"Ah, Agent Cassanova." Captain Rhonsen walks over from the elevators. "I just came from a meeting in the External Relations office, our request came through for the passenger data from all outgoing flights from Tokyo on the night Codebreaker fled. They should be uploading it to the casefile right now."

"That's great," I say. "I'm surprised it was approved that fast."

"Oh, believe me, so am I," he tells me, but for whatever reason, his comment is accompanied by that subtle little side glance I've noticed he does when he's holding something back. "How's the case been going, anyway?"

Oh, shit. Please don't make me write another "status update" report...

"It's been going OK. There's not a lot of new information to work with, but I've been going through what the Tokyo team found at her house and trying to piece together what I can from any street cameras that weren't tampered with. Also, Grey texted me from the metro a few minutes ago saying he has a new theory, I'm just reviewing one of my own while I wait for him. I'm sure he wouldn't mind briefing you at the same time — he said he should be here by 7:15."

"That's OK, Agent." A smile tugs at his lips. "I'm not asking for an official update here, just checking in."

"Right. Of course. Well, I wish I had more to tell you..."

"Just let me know if anything major happens. You know where to find me. And, um..." He trails off a bit.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to say, you've been doing great work here. I know I was... harsh with you before, but... you're a good agent. The UNBI's lucky to have you."

"Oh, well, thanks, Captain. I'm glad you think so."

"Anyway, I'd better get back to work. Good luck with your case, Cassie." He takes a step backward toward his office, accompanied by a brief parting nod.

...Cassie? He never calls me that.

Seriously, Grey's the only one who calls me Cassie. That was...

Weird.

"Right, yeah, thanks," I answer, remembering the whole conversation-with-a-human thing. "Good luck with your, ah, captain stuff."

Captain stuff? That's really the best you could—

He chuckles. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later," he says, then heads back to his office.

Well. Pushing that... interesting interaction aside... Time to get back to the case.

* * *

"I think I found something." Grey appears by my desk at 7:14, datachip in hand. "Well, it's not a major 'something', and I'm not entirely sure what it means yet, but it's definitely a pattern. It's... Well, it's something."

I reach into the top drawer for my spare holoprojector and hand it to him.

"What is it?"

"OK, well, I was looking over the psych team's analysis from a few months ago, and realized how weird it was that it hasn't been updated since then. I mean, when their report was written, Codebreaker was little more than a name on a screen. They could only profile her based on, what, a few text conversations? Now that we know her identity..."

"They should have updated it to fit Kalix Raven," I say, nodding.

"Exactly." He plugged the d-chip into the projector and sat it on my desk. "It was after hours, so I couldn't call psych, but I figured I'd look into it myself. I focussed on anomalies, anything unusual noticed by her parents, teachers, etcetera. Of course, it was 1:00 or 2:00, Tokyo time, so I couldn't just call them, but I asked what I could over email. A few of them even called back early this morning, and I was able to piece something together." He flipped through a few windows on the hologram, mostly notes and emails, before pulling up one with a series of dates and some bullet points beneath each one.

"I'll let you go through it all yourself on your own time, but I figure I may as well go over at least a few of the recent ones." He gestures to a few dates near the end of May. "This was the day OutlawResolve went out of contact with the dark web forum he and the other high-profile hackers use. According to the school faculty, that day she spoke up less in class and spent more of her breaks on her own, using her phone or eyeview, instead of with her friends. Not only that, but her tracker showed she stayed up a lot later at night than is usual for her. I noticed the pattern again just after the news broke about OutlawResolve hacking the British police database. Similar psychological signs came up, plus, texts on her phone indicated she was late to meeting her friends that afternoon. Now, the connection that day isn't quite as clear, since she also found out that morning that her sister was coming home to visit. That could have added to her... distractedness."

I nod along, reading over his notes as well.

"And here," he continued, gesturing to another date: May 29th. "All her teachers told me, in one way or another, that she had been unusually distracted that day. She was late for Psychology on a day when she had a quiz, which apparently wasn't like her at all. She also took longer than usual to finish her assignment in Chemistry, and her Recent History teacher caught her distracted, looking at something on her eyeview, multiple times in class. And guess what happened just that morning..." He pulls up a news article from a minimized window.

