Bronie sank into that cloud of pink for a full three minutes.
When she finally lifted her head, her usual expression had returned — lazy, unhurried, touched with a careless sort of ease. As if the person who had just buried her face in the plushie and taken a long, deep breath hadn't been her at all.
Kiana picked up the glass of orange juice from the coffee table and slid it across to Bronie.
"Talk to me. The Tiger Claw Gang — what can I do?"
Bronie picked up the juice.
"The line is dead."
Her voice was clean and crisp.
"News that the street racers got taken down has probably already reached Tiger Claw's boss by now. They'll pull their heads back in like spooked turtles."
"Tonight's meetup is off. The relationship chain I spent half a month building — all of it, gone."
She pulled out a heavily modded phone. Her fingertips swept across the screen in quick, practiced strokes, pulling up a complex network map.
It was a spider's web of countless nodes and connecting lines. The cool blue glow reflected in her grey irises.
"This Hare needs to find a new crack to slip through. The dark web channels are still live, but rebuilding the trust chain will take two weeks minimum."
She flicked her wrist and turned the screen toward Kiana.
"When the time comes, I might need you to show up and do what you're good at — physical bypassing."
Kiana glanced at the map.
Dense streams of data, like the language of another world.
She couldn't parse most of the complicated logic, but she understood the red dot.
That red dot meant trouble. It meant an obstacle. It meant a target that had to be removed.
She didn't need to understand the complicated parts. When it was time to act, she'd never been afraid of anyone.
"Sure." Kiana nodded, without a moment's hesitation.
Bronie put the phone away and fished another stick of bubble gum out of her pocket.
The crinkle of the wrapper being torn open sounded oddly sharp in the quiet living room.
"Add me."
Kiana pulled out her own phone.
The two devices drew close. Signals exchanged.
Bronie looked down to save the number.
She paused for two seconds at the contact notes field. The corner of her mouth curved into a mischievous arc, and she typed three characters: "White Freak."
Kiana didn't see.
She was busy carefully tapping on her keyboard, saving the grey-haired girl's number, entering the contact name with perfectly proper spelling — "Bronie" — and then, with great solemnity, appending a Homu sticker.
The screens went dark.
Both phones blacked out at the same moment, like two eyes closing at once.
The living room fell into a peculiar silence.
The odd-eyed kitten named Chongchong crept out from the shadow of the big Homu plushie, leapt lightly off the sofa, tail held straight up like a flagpole, and conducted a soundless inspection of her territory before vanishing around the corner into the kitchen.
Bronie chewed her bubble gum, leaning back against the sofa, her gaze unfocused.
Kiana sat on the floor hugging her knees, chin resting on her arms.
Between them: a coffee table, and a half-finished glass of orange juice.
Something hung in the air — the particular atmosphere of words hovering at the edge of being said, then swallowed back.
Even though, on the surface, they'd just had a perfectly pleasant conversation.
In reality, they had known each other for less than two hours.
By any normal social logic, this was nothing more than a chance encounter. They couldn't even be called acquaintances.
But as Kiana looked at the girl in front of her, something inside her was pushing against the lid like boiling water.
She wanted to tell her — that in another time, another world, there was someone who looked exactly like her.
That girl also loved Homu. She loved games. She was sharp as a tack and small as a spark, and she was always picking on her.
She didn't fly drones, but she had a great big robot called Project Bunny.
That girl always called her "idiot Kiana" in the coldest of voices — yet at the most dangerous moments, she would step in front of everyone with that body of hers that was never built for fighting.
That girl... was one of the most important people in her life.
But Kiana said nothing.
She looked at Bronie's grey eyes.
This was Bronie. Not Bronya.
She was Arc City's Hare — a lone wolf, a complete and independent person with a whole life of her own.
She didn't need to become anyone's shadow. She didn't need to carry anyone else's longing.
It wouldn't be fair to her.
Kiana lowered her eyes, staring absently at the strip of light on the floor.
It was Bronie who broke the silence first.
"You're... a pretty unbelievable person."
Bronie slowed her chewing.
She tilted her head back, staring at the unlit ceiling light, as if combing through her memory banks for the right words.
"Today's the first time I've met you. One run-in, one bike ride, sitting around your place for a bit — all together, less than two hours."
She dropped her gaze back to Kiana's face, a thread of puzzlement in her eyes.
"But somewhere in the middle of talking—"
"It keeps feeling like you're someone I've known for a very long time."
The words left her mouth, and Bronie herself blinked.
This really wasn't like her.
Too sentimental. Too... mushy.
It didn't fit her personal code at all.
But it was exactly what she felt.
It was a strange, inexplicable kind of intuition.
Maybe it was the way this white-haired weirdo looked at her.
There was none of the wariness a stranger should have. No curiosity about her hacker identity either.
