My head hurts.

And I'm tired.

And I don't want to get out of bed.

And I definitely don't want to go to work.

But, then again, I don't want to not go, either. I've been stuck at home for two weeks, even though I passed my mandatory psych evaluation on day 4. I've mostly just been lying in bed in a state of emotional nothingness, reassuring Becca that I was just "recharging", when really, I felt like shit. Not that today should be much better. I'm allowed back at work, but I've been reassigned to a different case.

No more xCodebreaker01.

I hear voices downstairs, and force myself to roll out of bed. I should just make the best of this, right? At least I get a new case. At least I'm not stuck here any longer. Activating my closet holo, I scroll through outfit options, trying to find a suitable look that will make me appear professional and ready to get back on the job.

"She's still in bed?" Grey's voice asks from downstairs, and I hear a sigh in response.

"I know she loves her job, but she's not ready. You saw what happened at work only a few weeks ago, she passed out, for God's sake!"

"'Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fall.' Confucius said that. She'll be fine," my partner says, in a brighter-than-usual tone. Uh oh. The captain's assistant had warned me Grey had started reading philosophy. Today is going to be hell. But, nevertheless, hell is better than the purgatory I've been living in for the past two weeks.

"She just needs a few more days off—" Becca starts to say, and I rush out of my room.

"No. No, no! I'm fine!" I shout, almost falling down the stairs as I fumble with my UNBI badge, clipping it to the pocket of my grey dress pants. "I'm ready to go back! Don't need any more time off, babe. Totally fine."

* * *

As the UNBI hovercar descends, I unroll my window, listening to the chatter of the officers at the crime scene below. It was a long, boring ride to the site — almost two hours, even with the car being the newest model with an impressive top speed — and I've already read the case briefing at least 4 times. A body was found at the bottom of the Grote Vijver, a large pond in Amsterdam. Cause of death was a gunshot to the front of the head, point blank, and marks on the victim's wrists suggest his hands were tied behind his back. Forensics found a tattoo that looks to be a symbol of the Caspero crime family.

The car lands and shuts off, and Grey and I climb out.

"Updates?" I ask immediately, walking toward the group of local police officers and CSAs. The UNBI team hasn't arrived yet, so I talk to the Amsterdam sheriff. "Have you ID'd the body?"

"Not yet, ma'am," he responds, "still waiting on forensics for a DNA scan,"

"What about ballistics on the weapon?"

"That's where it gets interesting. Peterson!" He calls one of the CSAs, who approaches nervously. "This is Agent Cassanova from the UNBI." The sheriff introduces me, then instructs Peterson, "Tell her what you told me."

"We haven't found the murder weapon, but from the bullet wound, it would seem to be, quite, uh, unusual."

"Well? What is it?"

"Appears to be from a Glock 17, ma'am,"

I turn to Grey, confused. "Those guns haven't been commonplace since the early 21st century,"

"Some people collect old weapons," he suggests.

"But those are showpieces. Not something you'd actually use." What kind of person uses a hundred-year-old weapon for a basic, execution-style murder?

"One could argue that no gun is meant to actually be used. There's a reason they're illegal in so many places."

"I know, right?" The young CSA speaks up. "Who was it that said that quote about peace being the best protection?"

"I think it was—"

"Guys! Hello? Can we stop discussing gun policies and get back to the actual case, please?" I interrupt them.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to distract your partner." Officer Peterson scurries away.

The next logical course of action is to check the gun registries to see who owns that type. Grey offers to look that up while I talk to the other crime scene analysts.

Officer Skyling, a rather perky CSA, is happy to inform me of everything her team's discovered. She talks excitedly about various scientific phenomena that allowed her to deduce all sorts of potentially useful information, down to the specific type of gunpowder in the cartridge which apparently can be traced back to not just the corporation, but the location of the factory that produced it. The jargon she rattles off doesn't mean much to me, as I haven't brushed up on that vocab since my training days when I first joined the UNBI, but I've got to admit, Skyling makes it all sound pretty cool.

"See this marking over here?" She shows me a ballistics scan result on her tablet. "Based on the pattern, before this murder, the gun likely hasn't been fired for a long time. Well, 'long time' is relative, especially given how old the weapon is. What I mean is, it was probably last fired about a year ago."

Grey walks over just as she's finishing her explanation.

"Gun registries came up with only two matches in the area. The first is in a museum in North Holland that recently opened an exhibit on the Second American Civil War, and the other belongs to a man living in Haarlem, name's Raul Caspero. He has no criminal history, at least, no convictions, but has long been suspected of being part of — well, take a wild guess."

"The Caspero crime family?"

