He walked to the table and opened the bags, the rich, savory aroma of real, high-end food filling the small apartment. He had brought them katsudon—crispy, vat-grown pork cutlets simmered in a sweet and savory broth with onions and egg, served over a bed of fluffy, perfectly steamed rice. The food was garnished with vibrant green scallions and a sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds. Ray glanced at Selena and saw her swallow, a faint blush rising in her cheeks as she caught the small smirk on his lips. She walked over and sat on the couch. "What about Max?" she asked, glancing at his sleeping form.

"Don't worry. I bought some for him. I'll feed him after we eat," Ray said, pushing a steaming bento box toward her.

Selena took a deep whiff. "This smells so good," she blurted.

Ray handed her a set of utensils, and she began to eat, her earlier tension melting away with each bite. He ate from his own box, mostly for her sake, to maintain the fragile illusion of normalcy.

After they had finished, Ray cleaned the table and walked over to Max, gently waking him and feeding him the warm, soft food. The boy was unresponsive most of the time, but he at least was chewing on his own, and that was a victory.

After he had fed Max, Ray let himself sink into the couch with a quiet sigh.

"Okay. Really, what did you do outside?" Selena asked, her arms folded. Ray glanced at her. "Hm?"

"You seem so different. An hour ago, you were so brooding and silent, and now you seem so… light. It's almost scary," she said.

"I told you. I just did some meditation."

Selena scoffed, rolling her eyes. "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. You don't need to lie about it."

Ray rose up suddenly and waved for her to take a seat on the floor next to him, which she reluctantly did.

"I'm not lying," he said, his voice calm. "Close your eyes."

Her entire body tensed. "No," she said, her voice sharp and low. "I'm not letting anyone else inside my head. Ever again."

Ray didn't move. He kept his voice perfectly even. "This isn't about letting me in. It's about you taking control. Your mind is a city. Right now, it's under siege from the inside. There are a thousand different alarms ringing. You're trying to listen to all of them at once, and it's tearing you apart."

His words, analytical and precise, cut through her emotional defenses. He wasn't offering her comfort; he was offering her a strategy.

"You can't silence the city," he said. "So don't try. A city needs a ruler. Right now, your fear is on the throne. I can show you how to take it back." She stared at him, her storm-gray and green eyes a battlefield of suspicion and a desperate need for control. The offer was a hook she couldn't ignore. She gave a single, sharp nod and closed her eyes.

"Breathe," he instructed. "Just feel the air moving. That's the power grid of your city. Steady. Constant." He waited. "Now, the thoughts. The anger, the fear. They're just traffic. You don't have to get in every car. Be the observer. Find a high rooftop and just watch it all pass by." She was still tense. He changed tactics, his voice dropping into a more technical, almost hypnotic cadence. "Every system has a space between its processes. A null state. Focus on the space between your thoughts. There's silence there. Find it."

Minutes passed. Her breathing deepened, became more even. The hard, defensive lines of her face began to soften. "Good," he whispered. "Now, what do you feel?"

"Quiet," she murmured, her voice full of a surprised awe. "It's… quiet."

"That's your throne room," Ray said, his own voice a steady anchor. "The part that's always there, behind the noise. That's where you rule from."

She stayed like that for a long time, exploring the newfound peace. When she finally opened her eyes, they were clear, the storm within them calmed. She looked at him, at his strange, silver eyes..

"Okay," she said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "That was… an effective tactical maneuver."

Ray smiled back, a flicker of his own. He had perfectly executed the role of the guide. He had achieved the desired outcome.

That night, as Ray was lying on the couch, his consciousness shifting through flowing streams of data, his auditory sensors picked up a sound from Selena's futon. The blanket was pulled over her head, but the sound was still perfectly clear to him. It was the sound of quiet, frustrated sobs, the kind a person tries to stifle so no one else will hear.

His attention shifted back to the task at hand. Her road was long, but at least she was making steps in the right direction. His own road was different.