More Than Technical Difficulties — System Shutdown at Office Building in London, Authorities Believe Hacker Known As OutlawResolve May Be Responsible

"Of course, the trend isn't just recent. After all, those dates encompass almost a whole week in May, so relating her distractedness with individual events is a bit flimsy. But, if you look back far enough, you can see that there's an almost perfect correlation between OutlawResolve's presence on the major news feeds and Kalix's signs of preoccupation. Every time something major happens involving him, she shows a lack of focus, acts more distant, and recently, even loses sleep. The Nexlo hack and its fallout seemed to have the most dramatic impact. It's like whatever happens to him affects her psychology, too."

"That's definitely interesting..." I examine his notes. "Isn't it possible she was just distracted because she needed to keep up-to-date on her competition, though?"

"I wondered that as well, but I looked for patterns with other well-known hackers, and found nothing. She seemed to only be psychologically affected by him."

"Huh... What do you think it means?"

He shrugs. "That's as far as I got this morning. I was planning to run it by the psych team and see if they have any insights, but I figured I'd let you know first. You can come with me, if you want, we've got a meeting at 17:00."

I glance at the airport passenger logs on the other holoprojector in front of me.

"Depends how much of the flight data I can get through before then... Probably best if you just let me know how it goes."

Grey nods and turns to leave, but stops.

"Flight data?" he asks.

"Yeah, we got it this morning. Passenger data from all outgoing flights from Haneda and Narita airports on the night Codebreaker fled Japan."

"Passenger data, as in..."

"Passports, pCard info, luggage scans, all that. I think also smartphone records from the WiFi network in the airport and any of their cellular antennas."

His brow furrows. "Is that... legal?"

I shrug. "You'd have to take that up with Captain Rhonsen. It should be pretty helpful, though."

Grey's face does some sort of a crinkle thing that I can't really decipher, but he doesn't say anything else on the subject, and we part ways. He heads to his desk across the office and I turn back to my holo full of...

Well, full of chaos. It isn't long before my dreams of a breakthrough born of meticulous airport records start to drown in the sheer volume of them all. There are over 500 flights from both Haneda and Narita that day, with an average of, what, 450, 500 passengers on each one? And for every one of those, I have nearly three pages of information.

With so much to look through, the day passes by faster than a long-distance hovercar jetting a Daintree exec to their vacation home in Cancun. In fact, I'm barely halfway through when Grey returns from his meeting at 18:07. He catches my attention with a wave on his way to the break room, and I follow.

"Turns out, they have been working on a new profile of her," he says, refilling his coffee from the fresh-brewed pot, "but they only just finished it a couple days ago and it was still being reviewed. They didn't catch the OutlawResolve patterns, though. We talked about that for a bit, and they gave me their updated report. I just sent it to you."

I reach for my phone to open the email, but it's not in my back pocket.

"Oh, shit, I think I left my phone in my desk, do you—"

"I've got a copy on mine." Grey holds up his phone, then quickly interfaces it with the holonode on the south wall. "Unfortunately, they couldn't provide much detail into the causes of the pattern I noticed. Without any logs of communication between them, it's impossible to know whether Kalix and OutlawResolve were friends, partners in crime, or even romantically involved... All the psych team could say for sure is that based on the results of my investigation, she had some kind of emotional response to... what was the phrase they used... 'information-stimulus relating to him'."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning, they're—" He throws his hands up, shaking his head slightly. "Something more than casual competitors. I know, I was hoping for more, too, that they'd tell me the two of them must have been in contact, or were working together, or something, but... Basically, all we know is, he is involved in this. Somehow."

"Hmm... To be honest, psychology has always seemed like magic to me, but if the team's sure about this... it could definitely lead somewhere. Maybe we should meet with the agents on OutlawResolve's case at some point."

Grey nods. "Not a bad idea. Anyway..." He waves at the holo, which has gone to sleep in the last minute or so, and it flickers back to life. "Their report. If you'd care to read over the magic spells and psychic visions of our friendly witches and wizards."

I chuckle, glance up at the hologram, and skim through the report. It's surprisingly in depth — though how they could possibly know all this is beyond me.

The report is about a 50-50 mix of positive and negative conclusions. They describe her as "academically intelligent but struggles with general life skills", as well as "ambitious" but "emotionally immature", and predict she would "border on nonfunctional if faced with true independence".

