Jax dreamed of Saturdays.

  Not the Saturdays that existed now—empty and efficient and filled with training regimens and tactical preparation. The Saturdays from six years ago when life was simpler and better and filled with people who made everything worthwhile.

  Sarah was in the kitchen making breakfast. Jax could smell coffee and pancakes and that vanilla extract she always added because Emma liked the sweetness.

  "Daddy!" Emma burst into the bedroom and jumped on him with six-year-old enthusiasm that didn't understand concepts like "sleeping in" or "personal space." "Daddy, wake up! Mommy's making pancakes and I helped and I only spilled the milk once!"

  "Only once?" Jax caught her mid-jump and pulled her into a hug. "That's a new record."

  "I'm getting better at not spilling things."

  "You're getting better at everything."

  Emma's hair was a mess—brown curls that refused to cooperate with brushes or gravity or any attempt at organization. Sarah said Emma got the chaos hair from her side of the family. Jax suspected Emma's hair had its own independent agenda.

  "Daddy, can we go to the park today?"

  "What about homework?"

  "Already did it last night because I'm responsible."

  "You did your homework on Friday night voluntarily?"

  "Mommy said if I finished homework I could have extra park time today."

  "Your mother is a tactical genius."

  "What's tactical mean?"

  "It means Mommy is very smart and knows how to motivate you through strategic incentives."

  "I don't know what those words mean but I like pancakes so I'm going to get pancakes now."

  Emma climbed off the bed and ran back to the kitchen, leaving Jax alone in the bedroom that still smelled like Sarah's shampoo and felt like home in ways that couldn't be quantified or measured.

  He got up and walked to the kitchen where Sarah was flipping pancakes with professional precision and Emma was sitting at the table with chocolate chips spread out in front of her in what appeared to be a very serious pattern.

  "What are you doing?" Jax asked while kissing Sarah good morning.

  "Making a chocolate chip pattern," Emma said without looking up. "It's very important."

  "What makes it important?"

  "The pattern. Obviously."

  "Obviously."

  Sarah handed him coffee. "She's been arranging chocolate chips for twenty minutes. I've stopped asking why."

  "That's very parental wisdom."

  "That's very survival instinct. Pick your battles and chocolate chip patterns aren't worth fighting over."

  They ate breakfast at the small table in their small apartment that was perfect because they were all together. Emma chattered about school and her friend Maya who had a pet hamster and could they get a pet hamster and Jax said no and Emma said that was unfair and Sarah said maybe a fish and Emma said fish weren't fluffy enough.

  "Fish aren't supposed to be fluffy," Jax pointed out.

  "Then fish are doing it wrong," Emma declared with six-year-old certainty.

  After breakfast they went to the park. The one near their apartment with the playground that Emma loved and the walking path where Jax and Sarah could talk while Emma climbed things she probably shouldn't climb.

  "She's going to fall," Sarah said while watching Emma hang upside down from the monkey bars.

  "I'm ready to catch her."

  "You're always ready to catch her."

  "That's my job."

  "Your job is being a detective. Catching our daughter is your obsessive hobby."

  "Best hobby I've ever had."

  Emma dropped from the bars with complete trust that her father would be there and Jax caught her like he always did and she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

  "Again!" Emma demanded.

  "Again will result in me throwing my back out," Jax said.

  "You're not that old," Sarah said.

  "I'm old enough that catching falling children is becoming progressively more difficult."

  "You're thirty-six. You're fine."

  Emma was already climbing back up the monkey bars for another jump. Jax positioned himself underneath because that's what fathers did—they stood under monkey bars waiting to catch daughters who had too much faith and not enough fear.

  "I love this," Jax said quietly.

  "Love what?" Sarah asked.

  "This. All of this. Saturdays with you two. Emma being fearless. You calling me dramatic. All of it."

  Sarah leaned against him. "I love it too."

  "I want this forever."

  "You have this forever. We're not going anywhere."

  Emma jumped. Jax caught her. She laughed. Perfect moment. Perfect Saturday. Perfect life.

  Except Sarah's voice had changed. Sounded distant. Like she was speaking from somewhere far away.

  "Sarah?" Jax looked at her but she was moving backward, sliding away from him like gravity had reversed.

  "We're not going anywhere," she said again but now she was ten feet away, twenty feet, thirty feet, the distance increasing impossibly fast.