For the last week, the old Ray had been working. At night, when the kids were both asleep, he would plug into the Net. He was on a hunt for a ghost's fortune. Porcelain Jack had scattered his vast wealth across hundreds of hidden, encrypted data-caches in the deepest, most lawless corners of the Net, a digital breadcrumb trail only he could follow.

Ray, having Jack's memories, moved through the digital underworld with an unnatural grace. There was no need to hack his way through when he already knew the passcode; he simply walked through doors. He found caches hidden in the corrupted code of abandoned VR games, in the ghost servers of defunct corporations, and in the encrypted, anonymous ledgers of black-market arms dealers. One by one, he unlocked them, and the small, untraceable streams of credits flowed into a new, anonymous account.

He checked his current balance.

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10,000,000 credits.

And it was still rising.

The number was a cold, hard fact in his mind, devoid of joy or triumph.

It was the down payment on the life of Ray's mother. It was the foundation of the sanctuary he would build for these children. It was the price of peace, and he was methodically, ruthlessly, collecting it.

Selena woke up slowly, the rich, savory aroma of real food pulling her from a deep, dreamless sleep. She pushed the blanket from over her head and saw three bento boxes waiting on the coffee table, steam gently rising from their vents. Ray was sitting on the couch, a datapad resting in his hand. He glanced up as she stirred and offered a small, quiet smile.

"Morning," he said. Selena yawned.

"Morning. What did we have today?"

"Eggs and bacon," Ray said.

Selena's stomach growled, a loud, embarrassing sound in the quiet room. It took a surprising amount of willpower not to leap at the food. Instead, she kept her composure and sat beside Ray, her movements stiff.

"Millionaire alien," she mumbled as she grabbed a fork.

"That's a cute nickname," Ray said, turning his datapad to show her a short, looping video of a big-headed green alien in a ridiculous gold chain, dancing on the hood of an expensive car. Selena's hand shot over her mouth as she choked on a laugh, a piece of egg flying out.

"Can you turn to silent mode? At least while I'm eating," she pleaded, her cheeks flushing. Ray offered a nod and started to eat. A few minutes later, they were done. Ray gathered the empty bento boxes and placed them in a plasteel disposal box.

"Today, we're going to see a friend," Ray said, turning to her. Selena's fragile good mood instantly evaporated. "If it's from the same species as you, then I pass. I'd rather stay here and scroll PulseFeed all day."

"Arty is… mostly normal. And he doesn't know that I can consume minds, so I ask you not to tell him about that part. He's a little weird, but he's a brilliant technician. You could learn a trick or two from him."

Selena considered his words, weighing the options. Staying here, trapped in this apartment, felt like being a victim. Going out, learning something new… She offered a single, sharp nod.

"Thanks for understanding," he said, bowing his head slightly. Then he walked to Max and gently fed him his own breakfast.

An hour later, they were sitting in Ray's gray 4x4, Max resting in the reclined back seat. "This is so weird," Selena murmured, staring out at the city. Ray glanced at her but didn't answer. "Having no memories, being taken care of by a very rich alien who eats minds, having a brother I can't remember anything about. And you having my dad's memories. This feels like the plot of a bad movie." Ray remained silent. "Are you back in your silent mode?" Selena asked, a hint of her old fire in her voice.

"Maybe," Ray responded.

He parked the car behind Arty's apartment building. As they walked towards the entrance, Selena eyed the glowing, obnoxious green door. "What an ugly door."

Ray sent a message through his interface. I'm at your door. He could hear rapid, clumsy footsteps from inside before the door was flung open. Ray's hand shot out, covering Selena's eyes just as Arty appeared, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers decorated with hearts and lightning bolts. His dreads, a chaotic mess of electric blue, magenta, and circuit-board green, covered most of his face.

"Cover her ears," Arty said, his voice a low, urgent hiss. Ray moved his hands from Selena's eyes to her ears. "Dude, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL MECHATRONICS, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS?!" Arty grabbed Ray's shoulders and shook him. "Your girlfriend called me at least ten times and even came here to check if I was hiding you!" He leaned in and whispered, "And I think she installed spyware in my microwave to keep an eye on me."