"Ouch, that one's a little harsh." I remember my mother saying something similar about me... Then again, she's an abusive control freak who'd do anything to keep me in her clutches, not a trained psychologist offering an expert opinion.

The psychoanalyzer goes on to write that Kalix "has a tendency toward arrogance in her criminal activity but faces deep self-doubt in other aspects of her life" which they connect to family problems.

Ooh, family problems, the time-tested, fast-track ticket to fucked-up-town. I roll my eyes.

Let's see... a "competitive view of her sister" isn't really out of the ordinary for a younger sibling, at least as far as I know, and certainly not enough to lead to "persistent feelings of inadequacy", right? Oh hey, the report agrees with me. Well, look at me, psychology-ing like a pro. The writer links that, as well as... abandonment issues? Huh... to "her mother's emotional absence since the passing of her father".

Wow, I really haven't been giving the psych team enough credit.

"That's some seriously detailed analysis. How do they figure things like that out?" I wonder aloud.

Grey shrugs. "I guess we have our area of expertise, they have theirs."

I read through the report again, more thoroughly, and we discuss it for a few more minutes before Grey asks me if I've made any progress with the flight data, and we start walking back to my desk.

"It's hard to say," I answer. "There's a hell of a lot to go through, and most of it is irrelevant. I'm trying to figure out what to program Vivian to search for to narrow it down to only the potentially useful stuff."

"Hm." He nods. "What do you have access to, again?"

"First, there's all the public stuff — flight numbers and their times, destinations, etc. Then there's passenger lists with some more details on each one — the pCards used to pay for each ticket, whether they're tied to an identity or anonymous, ID information. Well, most of the ID information, anyway. It seems Codebreaker planted some kind of virus to wipe all the photos from the database that day. We still have names, birthdates, etc., though. There's also body and luggage scans from airport security, and any internet traffic through the free WiFi in the buildings or on the planes."

"And you have all that... for every single passenger who came through one of those two airports that day?"

"Yup." I sigh. "You see my problem now, right?"

His eyebrows pull together a touch, and he mutters, "It's not just your problem I see..."

"What do you mean?"

"You really don't think this is a little... concerning?" he asks. "And I mean, like, the Polean-war-insect-drones, 2076-American-surveillance-virus, 2013-NSA-CIA kind of concerning."

"Did you just compare us to the CIA?"

"Sorry. Uncalled for. I just mean, our having this data feels like the UNBI is seriously pushing some lines... both legal and ethical ones."

My eyes flick back to holo on my desk, still awake but on privacy mode, all the sensitive files hidden behind a layer of blur. "You might be right, I guess I just... don't have much time to think about all that. This data could be the key to solving the case, and it's not like I'm going to do anything malicious with it."

He nods. "I get it. It's just something to keep in mind. Historically, these things have a way of getting out of hand, you know that as well as I do, and—"

From its place still tucked inside the drawer, my chiming phone snatches my attention. It's the familiar calendar notification sound... and I know before I even pick it up what it's reminding me of.

"Shit! I'm going to be late."

The clock in the corner of the holo reads 18:30... I must've missed the 18:15 notification when I left my phone in my desk.

"For what?" Grey asks.

"Becca's invited some friends over for dinner, I need to be back before they get there."

Then again, she's more of a people-person than me, and they're her friends, anyway... I'm sure she'd be fine hanging out with them without me for just a few minutes...

No. I switch off the holo, a definitive gesture to remind myself of my commitment. I told her I'd be there on time, so I'll be there on time.

"You go ahead," Grey tells me, waving off the holo. "I'll update Rhonsen on our progress."

"Thanks," I say, my gratitude genuine. He knows how important it is that I make things right with Becca after... well, after the two-months-ago situation.

* * *

"Wow, you look amazing."

Becca stands in the doorway, dressed in a cobalt blue sundress with white polka dots, strappy white sandals and a sky blue shrug. She always wears nice clothes, but her outfits when we have people over always have this added effect of intention — it's clear she put effort in. I've always found that an interesting pattern of hers. For some people, even most, the ultimate goal in the way they dress or do their makeup seems to be to give the impression that they look perfect without trying. Becca doesn't try to hide her effort. That's the thing — in everything she does, she puts in effort, she tries, because that's how she shows that she cares, that something is important to her.

