The train jolted as we entered the tunnel, plunging the cabin into darkness. I felt more than saw the man slide into the seat across from me—leather coat, scar along his jaw, eyes that burned like embers. "You’re not supposed to be here," he said, voice low. I clutched my suitcase tighter. "This is my seat." He laughed, but it was cut short by gunfire outside. Red flashes lit the windows. "They’re early," he muttered, then shoved a cold data chip into my palm. "Don’t let them take this. If you survive, go to Mira in the Red Ward. Tell her… Terry sent you." The door burst open. I ran.

Now I’m crouched behind a service cart, heart hammering. The enforcers are boarding car by car. I don’t know what’s on this chip. I don’t know why he trusted me. But if I give it up, I’ll never get the money for Grandma. If I keep it, I might not live to spend it.