"I've been busy with some personal stuff," Ray said calmly. "I'll explain later, but I need to head out somewhere. It's important."

"Ray-man, my friend, my other half, if you don't tell me, I swear you will be the first person to feel the wrath of my poop gun."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ray responded.

"What's with the kid?" Arty asked, glancing at Selena.

"Please put some clothes on first," Ray pleaded.

"Nuh-uh. Answer my question first."

"She's the daughter of a friend. Her dad died in an accident, and I'm taking care of her and her brother." Arty's eyes shot wide open, his manic energy instantly deflating.

"Oh. Shit. Sorry to hear that," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "But why are you here, then? Oh, wait! You want her to meet your best friend and hear some cool stories of our adventures together?" he asked, his eyes glinting with a renewed, if slightly more subdued, enthusiasm.

"Yeah… and I was hoping you could keep an eye on her for a few hours. She wants to be a techie when she grows up. Though a little teaching from the sensei himself would be valuable for her." At the word "sensei," Arty seemed to puff up, a ridiculous, prideful grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah! Sure, bring her in." He rushed inside, grabbing a gray shirt and a pair of green pants from a pile on his grease-stained couch.

Ray took his hands off Selena's ears. She opened her eyes. "Geez, are your hands soundproofed? I couldn't even hear a muffle." She walked inside, her gaze landing on the now-clothed Arty. He stood before her with his arms folded, his legs in a wide stance, trying to look imposing. Selena grimaced. "My name is Arthur, friends call me Arty, but you will call me Sensei if you wish to receive my teachings," Arty said in a forced, deep voice. Selena glanced at Ray, one eyebrow raised.

"Just play along," Ray whispered.

"I understand, Sensei," she responded, her tone laced with a sarcasm that was completely lost on Arty.

"My name is Selena, and I seek your teachings. I guess." Arty grinned like a fool for a moment before forcing his expression back into one of stern authority.

"Yes, my little student. I have a great lot to teach you."

Ray took out a small, touchscreen phone and handed it to Selena. "You have my number. If something happens, don't hesitate to call. And there are some credits on it if you want to buy snacks." He patted her on the head, a gesture that was both paternal and strangely distant. Then he shook Arty's hand. "Don't feed her any of your pizza," Ray said playfully, and then headed out. "Have fun."

"Wow. Ray-man's emo aura is no more," Arty said, watching him go. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he's your father." Selena didn't respond, her fingers fidgeting with the laces of her hoodie. "So," Arty said, his voice returning to its normal, enthusiastic pitch. "Have you ever heard of the applicability of melted chocolate in combination with industrial grease as a conductive agent?"

Selena's gaze snapped towards Arty, her previous boredom instantly replaced by a sharp, analytical curiosity. "What?" she asked, a flicker of a genuine smile on her face.

Now that he knew Selena was being taken care of, it was time to head to the clinic. He turned to Max and inspected his clothes. Max was dressed in clean, elegant clothes Ray had purchased—a soft, cashmere sweater and tailored trousers. Everything about him, despite his pale, sickly appearance, screamed high-class. He would pass as a sick kid of an executive.

Ray drew on the cold, dismissive arrogance of Porcelain Jack and the flawless corporate logic of Ethan, and his appearance shifted. His clothes flowed and reconfigured into an impeccable, dark charcoal suit with a subtle, shifting micro-circuitry pattern woven into the fabric. His hair shortened, darkened to a conventional brown, and slicked back with geometric precision. His blue eyes shifted away, becoming silver, and seemed to harden, becoming colder, more analytical.

The engine started, a low, confident purr, and Ray pulled the car into the streets.

As they drove, the familiar, chaotic decay of Hollow Verge faded behind them. The stacked hab-units, flickering street lights, and neon storefronts of cybercafes and ramen stands dissolved in the rearview mirror. The sounds of the street—the hiss of frying food, the distant shouts of vendors, the rumble of passing cargo haulers—were replaced by a new hum.

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