  "Emma, stay close!" Jax called but Emma was running toward the ice cream vendor at the park entrance and she was already too far away to catch.

  Jax ran after them. Ran as fast as he could but his legs felt heavy, weighted down, like running through water or mud or something thicker than air should be.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Wait!" he called. "Stop!"

  Sarah turned and smiled but she was too far away. Emma waved but she was disappearing into sunlight that was too bright, dissolving into whiteness that consumed everything.

  "Don't leave!" Jax yelled. "Please don't leave!"

  But they were already gone.

  Fading into light.

  Dissolving into nothing.

  Leaving him alone in an empty park on a Saturday morning that had become Saturday night that had become the Tuesday when the algorithm malfunction happened and traffic patterns shifted and his wife's vehicle was forced into an intersection at exactly the wrong time and everything ended.

  "I'm sorry," Jax said to the empty park. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I didn't protect you. I'm sorry I let the system kill you and I didn't even know it was murder until six years later."

  But apologies didn't matter because this was a dream and dreams ended and reality was a world where Saturdays didn't exist anymore and his family was gone and the park was empty.

  "I miss you," Jax said to no one. "Every day. I miss you every day."

  The park dissolved.

  The dream ended.

  Reality returned like a punishment.

  Jax woke up at 1434 hours on the warehouse couch with tears running down both cheeks.

  Not one tear. Multiple tears. Actual crying that he couldn't disguise as physiological response or tactical error.

  Just grief. Raw and immediate and six years old but still fresh as yesterday.

  He sat up quickly, wiping his face with aggressive efficiency like he could erase the emotion through physical action.

  Miles was at his workstation across the warehouse, pretending to be focused on his interface but very obviously having watched Jax wake up crying.

  They sat in silence for a long moment.

  "Your family?" Miles asked quietly.

  Jax didn't answer immediately. Couldn't answer immediately because his throat was tight and his chest hurt and answering required composure he didn't currently have.

  "Saturday mornings," Jax said finally. "Emma jumping off monkey bars. Sarah making pancakes. Normal things that don't exist anymore."

  "That sounds like good memory."

  "It was good until they started moving away and I couldn't reach them and I woke up alone again like I wake up alone every day because they're gone and I couldn't save them."

  Miles stood and walked over but didn't sit down or touch or do anything invasive. Just stood nearby in case proximity was helpful.

  "I'm sorry," Miles said.

  "You didn't kill them."

  "I'm sorry you have dreams where you lose them again. I'm sorry you wake up crying. I'm sorry that six years later you still hurt this much."

  "Apologies don't change anything."

  "No, but they acknowledge that you're hurting and that matters even when nothing can fix it."

  Jax looked at Miles and saw genuine concern instead of pity. Saw partnership instead of judgment. Saw someone who understood that sometimes people just needed to be sad about terrible things without anyone trying to fix them.

  "Thank you," Jax said.

  "For what?"

  "For not pretending you didn't see me crying."

  "I would never pretend. You're my partner. I see everything about you including the parts that hurt."

  "That's very honest."

  "That's what partners do. We see each other. All of each other."

  Jax wiped his face one more time. The tears were gone but the grief remained. It always remained. Six years hadn't changed that and six more years wouldn't change it either.

  "I dream about them every few weeks," Jax admitted. "Always Saturdays. Always the park. Always Emma jumping and Sarah laughing and everything being perfect until it's not."

  "That sounds exhausting."

  "It's necessary. If I don't dream about them I start forgetting details. Sarah's voice. Emma's laugh. The way pancakes smelled on Saturday mornings. Dreams keep them real."

  "Even when the dreams hurt?"

  "Especially when the dreams hurt. Pain means they mattered. Pain means they're still with me even though they're gone."

  "That's very philosophical for someone who just woke up crying."

  "Grief makes philosophers out of everyone eventually."

  Miles sat down on the floor next to the couch. "What was Emma like?"

  "Fearless. Chaotic. Obsessed with chocolate chips and fluffy animals. She wanted a hamster and I said no and now I wish I'd said yes because what does a hamster matter when I could have made her happy?"

  "You made her happy by being her father."

  "I made her happy until I failed to protect her from a traffic algorithm that decided her life was less valuable than corporate profit margins."

