The hallway was already crowded even before the shift ended.
People moving fast, overlapping voices, the constant murmur of keyboards and glowing screens filled with numbers that seemed to move on their own. Luna made her way through them, her heels setting a steady rhythm against the polished floor. She wasn't running. She wasn't raising her voice. In that building, running meant urgency; raising your voice meant losing control.
She nodded at a couple of people in passing. Others pretended not to see her. Some watched her a second longer than necessary. It wasn't paranoia. She'd known it for years.
The main doors slid open with a mechanical whisper and, suddenly, the noise was gone.
The air outside was colder than she expected. Luna took two steps out of the building and stopped. She didn't think about it. She slipped off her heels, held them in her hand for a second, then dropped them into her bag. The cold pavement under her feet was an immediate relief, almost physical, as if something inside her finally loosened.
"I knew you wouldn't last more than ten seconds."
The voice came from the right.
Luna turned her head and saw her there, leaning against the wall as if she'd been waiting all afternoon without getting bored. Alessandra. Ale. Pink hair falling in impossible curls, a cascade down her back and shoulders. So long that even tied up, it seemed endless. That day she was wearing something completely different from the day before. Luna couldn't have described it precisely, but she knew she wouldn't see it the same way again.
Luna didn't smile right away. She exhaled first.
Ale did smile.
It wasn't big or exaggerated. It was small, contained. The same one Luna had seen since they were kids, every time one of them walked away intact from something they shouldn't have survived.
"Thirty-five," Luna said at last.
"I lost," Ale admitted. "But you were close."
Luna let her hair down. The short, straight strands fell over her shoulders, just enough to brush her neck without getting in the way. Not long enough for a proper ponytail, but long enough to be annoying after hours tied back.
Ale didn't say anything. She simply opened her backpack.
Before Luna could ask, the sneakers were already in her hand.
"Thanks," Luna murmured.
Ale shrugged.
"That's why I carry them."
Luna sat on the edge of the curb to change her shoes. She tied the laces with automatic movements. When she looked up, she noticed what was behind Ale.
The building's wall was covered in posters.
Not one or two. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. White sheets layered over one another, some new, others wrinkled by sun and rain. Different faces, different ages. Eyes frozen in blurry photographs. Beneath each one, the same word printed in bold letters.
MISSING.
Luna stared longer than she wanted to admit.
"There are more every time," she said.
Ale didn't look at the wall right away. She sat beside her, resting her head against her friend's shoulder.
"Yeah."
There were no more comments. There didn't need to be.
Luna finished tying her shoes and stood up. Ale slung the backpack over her shoulder. Her hair fell back into place, almost completely covering her again, as if it wanted to hide her from the world.
"Coffee?" Ale asked.
Luna hesitated for barely a second.
"Let's go."
It was the usual place.
Ale pushed the door open first. The café smelled like burnt sugar and warm milk. There were people inside, but not too many. The right time.
"The usual?" Ale asked, already heading toward the counter.
"Yeah."
Luna dropped into the chair by the window. She rested her elbows on the table and ran her fingers along the rim of an empty glass someone hadn't quite cleaned properly. She felt different without the heels. Shorter. More herself.
Ale came back with the drinks.
An iced coffee for Luna, no sugar.
For herself, something ridiculously sweet, with cream, syrup, and a layer of foam that felt unnecessary.
"One day that's going to kill you," Luna said.
"And that day you'll be with me," Ale replied, smiling.
They sat in silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that doesn't ask to be filled.
Luna took her first sip. Cold. Bitter. Perfect.
Ale stirred her drink like it was a chemistry experiment.
"How many hours today?" she asked.
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
Ale didn't push. She never did when Luna spoke like that. She just watched her, chin resting in her hand. There was something in her expression Luna knew too well: relief. Not exaggerated. Not celebratory. Just… relief at seeing her there, sitting, whole.
Luna's phone vibrated on the table.
She didn't pick it up right away. Her expression barely shifted, the same one she wore when something disappointed her without surprising her.
"Frank cancel again?" Ale asked.
Luna nodded.
"You know my father."
"Yeah."
Luna took another sip. Longer this time.
"He says tomorrow," she added, without conviction.
"He always says tomorrow."
"I know."
Ale looked down at her drink and took an exaggerated gulp, like sugar could fix something.
"Does it bother you?"
Luna thought about it for a second.
"No," she said. "It's tiring."
That was all.
Outside, a patrol passed by. Not regular police. Armored. Silent. No one inside the café stopped talking, but several glances drifted toward the window by reflex.
Luna followed it with her eyes.
"I saw three new scanners on the way here today," Ale said, like she was talking about the weather.
"Where?"
"North side. Near the metro."
Luna frowned slightly.
"They weren't there before."
"They are now."
Another pause.
"You think they're connected?" Ale asked.
"Everything is connected," Luna replied. "We just don't always know how."
Ale smiled to the side.
"You sounded like Frank."
Luna made a face.
"Don't insult me."
Ale laughed softly, the kind that doesn't look for attention.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold still. Two cups. One table. One window. No masks. No missions.
The phone vibrated again.
This time, Luna picked it up.
She read the message. Her expression didn't change, but her posture did. Something tightened, like a spring that already knew its job.
Ale noticed immediately.
"Izan?"
"Yes."
"Is it now?"
Luna looked up.
"Yes."
Ale set her drink aside.
"Then let's finish this."
Luna glanced at her coffee. There was still some left.
"Later," she said, standing.
Ale was already grabbing the backpack.
"Later," she echoed.
And they left the café together, like always.
Night had fully fallen when they stepped outside. The avenue lights didn't erase the sense of surveillance; they only disguised it.
They walked a couple of blocks without speaking. The traffic noise faded little by little, replaced by a heavier silence, broken only by a distant engine.
"Sector six," Luna said. "Old industrial complex."
"Of course," Ale replied. "Where nothing good ever happens by accident."
They turned onto a narrow street. The asphalt was cracked, the façades half-abandoned, like the city had decided to forget that stretch without fully committing to it.
Luna opened her bag as they walked. She checked the gear without slowing down: gloves, bandages, the communicator. She slipped off her skirt without stopping, folded it quickly, and tucked it into the bag, like she'd done before.
Underneath, she wore only her underwear and the long shirt. Not ideal, but enough.
She rolled her shoulders once, making sure nothing pulled or got in the way.
Ale didn't look. She was already adjusting her gloves, focused on her own routine.
"I hate this part," Ale said, leaning against the wall. "The waiting. The theater. Pretending nothing's happening until there's no choice."
"If we wait, we hesitate," Luna replied. "And if we hesitate, they find us."
"Then better not wait."
They stopped in front of an unmarked metal door. No logos. No visible markings. From the outside, it said nothing.
Luna pulled a case from her bag and opened it. The mask rested inside, matte black, no unnecessary features. She lifted it and put it on. The plates adjusted to her face with a soft click. The world dimmed by a shade.
Ale did the same.
The left half of her mask was black, almost identical to Luna's. The right half was white, shaped like an eye that revealed nothing behind it. When she spoke, the vertical slit where a mouth would be glowed faintly.
"We good?"
Luna nodded.
The communicator vibrated once.
"I'm online," Izan said. "Signal confirmed. Recent movement, brief. Avoid the central catwalk."
"Copy," Luna replied.
She placed her hand on the door. The metal was cold.
Ale stepped in beside her.
"Let's go."
The door opened.