"Reservation for Mercer," Caleb said.
The host adjusted his lapels. He evaluated the charcoal suit, taking in the heavy wool. His gaze dropped to Caleb's hands. Medical tape wrapped the knuckles. Motor grease stained the cuticles. The host looked at the teenager standing a single step behind Caleb.
"Sir, this establishment operates strictly on a private guest list. We do not accommodate military escorts."
Kikaru stepped forward. Her carbon fiber leg brace clicked against the polished marble. She crossed her arms over her gray academy uniform.
"I am Recruit Kikaru Mitsurugi of the First Division. Captain Kade assigned me to monitor him. I go where he goes."
The host offered a practiced smile. "Corporate credentials do not override our guest list."
Caleb pressed two fingers against his temple. Starvation burned behind his ribs. He lacked the energy for an argument.
"Just let her stand in the corner," Caleb muttered.
A pop of static cracked from the small chip behind his right ear.
[Unknown User] She is so clingy. I told you to come alone.
The smooth voice buzzed directly into his auditory canal.
Caleb kept his face completely blank. "I tried," he whispered.
Kikaru glared at him. "Who are you talking to?"
"Myself."
The host touched a hidden earpiece. His smile vanished. He gave a stiff nod to a manager across the foyer.
"Apologies, Mr. Mercer," the host said. He grabbed a gold-stamped menu from the podium. "Your benefactor made an adjustment. Right this way."
The restaurant occupied the entire top floor of the commercial spire. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings. Wealthy executives sat at widely spaced tables, picking at tiny portions of synthetic delicacies.
The host stopped at a mahogany table positioned directly in front of the glass wall. The entire city grid sprawled out below them in bright neon lines. He pulled out a velvet chair for Caleb.
"Your benefactor ordered the tasting menu," the host said.
Kikaru moved to grab the chair opposite Caleb.
A waiter stepped out of the shadows. He placed a folding plastic chair exactly three feet away from the edge of the mahogany table.
"Your seat, miss," the waiter said.
Kikaru froze. Her jaw dropped. She looked at the cheap plastic, then at the velvet seating surrounding the massive table.
"Are you joking?" she demanded.
"Client instructions," the waiter replied. "The military escort must remain at a designated distance from the primary guest. Or security removes the escort from the building."
A flush crept up Kikaru's neck. Her hand dropped toward her hip. "Do you know who my father is? My family owns half the technology in this sector."
"The client purchased the entire floor for the evening. Corporate lineage does not apply here."
Caleb sat down in the velvet chair. He kept his hands flat on the table. His muscles twitched, demanding calories to rebuild the damage from the staging yard.
[Unknown User] Look at her face. She thinks her name is a skeleton key. Sit down, little girl. This is my table.
The voice in his ear held a vicious purr.
Kikaru glared at Caleb, waiting for him to defend her.
Caleb looked at the empty white plate in front of him. He needed this food to survive tomorrow's deployment. "I really need to eat, Kikaru. Just take the chair."
She let out a sharp breath. Dragging the plastic chair an inch closer, she sat down hard. The material creaked under the weight of her leg brace.
A team of waiters swarmed the table.
They did not bring synthetic rations. They carried massive silver platters loaded with real cloned animal protein. Thick slabs of seared beef. Bowls of roasted root vegetables. Heavy bread dripping with butter.
His mouth watered. The military fed Rank F recruits gray nutrient paste. This was thousands of credits worth of real food.
"Enjoy," the head waiter said before stepping back into the shadows.
Caleb picked up a silver fork and a heavy steak knife.
He cut a piece of the beef and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing twice, he swallowed it almost whole. The rich fat coated his throat. The food hit his empty stomach, easing the tremor in his hands. He cut another piece and ate faster. Blood pooled on the white porcelain.
[Unknown User] You look beautiful when you are desperate. No corporate manners. No fake smiles. Just raw consumption.
Caleb swallowed hard. He ignored the voice and focused entirely on the meal. The cramps in his muscles loosened. The dead weight of his bruised right arm lifted slightly. The calories were working.
Kikaru sat in her plastic chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Her stomach gave a loud hollow growl.
She shifted her weight, looking away from the table. "I am not hungry anyway. The academy serves a superior nutrient profile."
Caleb grabbed a piece of bread, soaking up the meat juice on his plate.
"You can have the vegetables," he offered.
Kikaru snapped her gaze back to him. "I do not accept table scraps."
[Unknown User] Do not offer her anything. That food is for you. You need it to heal.
Caleb pushed the silver bowl of roasted potatoes to the edge of the mahogany table.
"It is not a scrap. It is a potato. Eat it or do not."
Kikaru stared at the bowl. She checked the empty restaurant floor, then reached out and grabbed a potato. She took a small, hesitant bite.
She stopped chewing for a second. She quickly swallowed and maintained her rigid posture.
"It is acceptable," she muttered.
Caleb cleared the first platter in three minutes. The waiters replaced it with a plate of grilled fish and spiced rice.
Wiping her fingers on a pristine white napkin, Kikaru leaned forward. She studied Caleb as he tore through the fish.
"You eat like a starving animal," Kikaru said. "Where did you learn table manners? The gutters?"
"The disposal yards give you ten minutes to eat," Caleb replied, scooping up a forkful of rice. "You eat slow, you miss your shift. You miss your shift, you lose thirty credits."
Kikaru frowned. "You keep mentioning credits. The Defense Force pays a massive base salary. Why are you so obsessed with small change?"
Caleb set his fork down. He took a drink from his water glass to wash the salt from his throat.
"My family carries a fifty-thousand-credit monthly debt penalty," Caleb said quietly. "If I miss a payment, they seize my mother's housing sector. They repossess the life support augments keeping my brother breathing."
