IX
Still Waters
Night City, 2077
Ares woke to the sound of rain and the quiet tremor of Sofie’s breathing beside him. The window was cracked open, just enough to let in the cool winter air. The rain had let up for about a day, but it was back now, pattering faintly against the outer wall of the apartment. It was late—deep enough into the night that even Night City’s noise had thinned to a low hum.
Sofie shifted under the blankets. Her breath hitched once, twice, then broke into a small, stifled whimper. She lay on her side, facing away from him. Her shoulders were tight and she was clutching at the sheets. The whisper of her voice came next—barely a sound, just fragments of words swallowed by sleep and fear.
He’d seen it before. Dozens—hundreds—of times. Sofie rarely slept peacefully. At best, she shed tears, at worst, she thrashed and screamed. It was likely why she had been so hesitant to stay the night for the first few months of their relationship. Eventually she’d told him, but nothing had prepared him for the first time he’d tried to wake her. The panic in her eyes, the way she’d recoiled, shrieking and cowering until she had snapped out of it. All he’d done was gently shake her. It had gutted him.
Now he knew better. He didn’t wake her.
Instead, he shifted closer and slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her back to his chest. He found her hand beneath the blanket and wrapped his fingers gently around hers. She was trembling. Her body shook with every breath.
The metal plates that covered her back thrummed. Her Sandevistan always hummed when she had bad dreams, but tonight it hadn’t engaged. The green lights that hid between the plates were dark. That was a good sign.
“Easy,” he whispered, not sure if she would hear. “You’re safe, Sof.”
The tension in her body eased a little. Another good sign.
The rain carried on outside, steady and patient. He held her until her breathing slowed again, until the shaking stopped. Her hair was still damp and the smell of her strawberry shampoo filled his senses as he pressed his lips to her temple. Her cheeks were wet and he dabbed at the tears with the edge of their blanket.
She was haunted by ghosts he couldn’t see, or even help her fight. All he could do was hold her tight, keep her anchored until dawn.
He stayed awake long after her breathing steadied, listening to the rain and the soft hum of her speedware. It reminded him of his old life on the road. The Nomad’s engines cooling at night, metal ticking and sighing outside his tent.
He used to lie awake then too, listening to the desert wind slide through the camp. The nights were cold, but they were honest—no lies in sand or steel. Just the silence of the Badlands and its residents. That was the rhythm he understood: machines cooling, stars wheeling overhead, wind howling through the desert.
He’d shared glimpses of it with her. Every time a gig took them out of the city, he made sure they left a day early and spent a night camped out in the Badlands.
Those were the nights he taught her things her time in Nástr?nd hadn’t. How to build a fire without a spark kit. How to navigate by the stars alone. How to drive—first on the cracked highways east of the city, then across the open flats where there were no lanes. She’d picked it up fast and by the third trip, she was throwing dust trails and laughing through the roar of the engine like she’d been born to it.
Since the day they’d first kissed, and he’d willingly plunged headfirst into her world, every day had brought something new or chaotic, or both. This was just one of the ways he shared with her, the way she had decided to share with him.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, pulled her closer and closed his eyes. The sound of her breath blended with the hum of the city and the patter of the rain outside.
* * *
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By morning, the rain was teasing at letting up again. Mist clung to the windows. The light that filtered through the blinds was a washed-out gray, soft enough not to sting tired eyes. Ares was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed, half dressed and watching the faint outline of the city beyond the foggy glass.
Behind him, Sofie stirred. She sat up slowly, brushing a hand through her hair. Her eyes were puffy and red. Dark bags hung under her eyes. “What time is it?” she murmured.
“Early,” he said, leaning back to kiss her. “You’ve got a few hours before the meeting.”
She made a quiet sound of acknowledgment and swung her legs over the side of the bed, bringing one of their blankets with her. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and padded blearily over to the window to pull it closed. Ares stood, finished buttoning his shirt, and retrieved her suit from the closet as Sofie pulled the blanket with her into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Ares straightened out the sheets and laid the suit out on the bed. It was dark gray—simple, sharp, and lined with a layer of aramid armor weave fine enough to pass as silk. The garment was worthy of protecting the most important people in the world.