"Bingpot."

"OK, so we'll interview him if we can... Wait, that doesn't make complete sense, though. Why would he kill someone with a rare gun that hardly anyone owns? Surely he'd know we could easily find him on the registry?"

"Actually, I kind of have a theory on that." Officer Skyling speaks up. "If you guys want to hear it."

We both nod, and her face lights up. As a CSA, she must not get a lot of opportunities to share this kind of theory — her job is mostly sticking to the science.

"Remember the tattoo we found? It's positioned near the base of the neck, approximately between T1 and C7 on the spinal column." She crouches beside the body, gesturing with a gloved hand. "The use of that location marks the victim as a high-ranking member of the mafia. He likely held a lot of power in the family."

"So, the kill was an attempted power-grab? Doesn't seem to fit with the style, though. This doesn't seem like an assassination, more of an execution."

"Exactly." She continues. "This was organized, almost ritualistic. I think the victim betrayed the family, and they killed him when they found out. The old weapon, I think that could've been part of the 'ritual', so to speak. It could be symbolic, in a way. Because of his important role, power, high rank, whatever you want to call it, it made it all the more necessary to make a show out of his death. Stop anyone else from thinking they could betray the Casperos and get away with it."

"Hmm, that's definitely an interesting possibility." I turn to my partner. "We should see if there were any other murders with this weapon, so we can cross-reference with times suspected members collaborated with the police, thus betraying the mafia. I'll go check the police's and UNBI's past case records, could you finish up talking with the other CSAs?

"Sure," he agrees, nodding. "Wait, others?"

"Oh, yeah I was wondering if Officer Skyling could help me out, actually." I tell him, then turn to her. "Is that OK? It's your theory, and I figured you might be able to help me narrow down the list of similar crimes given your scientific knowledge of the crime scene."

"I'd love to help!" She says, excitedly. "Oh, and I think I can narrow that down a bit already. When I said the weapon had been last used a year ago, I can be more specific: judging by the rust patterns on the inside of the barrel, it was likely last fired in the winter. January to February of last year."

She continues explaining some info from the ballistics scan, and I lead her away, partly because we have to go back to the car to get a UNBI tablet so I can look up case records, and partly because I don't really feel like listening to my partner's truly fascinating discussion about some old dead philosopher with Officer Peterson. Sarcasm very much intended. Well, at least he's working while he talks — examining evidence with his philosophy-loving CSA friend.

* * *

As it turns out, Skyling was right — the gun was used in a similar murder in January 2119. And, fitting with the young officer's theory, records listed the victim, a member of the Caspero crime family, as a CI earlier in the month. Not only that, but the body also had the same tattoo in the same spot, at the base of the neck.

Unfortunately, that's not enough evidence to arrest Raul Caspero, the owner of the 20th century weapon. Sure, he has means, motive and opportunity, but his lawyers will easily come up with a fake alibi and a story convincing enough to be accepted by the jury as "reasonable doubt" — he'll be acquitted, and probably find some excuse to sue the UNBI. Not to mention, we'll have given away the investigation. No, before we try to arrest him, we need rock solid proof.

I let out an exasperated sigh, dropping my holo-screen projector onto the table. Skyling and the other CSAs have left, along with the sheriff, and Agent Grey and I are now at the Amsterdam UNBI headquarters, going over the information.

"I hate this kind of case," I complain, rubbing my temple in an attempt to prevent the oncoming headache. "We know who did it. We're basically just glorified prosecution lawyers at this point, just collecting evidence."

"Hey, at least we're working to put away a seriously bad person," my partner reminds me.

"Yeah, but... Well, I joined the UNBI to figure out who committed the crime, not struggle in some legal battle with some filthy rich mafia dude's team of overpaid, way-too-good defense attorneys. My quarrel is with criminals, not Harvard University alumni." My eyes roll almost automatically.

"Come on, it's not so bad..."

"You're right, this is just as interesting as tracking down the world's most wanted cybercriminal," I say, voice laced with sarcasm.

"OK, not what I said—"

"Look, save me whatever pep talk or attempted placating reassurance you're trying at, OK? I don't want to hear it. This situation sucks, Grey. I miss my old case and this sucks and I hate it. So, just shut up."

He looks like he's about to say something, then shakes his head in exasperation, and falls silent. After a tense pause, he speaks again — but only to quote some modern philosopher.

"Who we are is not defined by our past, but our present choices."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask with a fake smile and another eye roll.

His eyes lock onto mine, glaring, and I realize he's seriously pissed off.

