Night ruled the red desert.

  The sand still held the day’s heat, but the air was cold and abrasive, curring at the throat. The bike tore forward, leaving an uneven trail the wind quickly erased. The engine vibrated between her legs.

  Nebula didn’t slow down.

  A point appeared in the distance—something that didn’t belong to the sky.

  A drone.

  It kept its distance, following her with mechanical patience. Observing. Measuring. Nebula felt it before she understood it. The implant reacted with an uncomfortable pressure at the base of her skull. A thin hum grazed her ears.

  Lights flared behind her.

  Bikes. Too close together. Too organized.

  Mercenaries.

  Novices.

  It showed in how they spread their formation, in the hesitation as they closed in, in how one of them surged forward too early.

  The missile fired without warning.

  A thin whistle slicing the air like an invisible needle.

  She turned the bike without thinking.

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  A violent motion. Forced. At the edge.

  The missile passed through where she should have been and detonated against a nearby dune. Sand and fire rose behind her like a brief wave. The shock rattled her—but she held control.

  She turned again. Accelerated.

  The mercenaries closed fast. One overcommitted.

  And he was the first to fall.

  A precise shot tore open his chest as he tried to flank her. The bullet hurled him into the sand. His bike rolled on for a few meters before collapsing.

  The second repeated the mistake, this time from the opposite side.

  Too late.

  Nebula twisted her torso and fired without slowing. The round entered through the side of the helmet and exited the back. The body fell, dragging the bike down with it.

  The implant burned.

  Her skin itched. Her pulse spiked. It wasn’t strength—it was clarity. Brutal focus.

  The collision came without warning.

  An out-of-control bike slammed into hers from the side. Metal against metal. The engine choked. Nebula was thrown free.

  She rolled across packed sand and stone. Got up and sprinted to an uneven rock formation, breathing deep. The case was still strapped to her back.

  The enemy bikes skidded and stopped farther ahead.

  Two.

  Only two.

  —Do you see her?—a tense voice crackled over the radio—I swear she went down around here…

  Nebula smiled inside her helmet.

  She moved silently. Used the darkness, the short shadows of low cliffs, the wind masking every step.

  The first never saw her.

  The blade went in fast, again and again, precise, beneath the ribs. The mercenary folded soundlessly, tears in his eyes, breath choking off. She held him as he went still, feeling the body lose resistance.

  The second heard her.

  Turned too late.

  Stumbled.

  Fear arrived first.

  Nebula drove him back against the rock. Leaned in. Looked him in the eyes. Close.

  Her shadow swallowed him whole.

  The blade entered slowly. Controlled. He tried to speak, but only air mixed with blood came out. Nebula didn’t look away until the trembling stopped.

  When it was over, she wiped the blade and took a deep breath.

  She took one of the bikes.

  Left the bodies where they fell. They belonged to the desert now.

  She kicked the engine to life.

  Night closed around her once more.