Kikaru went completely still.
The corporate heiress stared at him. The reality of the lower sectors did not exist in her world. Her family manufactured the weapons. They did not scrub the blood off the streets.
"Fifty thousand," she whispered.
"Every thirty days," Caleb confirmed.
[Unknown User] Why are you telling her this? She does not understand. She has never suffered for a single day in her life.
Caleb picked his fork back up. "That is why I took the hit for you in the urban zone. You represent a massive investment. If you die, the military grid docks the entire squad. I cannot afford a penalty."
Kikaru looked down at her hands. The anger drained out of her face. She gripped the edge of her plastic chair.
"I thought you stepped in because..." She stopped. She swallowed hard. "I thought you were trying to play hero. I thought you wanted the attention."
"I am a thirty-year-old man with a mountain of bills." He cut another piece of fish. "Heroes do not exist. We just have quotas."
She watched his taped knuckles maneuver the silverware. The canyon between her corporate towers and his rusted saws became clear.
The waiters returned. They cleared the empty platters and set down a dessert course. A chocolate cake surrounded by fresh fruit.
A waiter stepped between Caleb and Kikaru. He placed a silver tablet on the table.
"Your host requests a private conversation," the waiter said.
The tablet screen glowed. A digital audio wave pulsed in the center of the glass.
Kikaru sat up straight. "Finally. Put them on speaker. I have questions regarding this blatant disregard for military protocol."
The tablet speaker crackled.
"You talk too much, little girl," the synthesized voice echoed across the mahogany table.
Kikaru flinched. She narrowed her eyes at the screen. "Identify yourself. I am a recruit of the First Division."
"You are a fragile child wearing a broken toy," the voice replied. "You only survived the urban zone because my runner protected you. You owe me his base salary."
Kikaru slapped her hand onto the table. "Your runner? The Defense Force drafted him. He belongs to the Seventh Division."
"The military claims his body," the voice said. Dark amusement laced the synthesized audio. "I own everything else. I bought his broadcast. I pay his medical debts. I feed him. And I am tired of looking at your face. Leave."
Kikaru stood up. She kicked the plastic chair backward. It clattered against the marble floor.
"I am under direct orders from Captain Kade to monitor Caleb Mercer," Kikaru stated, her voice shaking with genuine anger. "I will not abandon my post because a coward hiding behind a screen demands it."
"Waiters," the voice commanded.
Four men in sharp black suits stepped out of the shadows. They surrounded Kikaru.
"The lady is trespassing," the tablet announced. "Remove her from my property."
Kikaru reached for the custom pistol strapped to her thigh.
Caleb stood up. He grabbed her wrist.
His hand locked around her forearm. The physical contact startled her. She looked at his taped knuckles, then up at his face.
"Do not," Caleb said. "You draw a weapon in a civilian zone, the military police will discharge you by midnight. Your family name will not save you from a public assault charge."
Kikaru breathed heavily. She stared at the four large men boxing her in. She looked at the tablet, then back at Caleb.
"You are coming with me," she ordered.
Caleb looked at the table loaded with the calories his body demanded. He looked at the armed private security preparing to throw her out. The leverage of his situation burned in his chest. He released her wrist.
"Go home, Kikaru," Caleb said. He kept his voice flat, but exhaustion anchored his words. "You have an estate waiting for you. You are safe there. I am not. I have a frontline deployment in twelve hours. If I walk out of here empty, my body fails tomorrow. I cannot afford to fight them. Let it go."
Kikaru stared at him in disbelief. The gap between her privileged reality and his brutal survival cracked wide open. She saw the absolute desperation keeping him in that chair.
"You are insane," she whispered.
She turned on her heel and marched toward the elevator banks. The four men in black suits followed her closely, escorting her off the floor.
Caleb watched the elevator doors slide shut. He hated the mechanics of this arrangement. He hated letting them push her out.
He sat back down in the velvet chair.
[Unknown User] Finally. Just us.
The voice in his ear dropped the synthesized distortion. The natural purr returned.
Caleb reached for his fork.
The head waiter stepped out of the shadows, pulling the silver cake platter away from the edge of the mahogany table.
Caleb stopped.
"Your host requests you join her," the waiter said.
Caleb stood up. He followed the man away from the glass wall, leaving the open floor of the restaurant behind. They bypassed the main elevators, walking toward a blank, polished wood-paneled wall. The waiter pressed a keycard against a hidden scanner. The wood paneling split open, revealing a narrow corridor.
Caleb stepped through. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing off the clatter of the dining room.
The corridor ended in a single steel door.
He pushed it open.
The lighting inside was dim, casting a red glow over the floor. The air conditioning hummed, freezing the small space. A frosted glass partition divided the room perfectly in half.
He sat down in the solitary leather chair positioned on his side of the glass.
A silhouette waited directly across from him.
The dark outline held perfectly still. The heavy frosting obscured any sharp details, but the proximity carried a suffocating weight. He was in her territory now.
The comms-chip behind his right ear remained silent.
A speaker mounted in the ceiling crackled to life.
"Are you threatening me, Caleb?" the voice asked. The smooth purr filled the physical room.
Caleb leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked at the frosted glass.
"I'm telling you what happens next," Caleb said. "You bought my feed. You want a show. I get it. But she's a First Division recruit. You embarrass her in public or hack the grid to mess with her, Captain Kade is going to notice."
The silhouette shifted slightly.
"Kade notices, the Military Police throw me in a signal-dead bunker," Caleb continued. "I lose my pay. My family loses our housing sector. And you lose your camera. If you want to watch me fight tomorrow, stop playing games with the people who can get me discharged."
The silhouette leaned closer to the glass.