"It means your past doesn't give you an excuse to treat the people who care about you like shit. I get it, OK? Bad stuff happened to you. And I want to help you get through this, believe me. Becca does too, by the way. Everybody wants to help you, Cassie, but you won't let us! You just hide in your work, get addicted to your real-life 'true crime' rush, and use every possible opportunity to get mad at everyone around you, ignore their feelings and generally just be a dick to everyone. And that's not OK. People deserve better than to have to deal with that."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry I'm such a burden to you," I shoot back, sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant, I just want to help you."

"Whatever." Why won't he just leave me alone?

"Could you at least try to take me seriously?" He snaps.

"Oh, I'm as serious as a frickin' heart attack, Grey!"

"Well— Is that a... quote from something?"

"I don't know, probably! References are like a defense mechanism or something. I might've insulted my girlfriend in Vulcan a few weeks ago..."

My partner can't help but laugh at that, but quickly changes his expression to a glare.

"Just, stop changing the subject! What I'm trying to say is, this is not a healthy way of dealing with being reassigned."

"Oh come on, can't you just let me complain a little?"

"'A little' is different from constantly, not to mention the frickin' evil eyes you keep shooting at me, like it's somehow my fault!"

"I can't help that I'm mad about this, OK?"

"I'm not asking you not to be! Just stop taking it out on me, Becca, and everyone who tries to make you feel better!"

"Oh, why don't you just confide in your stupid little philosophy holos again?"

"Seriously? How can you judge me for that? It's a hell of a lot better than your non-existent ways of coping."

"Maybe that's 'cause I actually have real shit to 'cope' with!"

"Oh, so everything's just so peachy for me, huh? You're the only one upset about this? Y'know, I happened to like our old case, too — the only difference is, for me, it was interesting, for you it was an obsession!"

"Well, I never said you had to switch cases just because I was reassigned! I never made you do that!"

"Oh my God, Cassie! It's not about the f*cking Codebreaker case!" He takes a step back, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "I care about you, Cassie. You're one of— you're my best friend. And it's hard watching your friend—"

"What? Fall apart?"

"I wasn't going to say that,"

"Have a breakdown? Go crazy? What were you going to say?"

He sighs. "You wouldn't talk to me. Or anyone. You refused to let anyone help you. So yeah, I guess I found comfort in reading stupid philosophy holos, because it made it seem as though life weren't always a chaotic mess, that there is such thing as inner peace. I know it's stupid, and unscientific, and out of character, but—" he raises his hands as if to say, 'I don't know'— "it was comforting,"

He sighs, lowers his hands and steps past me, pacing across the room. Suddenly I can't help but feel bad for him. He's right. I haven't been thinking much — or at all — about how my actions affected the people around me. I have a tendency to get overly invested in my cases, and Grey knows that better than anyone. He's worked with me for years, watched me lose sleep over every interesting case. He probably knew how obsessed I was with Codebreaker before I was.

"Dylan, I'm sorry," I tell him, genuinely. "You're right. This isn't fair to you."

He stops pacing and looks up, surprised by both my apology and use of his first name. But, he surprises me even more, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug.

After he steps back, there's an awkward moment of eye contact while he seems to contemplate something, rather cautiously.

"What is it?" I ask.

"This is probably a really bad idea, but..."

I raise an eyebrow, waiting curiously for him to tell me what's up.

"When we get back to Copenhagen... Look, I think I can sneak you back into the previous case's office space. You could catch up on what you missed over the past two weeks, take a final — and I mean final — look at the Codebreaker case, and maybe it'd help you, I don't know, get some closure or something. So you could put it out of your mind for good."

* * *

The room is mostly dark, illuminated only from the glow of the monitor screen in front of me. It's deserted, too — everyone involved with my case has left for the day. Grey and I sit alone in a room full of sleeping computers, messy but unattended desks and a clutter of chairs. He leans back in his seat, nervously tapping his foot and glancing back at the door every 30 seconds, while I am the opposite — sitting forward, staring at the screen, paying little attention to anything but the information on it.

I scroll through the photos, disappointment overtaking me as I realize it will lead nowhere. The UNBI sent people a few days ago to interview everyone who fits our current description of Codebreaker, but that's pretty limited. A teenage girl with dark hair and a cybernetic arm. There must be hundreds of people in Japan with those traits.

Half these photos don't even look like Evan's description. Since when does light caramel hair count as 'dark brown or black'? And her entire forearm is cybernetic, not just the wrist. I'm already annoyed that they removed me from this case, but replacing me with these incompetent fools just adds insult to injury. And don't even get me started on the utter mess they made of the undercover operation...

