuro's voice tightened with a wary touch. "Let's just say… if we're right, this is a hell of a lot bigger than some mining job."

Bob's vocalization took on a note of caution. "And if we're wrong, it's still a complication Iria can't afford to ignore."

Iria's fingers curled clinched, her knuckles pressing lightly against the door frame. She didn't know whether to feel frustrated or grateful that they were discussing this without her—it was too much all at once.

She used her fist to push herself back from the door, inhaling deeply to steady herself. If they were all connected, she needed answers as much as they did. But for now, she needed to focus. Whatever awaited her at Outland, she had to be ready.

With one last glance at the closed door, she grabbed her rifle, slinging it over her shoulders as she straightened. The hum of their conversation continued faintly in the background, but Iria pushed it aside.

The only way to get answers she needed was to confront them.