"Thanks, babe." She gives me a quick hug before leading me inside. "How was your day?"

"It was alright," I answer, following her through the apartment as she gets ready for the gathering, searching for napkins and glasses and other dinner party things. "We didn't make much progress on the case, there's just so little to go on, hardly any new information since she left Japan. Do you need any help?"

"Sure, you could help me carry these up." She hands me seven wine glasses and starts rummaging through the cutlery drawer.

"I thought there were going to be eight people?"

"Blake had to cancel. His niece broke her arm, and he's staying with his sister for a few days to help take care of her." Becca glances down at her stack of plates, napkins, forks and knives, balanced precariously in her arms. "Do you think you could—"

"Get the door?"

She nods.

"Got it."

Dishes and cutlery in hand, we head up to our apartment's rooftop patio to set the table and get everything ready for the guests.

The air is crisp, and it's just beginning to get cool for an August night. It's almost hard to believe considering it was 32 degrees only hours ago, but in the high-up little garden, the evening is still and refreshing.

The sun hasn't yet begun to set over the rooftop, but it has mostly ducked behind the high-rise a few streets to the west, leaving only a vague, burnt tangerine aura. A gentle breeze carries the scent of flowers from the neatly trimmed bushes that outline the space, growing against the railing that stretches around the perimeter. Fairy lights snake around the beams of the pergola over the patio, and, along with two flickering candles on the picnic table below, they cast a soft, golden glow over the eating area that awaits happy guests to occupy it. Becca and I make our way over to set the table.

I glance at my watch. 18:50.

"They'll be here soon, I should probably go get changed."

"Go ahead." She smiles, brushing a leaf off a patio chair. "I've got it from here."

Once back in my room, I search my closet for a suitable outfit. Something summery, relaxed but stylish. Maybe a sundress would be nice. After scanning the rack of options a few times, my eyes land on a forest green button-up dress with a brown belt. I think I have sandals to match.

I quickly change out of my work clothes and pull on the dress, find the sandals and slip them on as well. As I'm about to head back up to the rooftop, I catch sight of the box tucked to the back of the middle shelf of my closet.

The seaglass necklace.

I saw it at a vintage and handmade market event on my way home once when I was working a case in Barcelona about a year ago. A thin, black cord necklace with a smooth, spherical teal pendant made from seaglass. It was the kind of thing I knew Becca would love, especially because of that bright blue colour... so I bought it, thinking I'd give it to her on her birthday, which was the next week. Well, several bombings and a missing persons report later, my flight home was postponed and I was on a maglev train to Girona tracking a terrorist cell. I missed Becca's birthday. I meant to give her the necklace a few weeks later, when I got back to Copenhagen, but she was so angry with me... She barely spoke to me for over a week and I guess eventually I just forgot about the gift. Since then, I've never really found the right time.

"Hey, Becca? Can I talk to you for a sec?" The simple words left my lips somewhat awkwardly, restricted by my sudden nervousness like a bird caught in a net over a fruit tree.

"Yeah, of course, is something wrong?" She appears in the doorway, a slight crease between her eyebrows.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. Sorry, I'm just—" Why is this suddenly so hard for me? It's just a necklace, Rachel. Chill.

...But maybe it isn't. Maybe it's a symbol. Or a step forward.

I think I might be starting to understand the whole "it looks like X is happening but it isn't really about X" emotional thing humans seem to always be so wrapped up in.

Well, anyway, time to stop overthinking and make words happen.

"I... got you something. A while ago, actually, but, well, things got complicated, and—" I cut myself off. No use going down that particular tangent. Instead, I just hold out the small white cardboard box. "I just thought you'd like it."

Becca's eyes light up with that soft, warm glow only she seems to have mastered as she takes the box and carefully lifts off the lid.

"It's beautiful," she says, holding the necklace up by its thin, black cord. Light both glints off the pendant's smooth surface and shines through the translucent glass, highlighting its rich colour. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it. I—"

I thought it sort of symbolized letting go of past mistakes and moving forward.

I want to stop remembering the bad, and create new memories.

I thought it might remind you of me when I'm not there.

I want you to know I'm here for you and I'm committed to making this work.

I—

"I thought it would look good with your dress."