  "That wasn't your failure. That was systematic murder."

  "Doesn't matter whose failure it was. She's still dead."

  They sat in silence while afternoon light came through the warehouse windows and traffic built toward Peak Surge outside and the world continued like Jax's family had never existed.

  "We're going to destroy the Mother Node," Miles said. "Not just expose it. Not just reform it. Completely destroy it so it can never kill anyone else's family."

  "Yes."

  "For Emma and Sarah."

  "For them and for everyone else the system has killed and for everyone the system will kill if we don't stop it."

  Jax's interface chimed. Message from The Conductor: OPERATION SCHEDULED FOR TODAY AT 1734 HOURS. JUNCTION 47 AND MERIDIAN STREET. I'M TESTING WHETHER YOU'VE ACTUALLY LEARNED TO PREDICT MY METHODOLOGY. STOP THIS OPERATION IF YOU CAN. —ADRIAN CROSS

  Jax read it and felt something shift. The grief was still there but now it had direction. Purpose. Motivation.

  "The Conductor is testing us," Jax said. "Junction 47. Today at 1734."

  Miles stood. "Then let's pass the test."

  They analyzed Junction 47: three potential targets, medical facility most likely. Brightside Memorial Hospital. Maximum public sympathy, demonstrates emergency response failures.

  At 1623 hours they left for the hospital. Separate routes, coordinated arrival.

  At 1717 hours Miles spotted seven unmarked vehicles positioning around the hospital perimeter.

  At 1734 hours the operation began. Seven vehicles stopped simultaneously in intersections. Engines running, drivers absent. Perfect gridlock within three minutes. Emergency vehicles blocked within five. Hospital requesting priority routing that wasn't available.

  "He's demonstrating the system can't provide emergency access," Miles said.

  "We move the vehicles," Jax said.

  They worked fast. Jax hot-wired, Miles hacked remotely. Systematic dismantling. Five vehicles cleared by 1753 hours. Emergency access restored. Ambulances moving.

  Operation stopped in nineteen minutes.

  At 1802 hours: WELL PLAYED. NINETEEN MINUTES FROM START TO FAILURE. IMPRESSIVE. YOU'VE PROVEN YOURSELVES USEFUL. I WON'T UNDERESTIMATE YOU AGAIN. —ADRIAN CROSS

  "We won," Miles said.

  "We won his test," Jax corrected.

  They arrested one operative who'd stayed behind. Young woman, mid-twenties. Completely calm while being restrained.

  "I volunteered for this," she said.

  Jax looked at her. "Why?"

  She smiled slightly. Didn't answer.

  They transported her to headquarters. She went into holding without resistance, like she'd done this before.

  Like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  At 1923 hours, back at the warehouse, Miles stared at his interface.

  "She wanted to be arrested," he said.

  "Yes."

  "The Conductor has someone inside our holding cells now."

  "Our victory was his victory. Both things are true."

  Miles's interface chimed. Department notification: OFFICER RODRIGUEZ REMAINS MISSING. ANY INFORMATION SHOULD BE REPORTED IMMEDIATELY. REWARD OFFERED.

  Rodriguez's photo. Smiling in uniform. Looking alive.

  Miles enhanced the background automatically—habit from years of analyzing images. Found something in the reflection behind Rodriguez's shoulder. Another officer. Barely visible. Standing in the background when this photo was taken months ago.

  He stared at it for a second. Closed the enhancement. Didn't mention it.

  "Still no sign of Rodriguez," Miles said.

  "Three days," Jax confirmed.

  They sat in the warehouse. Two people who'd won a test while their colleague remained missing and their world remained complicated.

  "Emma would be twelve years old now," Jax said suddenly. "If she'd lived. Probably still demanding a hamster."

  "You would have gotten her the hamster eventually."

  "Probably. She was very persuasive."

  "She sounds like she was amazing."

  "She was. They both were. Every Saturday was perfect because of them."

  "I'm sorry you lost them."

  "I'm sorry too. Every day. But now we're fighting the thing that killed them. That has to mean something."

  "It means everything."

  They sat in silence. Grief and victory mixed together. Loss and purpose intertwined.

  Tomorrow they would keep fighting.

  Today they just sat with the weight of everything they'd lost and everything they had yet to lose.

  That was enough for now.