"We can only be in here for a few more minutes, OK? Captain Rhonsen's coming back soon, and if he catches us here—"

"I know, I could be suspended. Or, possibly fired." The thought gives me a nervous cringe.

I keep scrolling anyway, scanning the faces briefly before pausing on one that gives me a sense of déjà vu — a girl with straight black hair and blue eyes, and strangely familiar features. Suddenly, it comes to me — it's Hayley, the girl I ran into when I left the hospital the day I got suspended. I don't remember her having those blue streaks in her hair before, though. Weird. But, probably nothing. I keep scrolling, anxious to get as much information as I can on the case's current stage before we have to leave.

"What is it?" Grey asks, apparently having noticed my expression.

"Oh, nothing, I just thought I saw one of the girls a few weeks ago, when we were in Japan."

"Kalix? She lives on the other side of town from our apartment, weird that you'd bump into her," he says, but doesn't seem to think much of it.

"No, not her, I think her name was Hayley or something," I say, trying to remember.

Grey turns to me, brow furrowed. "I don't think there's a Hayley on this list. There might be a Hayden, could that be her?" When I shrug, he turns back to the screen, scrolling through until he finds a photo of a girl, a year or so younger, with dark brown wavy hair.

"No, no. Here. Wait." I flip back through the photos, quickly finding the girl I saw. Grey looks confused.

"That girl's name isn't Hayley, it's Kalix. Kalixieta Raven."

The two of us share a look. She lied to me about her name, and probably hid the blue streaks on purpose to disguise her appearance. Wait, that's not all, though.

"There was something else suspicious about her. When I saw Halyey— er, Kalix— whatever her name is, I was stressed after having been kicked off the case, distracted, you know, and I wasn't looking where I was going, walked right into her. Made her drop her bag. I helped her pick up her things, and saw that she didn't have a pCard, just a bunch of payment transfer cards. I didn't think much of it then, but—" I pause to take a breath and assemble my train of thought.

Grey nods, following my explanation, and I continue, searching through the case file as I go.

"You said Codebreaker ditched the Xaria Clarke pCard, right? Threw it on a hovertruck or something? Well, when you tried to open her photo and it self-deleted, it must've also sent her a notification, some kind of warning that the profile had been viewed, so she got rid of it. It only makes sense that she'd need a new one to replace it, right? Except, she'd need to transfer the credits from Xaria's pCard to her new one, and that would leave a money trail for us. Instead, she just transferred it to a bunch of temp cards."

"I don't know, I mean, yeah, it's weird that she gave a fake name, and didn't have a normal pCard, but it's not much to go on..."

"I know, I know, I just— I have a feeling. We were outside a TechStop, too. She was buying flash drives and stuff, exactly the kind of thing we'd expect, and what we found on Xaria's transactions... Wait, we can check! Let's just look up TechStop's transfer history, here, pass me the holo-screen."

He obliges and I type in some search parameters.

Purchase: flash drive

Location: Akihabara, Tokyo, Japan

Other parameters: purchased using temporary payment transfer card

"Here, a transaction on the day I saw her." I tell my partner, gesturing to the screen. He nods, but looks skeptical. It doesn't prove anything — but I'm not done yet. "OK, so we know Hayley-slash-Kalix bought this stuff using a temp card, now we can look up the card's history."

Actually, as it turns out, that's not so easy. "The funds have been routed through so many different transfers, accounts, banks... Even for an expert like Agent Boring— ah, Dillman — it'd take weeks to try and find where the credits came from, if it's even possible. The location's been disabled, too, but... Here! The last known location of the card, before she turned tracking off, was on May 24th, at 00:06, at..." Almost unable to say it out loud, I turn my monitor to face Agent Grey.

He drops the holodrive he's holding, eyes wide.

"Does that seriously say..."

I nod. "Café Suki."

Pulling up more records, I continue. "It's not just that. Look at this: she's a minor, so she has a tracker, and according to its data, she was at home at the time of the payment. She must've tricked the tracker somehow, hacked it to loop her heart rate and left it at home so she could sneak out."

"Oh my God, Cassie—"

My partner and I share a look. Holy crap. We just found her.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and a very angry-looking Captain Rhonsen walks in.

"Agent Rachel Cassanova, I gave you strict orders not to interfere with the xCodebreaker01 case ever again! Imagine my surprise when I saw security footage of one of my trusted agents sneaking you in here—" He glared at Agent Grey for the second part.

"Captain, I can explain," he started to say.

"I don't want to hear it!"

"Captain—"

"Let me finish!"

"All due respect Captain, shut up!" I shouted. He turned his attention to me, eyes narrowed, but said nothing.

I took a deep breath. "I know who she is."