Chapter Six : Family Doesn't Equal Bonds

Kavessra – The Tarnished Fang, East End

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The Tarnished Fang wasn’t much to look at — crooked beams, low ceilings, and a smell that danced somewhere between smokeleaf and engine oil.

It leaned half a degree too far east and had more patchwork in its walls than a medic’s coat, but it stood firm.

Held secrets like a ship’s hold.

And for couriers who ran the lines between danger and desperation, that made it holy.

Zali Cheng leaned against the counter, boots still caked in dusk-rain, scarf half-undone and fraying at the edges. She hadn’t slept much.

Not from nerves — she didn’t get those.

But the beds in this part of Kavessra felt like they’d been stuffed with bricks, IOUs, and backlogged regret.

The tea in her hand was bitter, lukewarm, and steeped in something herbal that clung to the roof of her mouth like moss.

She sipped anyway.

Ritual mattered.

Three others sat across the table — all runners like her, though none as fast. Not anymore.

“Word is you dropped the Vexis contract,” said Oren, twitchy and long-limbed, spinning a coin that might’ve been counterfeit.

“Thought you had that locked.”

“I did,” Zali said. “Then I unlocked it.”

The table chuckled — but not too loud.

In the Fang, loud got you remembered. Remembered got you followed. Followed got you dead.

“Heard you made a drop to Hollowgrove yesterday,” said Juna, barrel-chested and missing two fingers.

“That true?”

Zali nodded, sipping again.

Juna let out a low whistle.

“Didn’t think they let outsiders land up there. Thought they shot flyers on sight.”

“They still do,” Zali said. “I just got lucky.”

“That, or you’re sleeping with a tree,” Oren quipped.

“Not your type,” she shot back, dry as driftbone.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Laughter, again.

Carefully rationed.

A cargo hauler skimmed past outside, its hover-rig rattling the windows like dice in a broken hand. The Tarnished Fang sat near East End’s lift-docks — a place of flux and friction, where Kavessra’s underlayers bled steam and opportunity in equal measure.

Zali liked it here.

It reminded her to stay moving.

Stillness made space for memory.

And memory was a cruel houseguest.

“So what was it?” Juna asked. “That Hollowgrove run. Diplomatic pouch? Bribe? Assassination note wrapped in flower paper?”

Zali smiled thinly.

“Can’t say. Was sealed too tight. Felt important, though.”

“You felt it?” Juna blinked.

“Yeah. Like it wanted to burn through the satchel.”

That earned silence.

Zali let it hang.

Sometimes mystery did half the work.

Truth was, that package vibrated like a toothache in her spine the whole damn flight. Like it had a destination older than she was — and didn’t care if she made it back.

“You hear the Fleet kid’s back?” Oren piped up. “Red-something. Gunman outta Seabrook.”

“Redlum,” Zali said automatically.

Oren blinked. “Yeah. That’s it. You know him?”

“Ran into him once.”

“Didn’t stick.”

Juna chuckled.

“Heard he’s here to collect a debt. From Barlow, no less.”

Zali’s brow twitched.

“Barlow?”

“Yeah. That worm’s still breathing?” she muttered. “That’s disappointing.”

The name landed like a knife between ribs.

Everyone knew Barlow.

Everyone regretted it.

“Thinking of picking up another run soon?” Oren asked. “Buzz says something’s shifting. Faster jobs. Better pay. Riskier, too.”

Zali set her cup down with slow, deliberate care.

“I’m always thinking.”

Then her aetherglass buzzed — a shimmer of light against her wrist.

She tapped it once, expecting a job ping.

Instead:

[From: RAOUL CHENG]

Let’s talk. You’re in the city. I’m owed that much. — R.

The light dimmed.

Her pulse didn’t.

She stared at the message until it faded into the background glow of system junk.

Then locked the screen.

Said nothing.

“Bad news?” Oren asked.

Zali’s mouth curled — but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Worse. Family.”

The joke didn’t land.

Juna sat straighter. “Him? Thought he ghosted you after the Courtlight job.”

“He did.”

“Guess ghosts get curious.”

“Is it about the debt?” Oren asked quietly. “He still twisted up with the Syzari Circle?”

“He was born halfway under,” Zali muttered.

“I just stopped pulling.”

Another silence.

This one respectful.

Or afraid.

Raoul Cheng had once been everything.

Older brother.

Flight partner.

First to teach her how to steal, how to lie like it was language.

Also the first to burn her trust, pawn her tags, and leave her bleeding for someone else’s screw-up.

Family didn’t mean safety.

Sometimes, it was just better camouflage for the knife.

“I’m going,” Zali said, rising to her feet.

“Where?” Juna asked.

“To walk off the headache.”

She lied.

Coins clinked on the table as she left.

Her scarf tugged tighter around her throat.

Outside, Kavessra moved like it had something to prove.

Cables thrummed.

Trains snapped across the skyline.

Street vendors shouted in half a dozen dialects.

A wallcrawler giggled down a powerline.

A steam vent burst open in the distance with the screech of ozone and iron.

Zali didn’t check her aetherglass again.

Raoul could wait.

She had a rule about ghosts:

If they wanted to talk, they had to show up in daylight.

And Zali Cheng didn’t wait for anyone who left her behind.

But still…

She moved faster than usual.

Like something was coiling in the shadows.

A thread pulling taut.

Maybe it was the city.

Maybe it was blood.

Either way, she wasn’t running.

Not yet.

But she was ready.