She’d worn it before—it was tailored for her the day her portrait as CEO was taken—but she never seemed comfortable in it. The cut was perfect, the armor invisible, yet the look always seemed to belong to someone else.
Ares was running his thumb along the edge of the jacket when Sofie emerged from the bathroom. She looked better. Her hair was brushed, face washed, but her eyes were still red and undeniably tired. She eyed the suit warily.
“Really?” she asked.
“You look good in it,” Ares said, offering a smile. “Sharp and strong. Like you don’t have anything left to prove.”
She gave a small, uncertain laugh. “You really think a suit can do that?”
“I think can.”
Her gaze lingered on the outfit for a moment before she sighed and discarded the blanket. “It just doesn’t feel like ,” she said quietly as she lifted the jacket and inspected the aramid lining. She traced the seams with her thumb, the faint shimmer of the armored weave catching the weak morning light. “Every time I wear this thing, I feel like I get closer and closer to .”
“Yrsa?”
“No—yes. The other clone. The one Mother created to replace me.” She dropped the jacket back onto the bed. “Every time I put this on and walk into a meeting, it feels like I’m playing into Mother’s hand. Doing exactly what she wanted.”
He shook his head. “You’re nothing like her.”
“I’m exactly like her. We have the same .”
Ares stood behind her, placing his hands on her hips. “You are Sof. Your genes don’t make you who you are, your experiences, thoughts, and memories, and how you choose to act on them do. As I said, you are like either Yrsa.”
“You’re biased,” she said, smiling softly.
“Maybe,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
She leaned into him for a moment before stepping out of his embrace and beginning to undress. Ares took just a moment to watch, appreciating the subtle curves of his wife’s slim frame and small chest as she pulled her top off. She dropped her shorts to the floor and was just pulling on fresh underwear when he finally looked away. He retrieved two dress shirts from the closet and held them up for her to see.
“Would you prefer blue or black?”
She turned, adjusting her bra and looking over the shirts. Her eyes lingered on them for a moment. “You’d pick the blue,” she said.
“I would. It matches your eyes.”
Sofie stepped forward, and plucked the pale blue shirt from his hand. “That one, then.” She slipped it on before sliding into the slacks laid out beside the jacket. Ares did up her buttons as she tucked the shirt in.
When she slid the jacket on, she looked good, but still uncomfortable. She fidgeted with the buttons as she looked into the mirror standing by the closet door, but no matter what she did she never looked any less tense.
Ares stepped up behind her, slipping easily into his own suit jacket. Watching their reflections side by side as he put on his tie. He could see the issues clear as day. Her shoulders were tight, her hands shook as she adjusted the small Ymir Skandatek tree logo pinned on her lapel.
“You’re much too tense, thinking too much. You’re not walking into a fight,” he said softly.
“I almost wish I was,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
Ares let out a low chuckle.
“At least bullets are honest,” she said. Her fingers fell away from the pin in frustration. “They just try to kill you, not trick you into digging your own grave first.”
He reached forward and gently touched her arm. She turned her toward him. “Maybe you need to take some of that honesty with you then.”
“I’m not going to shoot anyone,” Sofie said.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ares smiled. “I think you should do less to look right for them, and more to look right for ” He reached up and gently undid the pin from her lapel. His hands moved to her hips where he carefully untucked her shirt, letting the hem poke out from under her jacket like a duck tail. He moved up to her collar and undid the top two buttons of her shirt.
Sofie turned back to the mirror and Ares saw right away that she felt more comfortable like this. As Sofie studied her reflection again, her shoulders lowered slightly, her eyes softened, and her back straightened. She wasn’t exactly calm but…
“Better?” Ares asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. “A little. Feels less like a disguise.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
She met his eyes in the mirror again, her smile returning to her lips. “You’ve gotten good at this.”
“At what?”
“Talking me down.”
“Just takes a bit of practice.”
Sofie gave a quiet laugh and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. For a moment, she just stood there, studying her reflection. It was the first time she’d ever put the suit on that Ares thought she really did look and feel like herself.
