Ian watched the last of the door slid shut. He stared after it, shivering.

"No. This isn't happening." A glance at Rinn's usual spot, a spot that she hadn't left for five years had him doubling over. "This isn't happening."

But what was happening?

He couldn't wrap his head around it. Two taps on the wall by the door brought the interface to life. Moments later, he typed in a code and a familiar red face came with it.

"Oi. You again? Ain't selling you no more substance. Not a—"

"Shut up." Ian struggled to calm his nerves. When dealing with criminals, knowledge, or lack thereof, meant the difference between respect or exploitation. Ian no longer cared about the risk. "I'm gonna release a picture to you. I want you to run it against every database, no matter how obscure, and tell me what info you got."

"Wut?"

The man set his mouth to protest but Ian cut him off. "Timothy, it's my wife."

Leaning back in his chair, Timothy groaned. "You again and that thing." He rubbed his neck, debating it.

This was posturing. Ian didn't know if Timothy had any family or even a love interest. Timothy was a collector though—he had possessions.

"Fine. Give it here."

Ian put his entire palm against the interface. "I'll release my extended profile. Her picture is there. It might not hold up to something for today. But run it. I'll pay whatever price."

"Yes, yes, yes," Timothy grumbled. "Get on with it. Let go of the interface and it'll scroll."

But Ian hesitated. He'd kept Rinn safe. Other than Carlos who first gave them this place years ago, no one had even seen Rinn's face.

It couldn't be helped, though, he needed to figure this out.

Ian let go.

"Must be a beaute the way you—holy shit." Timothy stumbled out of his chair. Eyes wild, he stared at his screen. He was visibly shaken when he focused on Ian again. "You—you—that." He pointed forward. "That."

Any reaction would have been better than this.

"You've fucked over the guilds? You moron."

Hands raised, Ian tried to soothed him. "I just need to know who—"

"I can't even say the damn name." Timothy focused on the picture yet again then eased into his chair. He looked pensive when he focused on Ian finally. "I'm sorry, mate. But you need to take that picture down. If I were you I'd spend every last credit to have it wiped from my records."

He raised his hand to end the call, but Ian didn't even have it in him to make any demands.

"At least tell me who it is," Ian muttered.

Fingers still poised, Timothy returned his gaze. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"I can't tell you the name, but I can tell you the guilds. They go in code. Attach a pattern to a family name and set the assignment forward. It's 'il' this and 'il' that for trackers. But it's the 'o's you wanna be on the lookout for. One of the biggest trafficking guilds lost its head of the house eight years ago. Then this person shows up, this face, claiming to be her. They're one of the biggest clutches of AE in the Colony and vengeful as all sin."

AE, Artificial Elementals.

Ian tried to keep up. "Are they like real E's though?"

Timothy scoffed. "Not even close. But it allows them to hide in images, and to steal appearances. When they steal an appearance, they lock into it and can't leave it easily. Word has it, this boss stayed in it so long she got stuck. So she comes in and assumes power. Some dispute it at first but not for long, if you know what I mean."

He glanced at the image again then hurried to type along his own interface until it faded.

"But if you've got her source—the face she stole, she's gonna come for it."

A sinking feeling dragged Ian down. "Why?"

"Why?" The man scoffed. "You've got someone with a crime boss's face and you don't think that'll matter to somebody?"

Had. He had someone with a crime boss's face.

A crime boss. That AE hadn't let go of Rinn's face, even once in all this time. And those medics came...specifically for Rinn. But no one'd seen her to know she was here.

The gears in Ian's head grinded to a halt and he gasped.

He met Timothy's gaze. "How good can the average Sabe see?"

"Dumb question. Why enhance a body and leave the eyes? It's over average—some even zoom."

Ian closed his own eyes and hung his head. "Any chance that job I messed up had something to do with that...guilds?"

The way Timothy fell silent said enough.

O'Rinn saw her—saw the real Rinn when she came to the door. And instead of wasting time with chump change like Ian, her people saw a more valuable catch—Rinn.

"Can, can they put people into images, too?"

He picked his head up in time to see Timothy shrug.

"Sure. That's the standard. You take something you give something. So take a face and give a face. So's to avoid doubles like this. I guess if they were in a hurry—"

"Yup. Something like that." Ian pushed himself off the wall. One consolation came to mind—Rinn was with the ELETEs, for now. He needed to make this right before people ramped up their efforts. "Thanks."

"Then it's true then," Timothy said. "The protocols."

That one word took all of Ian's focus. "What?"

Timothy hesitated then confessed, "It's the law of balance. Real Elementals live by it and fake ones sorta, too. To get something from someone, they have to put something else. If she...if she didn't give a face, then...she gave something else. The protocols."

