THE CLAN

Time passed.

The static in Liora's head eventually dulled, as the low hum of machinery filled the quiet space. Her fingers twitched, her mind dragging itself back from the void. The first thing she saw was the outline of someone watching her from a chair in the corner.

"You're awake," he greeted.

He wasn't armed—at least, not in a way she could see—but there was an ease to his posture, like he was perfectly capable of handling her if she tried anything.

"You passed out," he continued, watching her carefully. "Guess we should've expected something like that after the stunt you pulled."

Liora slowly sat up, her head still throbbing a bit. "I didn't pull anything."

He let out a dry chuckle. "Right. The scanner just decided to throw a fit all on its own."

Liora exhaled sharply. "I didn't—" She hesitated. "I don't know what happened."

"Yeah, well. That makes two of us."

For a moment, silence settled between them. Her eyes darted around, realizing the space was different from where she had been before—less of a hideout, more of a backroom, cluttered with old tech and stray cables.

Definitely not the streets. 'At least they didn't throw me out,' she mentally mumbles.

"Where am I?"

"Just some hideout of The Clan," he said simply. Something in his tone made it sound like that should mean something. "At least, one of them."

The Clan.

She had heard the name before—half-whispered rumors during her time wandering in the Outer Districts, cautionary warnings about ghosts that moved in the dark, striking where no one expected.

The realization settled heavily in her stomach. Now, she's in their den.

"You really don't remember anything? No past, no connection to anything?"

Liora hesitated. "…I remember my name," she admitted.

He hummed. "Not much to go on."

"I didn't ask to be here," she shot back those same words before she could stop herself.

That earned a smirk from him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, well. You think any of us did?"

Liora frowned, caught off guard by the shift in his voice.

"The Clan… we don't do well with outsiders," he admitted, voice carrying an edge of warning. "But we don't throw people to the wolves either. Not without knowing why they were chased in the first place."

Liora swallowed. "And if I don't have answers?"

His lips quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then you better start looking for them."

The man stood up, stretching lazily like they hadn't just been discussing what they'll do to her. "But then, we have time to figure that out."

Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door.

"Name's Echo. Come on. You might as well meet the rest of us properly."

Liora hesitated, fingers curling against the rough fabric of the mattress. Something heavy rested over her body, the scent of metal and faint smoke clinging to it. A jacket—worn, slightly oversized. Not hers.

She blinked, suddenly disoriented. It had been draped over her at some point, though she had no idea by whom.

Liora forced herself to stand. Her legs were unsteady, the residual effects of whatever had overwhelmed her earlier still clinging to her body.

But she wouldn't show weakness. Not here.

The jacket slipped slightly as she adjusted her stance, and for a fleeting second, she thought about leaving it behind. Instead, she pulled it tighter around herself and stepped forward.

Echo's smirk deepened just slightly, realizing that familiar leather she's wearing, before leading her out.

The hideout stretched before them as Echo kept a casual pace, hands tucked into his pockets. The others were scattered around—some hunched over terminals, others tinkering with weapons or gear.

"Welcome to our lovely little place. You've seen it already, but I prefer a formal greeting."

Liora's gaze swept over the room, taking in the details she hadn't fully processed before.

A long table sat at the center, cluttered with half-finished meals, scattered gears, and tools left mid-use. Screens lined the walls, flickering with endless data streams, their sickly green glow casting ghostly light over the faces of those working them.

It was a strange mix of disarray and function—like a place constantly on the edge of movement, never quite still.

"That's Cipher," Echo said, nodding toward a man hunched over a workstation in the corner, muttering under his breath. His fingers hovered over a keyboard, typing rapid commands as lines of code scrolled across the screen. "Still trying to crack whatever glitch you caused."

Liora's stomach twisted at the reminder.

Echo led her gaze to the other side of the room, where two figures were bent over weapons and gear. "Over there—Nyx, you already know him. And Shade."

Nyx, catching his name, shot her a subtle wave, casual but acknowledging. Shade, on the other hand—the tall one who had made his disdain clear from the start—barely spared her a glance. Cold and unreadable, he turned back to his work without a word.

"This," Echo said with exaggerated flair, as two more figures approached, "is Razor."

Liora's thoughts caught on the strange choices of names, but even more on how similar Razor and Blaze looked. They could be brothers—yet, despite their resemblance, their energy was entirely different.

Blaze carried himself with a quiet, simmering intensity, while Razor… Razor reminded her of Nyx. Broad-shouldered, built for a fight, but there was something disarming about his expression, an easy charm that softened the edges.

Liora followed Echo through the hideout, who was trying to find Flux around, her steps careful. The space buzzed with movement—Nyx murmuring to Shade, Cipher cursing at his screen, Blaze watching without a word.

A rhythm. A bond she wasn't part of.

The weight of the jacket lingered on her shoulders, faintly electric, grounding her. She pulled it tighter without thinking.

For now, she had nowhere else to go. But that didn't mean she belonged.