Chapter 95: The Path Home

Brazilian coal smoke hung thick in Chen's office, mingling with the oily tang of gun lubricant and spilled coffee. Morning light filtered through sheets of autumn rain, casting liquid shadows across her desk where three hunter badges lay - remnants of men who'd sold out to the cartels this week alone.

"Medical cleared you." Chen's clipped consonants cut through the percussion of rain. Her fingers brushed one of the tarnished badges. "Physically, at least."

Kasper's empty enhancement ports burned at her emphasis on that last word. Through the windows, District Seven's factories belched black smoke into leaden skies. The gangs had torched another "example" - this time a warehouse where dock workers had refused to pay protection.

"Mental evaluation's less certain." Chen set her fountain pen down with sniper's precision. "Lost too many good hunters who thought they were ready to return."

The memory hit without warning - Circuit screaming as they carved out her enhancement cores. Ghost's final static-filled transmission. Ramirez...

A muscle jumped in Chen's jaw. "New Kareana's division needs experienced hunters." Her voice softened, showing the commander who'd carried wounded from White Forest. "Rivera signed this himself."

She slid a brass-sealed envelope across her desk. The metal caught morning light, warm against his fingers as he lifted it.

"Full pension. Contractor status at home." Each point landed like brass shell casings. "Simple jobs. Local mafia cases. Nothing like this meat grinder." Her gesture encompassed the burning city beyond her window. "You could be with your family again. Actually make it to Isabella's graduation this time."

His Tesla-phone hummed against his chest. Family encryption. His mother's voice filled the office before he could silence it:

"Hijo..." Ximena's words wavered, the connection crackling with distance and fear. "The international feeds..."

A fresh explosion rattled the windows. Third precinct, from the sound. The gangs were getting bolder, pushing deeper into government territory. Or maybe the "protection" had finally turned.

"They're showing the fires," his mother continued. "The bodies. Please." Her voice cracked. "Come home."

Through rain-streaked glass, Kasper watched a police autogyro sweep past art deco spires. Its searchlight caught falling brass casings from the latest firefight, making them glitter like cruel stars.

"Mamá—"

"Like they protected Javier?" Bitterness cracked through her composure. His father's exoskeleton whined in the background – the familiar hydraulic song of his pacing.

"Listen to your mother." His father's voice carried the weight of too many lost sons. "You've paid enough."

Chen's fingers tapped that old war rhythm - the same beat she'd drummed in White Forest while waiting for extraction. On her desk, the traitors' badges caught the light.

"They're right." No commander's authority now, just hard-earned wisdom. "City's rot goes deeper every day. This morning's report - two more dock workers disappeared. Witnesses saw Association badges at the scene."

The St. Michael medallion burned against Kasper's chest. Elena had pressed it into his palm that night on the docks, her hands still bloody from tending his wounds. Now her small house by the water would be an obvious target. Association protection meant nothing if the protectors themselves were compromised.

A fresh message scrolled across Chen's brass-fitted display: "Harbor district unrest spreading. Multiple Association officers reported at scene. Situation deteriorating."

"Hijo?" His mother's voice cracked through static. "Say something."

Rain drummed against the windows, its rhythm matching his pulse. The medallion's edges bit into his palm as his grip tightened. Through the storm, cathedral bells tolled the hour - the same bells that had rung for Carlos's funeral after the gangs finished with him.

"There's still work to be done," he said softly.

"Kasper—" His father's protest cut through the connection.

"I love you. All of you." His voice steadied as his thumb traced the medallion's familiar weight. "But I can't walk away. Not yet."

Chen's war rhythm slowed, then stopped. Something flickered in her eyes as she studied the traitors' badges. "You understand what you're choosing?" Professional assessment now, measuring his resolve. "This city's appetite..."

"Someone has to stand against the dark." The medallion caught light as he rose. "Even without ports. Even without chrome."

Through her window, Costa del Sol bled. But in the harbor district, where simple fishermen had chosen courage over safety, something else was taking shape.

A remembering.

A resistance.

A reckoning.

Time to earn this medallion's weight in blood.