Jaw clenched, Ian waited, afraid that if he opened his mouth to ask for more, he'd let out a barrage of swears demanding that the man speak up already.

"Here's the thing," Timothy continued, "the boss to come back had no idea way of using these things called protocols. They are bare commands that can control the System itself. Even if you know the code, it only responds to a certain rhythm of the voice. It's not something you can teach or learn, it's a memory passed down from boss to boss. She said she lost it in the image transfer, that whoever she touched and locked in an image inadvertently took 'em. But without 'em, the guild's lost power. No one'll confirm it but...I think they're on to something. Nobody dares go against the guilds because of those protocols. And if your—your missus took that power, well, I'd—I could find you somebody more than willing to extract that memory."

Ian's stomach dropped. The man said it like some sort of generous offer but any crook with two working brain cells knew better. Letting others rattle around in one's head or memory ran the risk of one wrong nick leading to a lobotomy.

"No." Ian cleared his throat and tried to sound more convincing. "You've got it wrong. She don't know nothing about that."

He expected to hear the familiar beep indicating the end of the transmission but no sound came.

When he focused on Timothy again, he saw the fear in the man's eyes.

"I know you're attached...you're attached to it—to that body. But no AE with this much to lose is letting her double regain consciousness. At least you've got that in your favor. Because your woman's in a coma. If you had the protocols, at least you could bargain with that. But that living corpse of yours is just a liability as of now. I'd—I'd get rid of it. All right?"

Panic pulsed through Ian, intensifying with each second. "How do I find them—how do I contact them?"

Timothy shook his head. "Why would you want to? These aren't people you want on you."

That much Ian could agree with but he wasn't sauntering into any medical section to get Rinn any time soon. Not from the ELETEs.

But she was in over her head and she had no idea. She had absolutely no idea.

"How do I contact them?" Ian asked again.

Timothy stared at him long and hard then said, "You let this picture in your profile go public—even for a second, you won't need to worry about you finding them. They'll find you to shut you up." He shook his head and warned, "But I wouldn't."

Well aware that Timothy's threats were never empty, Ian swallowed hard. In time, he nodded.

That satisfied the man enough for him to end the call.

"System," Ian muttered, praying he could hear some good news, "locate my wife."

The computer chimed. "Mrs. R Broderick has safely arrived in the Cluster's medical section."

But in what capacity?

"Can—can I see her?"

"Mrs. R Broderick is under constant armed guard. No visitors are accepted at this time."

"Norman?" Ian waited.

No response. He closed his eyes and came to the only solution he could. Ian's heart pounded so hard that his chest ached.

He could provide no rescue. But he had to talk to them—to let them know that Rinn was harmless. He could—could do a job, and pay, pay to get her a new face. That mob boss or whoever could keep the image forever if she was that attached to it.

As for the protocols. He'd—he'd figure something out.

Ian focused on the wall and his private profile with Rinn's sleeping picture. For years he'd looked at it. And not because he couldn't see the real thing, but because the System could give it an estimated image with eyes open—eyes that he'd never see open on their own. He could do amazing things with the image. Make her smile, make her wink, make her...look happy.

But the bare image on there, the authentic one, was what he thought of whenever he was on a stupid and dangerous job. It reminded him why he had to make it back.

All he had to do was release it publicly...even for a second...and have whatever bounty hunters on her now on him.

Norman.

He'd known. That was his one rule. Never let anyone see her. Never release the profile.

There'd be no going back if he did it now. None. He couldn't take it back, he couldn't talk his way out of it. Nothing. Every scumbag in the Colony looking for a payday would be on his heels and he couldn't even prove he no longer had her.

And maybe they wouldn't answer. They knew where she was now. He'd risk his neck, put himself in a position he could never come back from...and for what? For a chance to talk to these bastards? A chance to step into a fight with criminals so serious they were ingrained in the Colony and not afraid to flaunt it?

This was stupid.

It was stupid.

It was beyond stupid.

But it was for Rinn.

Ian pressed the release insignia, took one breath, then made it private again.

He waited, but nothing happened.

Body shaking, he hung his head. "Fuck."

A knock came from the door.

Ian picked his head up. There was no way someone could get here that fast. Even from the main tunnel down to his home took a good five minutes of walking. Short of a portal, no one was getting here that quickly.

The next knock was considerably stronger.

After easing off the wall, Ian got into his boots and picked up his bag. He didn't hurry—he had a feeling whoever it was would employ patience.

Once he'd gathered all the weapons he could find, he sucked in a deep breath and put his hand against the cold steel of the door.

The metal slid away and he was greeted with a pale smoke.

Shit! Ian shut his mouth but the world grew hazy and began to fade.

A voice inquired, "This is a gui-ren, isn't it?"

"An active one," a woman answered. "Be a dear and make absolutely sure he stays in one piece. At least until the main event."