She smiles and brushes her hair over one shoulder. "It's perfect. Could you give me a hand?"

I nod, stepping closer and removing the necklace from its box. After tucking an escaped lock of her hair out of the way, I fasten the tiny clasp and let it rest gently against the back of her neck. My fingers linger on her skin for just a moment before I step back.

"I love you, too," she says, under her breath.

"I—"

"You were thinking it."

Through a soft laugh, I ask, "You can read minds now?"

Becca smiles with just a hint of mischief. "Only yours."

The light chime of the doorbell cuts in, and I turn around to find the doorcam feed fading in onto the SmartGlass window behind me. A man wearing a pale blue button-up shirt and jeans and a woman in a salmon-coloured sundress stand at the entrance, the latter idly adjusting her hair as she waits.

Let the socializing begin.

* * *

Abigail — another kindergarten teacher at the school where Becca works, and Blake's wife — were the two who showed up first, followed by Davis — a fourth grade teacher — and their fiancée Jennifer. The other two people, I don't recognise.

"I'll introduce you," Becca says, apparently using her psychic abilities once again.

We walk over to the couple as they come through the gate, and they wave upon seeing Becca. After friendly greetings and good-to-see-yous, they turn to me.

"You must be Rachel," the man says, and I nod.

"This is Achebe, and his wife Dewi," Becca tells me.

I do the usual smile + "nice to meet you" social script.

"If it helps you remember," Dewi adds, "We're both named after authors. Dewi Lestari and Chinua Achebe."

Becca grins. "They're both Literature teachers, too. Seems like fate."

* * *

"Have you been following the John Roberts story?" Jennifer asks, swirling her sangria glass with her right hand. Beside her, people pass around the various dishes of aromatic sides and mains, the serving utensils clinking lightly against ceramic. Two seats to her left, Dewi nods.

"He's the one who spoke out about Daintree, right?"

The name sounds familiar, and I try to remember him from the news of the past week or so. Was he that financial guy who raised the fraud allegations against Daintree's charity company?

"What are your thoughts on the disappearance?"

"I've heard all kinds of theories," Becca says. "One of the parents of a kid in my class is convinced Daintree had him assassinated. Seems like a rather... extreme assumption, though, if you ask me."

I think I detect a hint of humour in her voice.

"The timing is a little suspicious," Davis remarks. "It's probably just a legal issue, though."

"I was talking about it with my neighbour a few days ago, he said that, too," Abigail says. "He thinks Daintree's just threatening to sue if keeps talking about this in public, but I'm not so sure."

"No?"

"Well, I'd get it if he just wasn't posting online anymore or something, but no one's seen him anywhere. People know his face, I'm sure somebody'd recognize him in the supermarket or something, just going about his day. I'm not some conspiracy theorist, but..." She trails off with a shrug.

"Didn't SnapKnot show him online a few times?" Achebe asks.

"Could've been faked. If they wanted to alleviate people's suspicions."

"Say, Rachel," Jennifer starts, "you're a detective. What do you think of all this?"

"It's certainly a little... odd," I answer, as the story starts to come back to me. I think I heard it on A-News yesterday, in the background at work.

"Do you think they could really have done it? Have him killed, I mean," Abigail asks.

"Killed, 'disappeared'... maybe they're going to torture him into recanting."

Everyone stares at me.

"I'm kidding... It's not like we're living in some kind of cyberpunk dystopia. He probably just had a breakdown and wanted to get out of the public eye."

Some people laugh, sort of, and Becca glares at me with a look that says "please do not joke about people being tortured in front of our friends". I sip my sangria.

The conversation moves on to other news, both teleholo stories and personal updates, and I try to keep up despite not really knowing these people that well. Watching their reactions allows me to fake my own pretty decently, though — a smile here, a nod there, the usual performance of making people feel interesting.

"So, how has the planning for BBF been going?" Davis asks, reaching for the water pitcher to refill their glass. "Mrs. Selivka's certainly seemed happy she's not stuck running it again this year, but are you sure you can manage all the work?"

"Oh, it's fine. I'm glad to have the extra project, honestly. Not that my class isn't already a handful, of course," Becca answers, before I have a chance to ask what this BBF thing is.

"Well, Jennifer and I will be volunteering again this year, of course. Just let us know if there's anything we can do."

