The pair got off at a train station in the First Ring's residential district. One of nine rings clamped to the superstation's docking spine like wheels on a sprocket. It was cleaner here. Wider. The air felt managed. Lights dimmed and brightened on a schedule instead of burning endlessly.
The dock never slept.
This place pretended to.
"That's a hell of a rough job," Mike said after a few steps. "Sucks about the Judge. It being your father's and all."
"I'm not worried about it," Elias said. He said it like he'd lost a few credits, not his entire inheritance.
In his head, the ship reduced cleanly. Tonnage. Output. Repair cost. Weapon loadout. Risk.
A column of numbers that ended in a single conclusion.
Replaceable.
He hadn't hesitated when he triggered the detonator.
Hadn't felt anything.
Hadn't thought.
Dad gave this to me.
The thought surfaced late, uninvited.
Elias shook it off.
"Well," he said, quieter now. "I kept my life. And I completed the job. That's all that matters."
Mike snorted. "If that's how you see it, fine. Just make sure you embellish it a bit more than 'it stopped working, so I blew it up.'"
He glanced sideways at Elias. "The kids are gonna pester you harder if your story's half-assed."
The apartment complex was a clean metal structure, like everything in the rings. Four stories tall, painted an off-white that tried hard to feel domestic. It worked better than Elias expected.
Mike keyed the door, and it swung inward.
He barely had time to step through before impact.
Laughter filled the entryway.
Mara hit him first, arms around his neck, legs wrapping on instinct. Cal followed a heartbeat later, clamping onto his side like he was afraid his dad might disappear again if he let go.
"Hey—hey," Mike laughed, shifting the weight. "I'm home. I'm home."
Susan was there immediately, hands on his shoulders. She kissed him once, then again, the second lingering just a little longer, like she was counting him back into the room.
Elias found himself very interested in the photos on the wall. Birthday messes. Crooked smiles. A family growing in quiet increments.
"Uncle Eli is here too!" Cal shouted.
The kids abandoned their father without apology.
Mara latched onto Elias's leg. Cal grabbed his jacket like it was a handle.
"Tell us a story about your battles!" Cal demanded.
Mara wrinkled her nose. "You smell funny."
Elias blinked. Looked down at the two of them.
"…Yeah," he said. "I get that a lot."
Questions came fast after that. Weapons. Armor. Ships. How many bad guys. Elias stood there, hands at his sides, unsure where to put himself.
Mike caught it.
He disappeared down the hall and came back with a folded stack of clothes.
"You look like you could use a shower," Mike said. "You're still in your flight suit. Take these." He handed Elias the stack. Softer than what Elias was used to. Civilian.
Elias glanced at the flight-suit collar peeking from under Mike's jacket.
"You're still in yours too."
Elias paused, the weight of the folded clothes settling in his hands.
Catching himself.
"I appreciate it,"
He nodded and turned for the bathroom.
A soft double-chime sounded from his suit as he released the seals. The tight material went slack. He peeled the top half up off his skin, and it clung for a moment like damp fabric before letting go.
The mirror caught him in the corner of his eye.
His arm was tacky with dried, dark crimson. Elias stared at the emergency patch on his suit's left shoulder, then at his own shoulder.
The memory returned like an errand he'd forgotten to run.
Right.
Taking a closer look, he noticed a dark shimmer embedded in the muscle.
Lying the medical kit out along the sink, he got to work.
With precision only afforded to the painless, he dealt with the shrapnel, cleaned it, and closed the wound with medical glue. Another addition to the patchwork that followed no pattern over his body.
Some scars were larger, the kind that hinted at repairs done alone. Others were burns laid over older damage. They told no stories, only kept count, as if fate was stacking evidence against him.
He cleaned the sink, dropped the shard and the rest into the trash, and washed his hands until the water ran clear.
Mike's shirt fit, technically.
That was the problem.
It pulled when Elias moved, sat closer than he liked, drew the wrong kind of attention. The sort that led to questions, comments, or worse.
He didn't need any of that.
He traded it for the hoodie from his bag. Looser. Anonymous.
Something that let him disappear again.
He re-geared himself, all but his sabot-driver, which stayed in the bag.
It had no purpose here.
While Susan and Mike worked in the kitchen across from the living room, Elias navigated the minefield of questions about his last "adventure," offering more than he normally would. Nothing graphic. Just clean datapoints. Sensor readouts. Maneuvers. He traded the drifters for a spooky ghost fleet, unwilling to explain to children that he'd taken over a thousand lives.
Cal was enraptured, clinging to every word.
Mara lost interest quickly. She seemed to like Elias's voice more than the story itself. She slid off his knee and vanished through the balcony doors, returning moments later with a small flower plucked from one of the plants.
Elias paused, caught off guard by something so fragile.
"It's pretty," he said carefully. "Thank you."
"Mmhmm," Mara nodded, suddenly shy, climbing back onto his knee.
Elias stayed perfectly still.
—
Dinner hit the table like a small miracle.
The smell alone rewired the room. Real fat. Real spices. Heat that didn't come from a packet.
Elias ate slowly. Not polite-slow. Intentional. Like he was trying to learn it again. He didn't close his eyes or make a show of it. Just smaller bites. Longer chews. A man saving something he couldn't store.
Cal didn't have that kind of patience. He dug in with both hands and a grin. "Dad, this is insane."
Mara took one bite and froze. Her face scrunched like she'd been insulted.
"Mom," she said, pushing a piece around with her fork, "this part tastes like blood."
Susan didn't look surprised. "That's what it's supposed to taste like."
Mara frowned harder. "I don't like it."
Susan's voice stayed calm, but it left no room. "Your father spent a lot of time and energy to put that on your plate. You're going to eat it."
Mara sighed in defeat. "Okay…"
Cal's eyes went wide. "Can I have hers?"
"Cal," Susan warned.
Mike laughed under his breath. "Eat your own, scavenger."
Elias kept chewing, slow. His fingers tightened once around the utensil, just for a moment. A faint tremor. Sweat beaded at his temple.
He stared at the plate like it was the only stable thing in the universe.
It can wait.
And then he took another bite.
—
The house slowed.
Dishes clinked and stacked.
Little footsteps faded. Doors shut gently.
Soon enough, Elias was alone again.
He lay rigid on the couch, afraid to move. Every shift sent a sharp protest through his shoulder. Sweat stuck the hoodie to his skin, which tightened as if it belonged to someone else.
The room felt too dark. The white noise of an appliance drilled into his skull, steady and invasive.
He sat up as if something pulled him with a wire.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He brushed a knuckle to his upper lip.
A thin red line of blood.
He got up.
The door whispered shut behind him.
Cold air cut through the sweat instantly. Park lights spilled across the grass below, a playground dim and abandoned. Elias leaned against the balcony rail, elbows locked, breathing like he was waiting for permission.
The chem clicked into use and hissed softly.
Red vapor curled and vanished into the night.
The door slid open behind him.
Elias didn't turn.
Mike stepped up beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
He looked out at the lights.
Not at the vapor.
Not at Elias's hands.
He held out a glass.
"Couldn't sleep," Mike said.
Elias took it.
"Neither could I."