When those odd-coloured eyes looked at her — it was like peering through a pane of fogged glass at something distant and precious and forever out of reach.
That look made Bronie feel... wrapped in something gentle.
Kiana blinked, just for a second.
Then, slowly, the corners of her mouth lifted, and a brilliant smile broke across her face.
Not a shadow of cloud in it. Clean as a blue sky.
"Aren't we friends already?"
Straight to the point.
No social pleasantries to cushion the blow. It punched straight through Bronie's defences.
This kid... genuinely had no filter at all.
The corner of Bronie's mouth twitched — she seemed to be trying to hold onto that cool expression — but in the end, she gave up.
Fine.
Out of respect for that absurdly good-to-hug big Homu, she supposed she could just barely bring herself to call this one a friend.
"Speaking of which—"
Bronie quickly adjusted her posture, reclaiming that unhurried, couldn't-care-less tone.
She tilted her chin toward the white bundle of fluff in the corner of the sofa.
"That Homu — any chance you'd sell it to me? Name your price. This Hare will pay whatever number you put down."
It was a feeler. And a cover for the awkwardness.
The limited-edition big Homu was slumped in the sofa's corner, its ear slightly squished from the hug earlier, giving it a goofy, endearing look.
Kiana's expression softened.
She shook her head.
"Sorry. That's a gift I'm saving for a friend."
"I can't see her right now—"
"But I know we'll meet again someday."
She said it the way you'd say the sun will rise tomorrow morning. Steady. Certain. Untroubled.
Bronie didn't ask.
Who the friend was. Why she couldn't see her. When she'd be able to.
She didn't ask any of it.
After years out on the streets, she knew what a "line you don't cross" looked like.
Everyone has a locked box inside them. A smart person doesn't try to pry it open.
"Alright then."
Bronie stood up and stretched lazily.
"Limited edition means limited edition. This Hare doesn't do strong-arming."
She bent down, picked up the orange juice from the coffee table, tipped her head back, throat working, and drained it in one go.
Kiana stood up too.
Time to say goodbye.
The two of them walked to the entryway.
Bronie pulled on her thick-soled tactical boots, stamped her feet, adjusted the tongue of the shoe into place.
She pulled the door open and stepped out.
"Oh, one more thing."
Kiana's voice came from behind her.
Bronie stopped. She turned sideways, one hand braced on the doorframe, and looked back.
"If you ever want a hug—" Kiana looked at her, eyes curving into crescents, "—come over anytime."
The motion-sensor light in the corridor clicked on.
Light fell across the side of Bronie's face.
Her expression didn't seem to change. Still that same cool look.
But in the instant she turned away, her step faltered — just 0.1 seconds — before she kept walking.
She didn't look back.
She just raised her left hand, back still turned to Kiana, and gave a casual wave at the air.
"Yeah, yeah. Got it."
Her voice echoed through the empty stairwell, carrying a lightness she hadn't even noticed herself.
She'd taken two steps when she stopped again.
"Hey. Miss Vigilante."
"Mm?"
"Next time, get your bearings before you go swinging. Don't have this Hare getting swept up in one of your raids again."
Footsteps. Tactical boots landing on concrete stairs — steady, rhythmic.
Kiana stood in the doorway and listened as the sound grew farther away.
Third floor. Second floor. First floor.
Finally, the spring hinge of the building's front door let out a soft creak.
The world went quiet again.
Kiana leaned against the doorframe and pulled out her phone.
The screen lit up.
At the very top of her contacts, a brand new name:
Bronie
The little Homu sticker beside it had its head tilted at an angle, smiling its dopey smile.
Kiana stared at the name for a long time. Then she pressed the phone against her chest and felt the faint warmth the device gave off.
A soft sound came from the living room.
Chongchong had wandered back at some point, and was now crouched beside the sofa, head tilted up, inspecting the big Homu plushie that had claimed her territory, her tail tapping the floor in a slow, irregular beat.
The angle of the sunlight had shifted — lower now, warmer.
It fell on the Homu's white fur. It fell on two empty glasses. It fell on Kiana's bare feet.
Kiana closed the door.
"Bronya."
She called the name softly, barely above a whisper — careful, as if afraid to disturb the dust floating in the air.
"I made a new friend today. Hehe."
Chongchong seemed to understand something. She padded over and rubbed her fuzzy little head against Kiana's ankle.
Kiana crouched down and scooped the cat up into her arms.
The kitten's warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her clothes. A steady, reassuring purr rumbled from deep in her throat.
Kiana held the cat and looked at the silly plushie on the sofa.
The corners of her mouth curved upward, helplessly, completely.
That hollow corner inside her — the one that had been empty for so long — felt like something was slowly, quietly filling it in.
Warm and soft.
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