"Same here," Abigail chimed in. "Blake's always been happy to help out at the school."

"Of course, us as well," Achebe said. "Rachel, are you going to volunteer this year? We can always use the help."

"Um—" I glance at Becca, hoping for a bit of an explanation of what they're all talking about.

"Books for Bright Futures," she tells me. "It's an annual book drive the school library does, where we collect book donations to give to community center libraries in less wealthy areas. Normally we all volunteer to help out on the actual day, but I offered to organize it this year."

"Oh, cool. Well, um, yeah, I'll definitely help if I can."

Abigail glances back and forth between us a few times, then redirects her attention to her salad.

"So, is Pageflip sponsoring it again?" she asks, while preparing a forkful.

"Yep, fifth year in a row. They've asked me to mention that in the promotion, too, on the posters and whatnot."

"I suppose they deserve it," Dewi says, "for all they've contributed. It does feel a bit, you know... performative, though."

Davis nods. "A bit like instead of donating, they're buying a school event with their name on it."

"'Five years of charity, look at us'," Becca jokes, raising her hands in that imaginary-words-across-the-air sort of gesture. "But hey, as long as the kids benefit, I don't really mind if some Cortland micro-subsidiary gets a little free advertising."

"It could lead to more partnerships with them in the future, too, which could help the school in the long run," Achebe adds.

"So I've been told. Principal Bader has... quite a few thoughts on it."

"What she means is he won't shut up about it," Abigail chimes in, and Becca stifles a giggle.

"He's definitely been very... vocal on the matter."

"Well, anyway, I think it's a great thing you're doing here, Bec." Davis smiles. "A lot to manage, but the kids are sure to love it. And hey, if that doesn't convince the board you deserve the job, I don't know what will," he adds.

Becca chuckles. "I promise, that's not why I'm doing it..." She crosses her fingers. "...But it is an added bonus, I'll say that."

They all laugh, or at least smile, and I'm left alone with my confusion and awkward question of,

"What job?"

"The Education Council member role, of course," Jennifer reminds me. At least, she says it like it's a reminder. It's the first I've heard of any of this. When I turn to Becca to catch me up, she looks... uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's just something I've been thinking about for a while, and I just found out the principal recommended me to the board. I was planning to tell you yesterday when we were going to go out for lunch, but— Well, you had to work..."

"Right, I— I'm sorry about that, again, by the way. But, um, congratulations. On the recommendation. That... sounds really cool."

* * *

"So, Education Council... you must be pretty excited about that," I comment, while pushing the chairs back in under the table.

"Oh, it's just a recommendation, I didn't get the job yet... I'm trying not to get my hopes up." Despite that effort, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "But... I guess I am a little excited, actually. Sorry I didn't tell you about it, by the way. I really did mean too, it's just— Well, you know."

"It's fine, don't worry about it. It's my fault, anyway, for cancelling lunch."

She jumps to try to reach the plug on the fairy lights. Their smart home connector stopped working a few months ago — Becca has a theory involving a particularly mischievous squirrel with a penchant for vandalism — so now they have to be unplugged to be turned off.

"I get it. You've been busy, I can't blame you for that. Just—" She jumps again, almost hitting the panel but missing, and I can't help but chuckle as I reach up to help her.

"How'd you get them plugged in in the first place?" I ask.

"With a whole lot of effort... and climbing on a plant potter."

The lights flick off as I disconnect the cables, and the patio is swallowed by shadows.

"There."

"Thanks," she says.

"So, what were you going to say before?"

"Oh, right. I was just going to say..." Her eyes flick away for a second, catching the light from the vast expanse of buildings and busy streets on the other side of the railing. "Just... don't forget about me."

"Becca, I could never forget about you..." I reach out to place my hand on her shoulder. "I love you."

She smiles sort of serenely in the dim light. "I love you too. And I know, you've never meant to ignore me, or hide in your cases, but... Well, I just know how wrapped up you can get in all this. It becomes... your world." She watches me with wide eyes, that open expression of hers that always makes me feel like she... sees me. Understands me.

Cares about me...

"It'll be different this time, I promise. I won't disappear into it again." I tuck a loose lock of her flaxen hair behind her ear. "You're my world, Becca. You matter to me more than any case."