“Rash! You’ll miss the morning slot!”His mother’s voice carried from the kitchen, thin but firm, like the whistle of a kettle.“I’m gone already, Mum,” Rashford called, hopping on one foot as he tugged a boot over a frayed sock. “If I don’t crash this scooter today, it’ll be a miracle.”Evelyn Cole appeared at the doorway with her apron still tied. “Don’t joke about crashing. We’ve had enough bad luck for a lifetime.”Rashford’s grin softened. “Sorry. Habit.” He bent, kissed her cheek, and grabbed the brown-paper parcel from the counter. “Two drops, then Hollow Street takeaway shift.”“Eat something first,” she said.“I’ll grab a sandwich.”“You never do.”He winked, helmet in hand, and stepped out into the cool London dawn. Hollow Street was waking up, buses groaning, shop shutters rattling, pigeons claiming roofs like landlords.Rashford zipped his jacket, shoved his earbuds in, and kicked his scooter to life. “Another day, another complaint,” he muttered, weaving past puddles.A n

Rashford stepped into the depot just after sunrise. The air smelled of diesel and wet cardboard. His manager, a thick-set man with a half-chewed pen in his mouth,looked up from behind the counter. “Cole. My miracle man returns,” the boss said. “Got the city talking.”“Not my fault everyone’s bored.”“Funny thing, though.” The man set the pen down. “Company got a call. Said one of our drivers is practicing medicine without a license. That ring a bell?”Rashford blinked. “You’re serious?”“As a flat tire. They want distance between us and you, effective immediately.”“You’re firing me?”“Call it ‘letting go for public-relations reasons.’”“I stopped someone from bleeding to death.”“And you’ve given us more attention than a warehouse fire. Take your last week’s pay and”“Keep it,” Rashford said. “Wouldn’t want to taint the brand.”He left the keys on the counter and walked out into the grey drizzle.Outside, a familiar voice called, “Rough morning?”Maya Thompson leaned against a lampp

London after midnight looked like circuitry, wet streets sparking under streetlights, the city pulsing with electric veins.Maya led Rashford through an alley that smelled of copper and rain. “Where are we going?” he asked.“Someplace the news never reaches.”“That’s not comforting.”“Good. It’s not meant to be.”She stopped at a metal door half-hidden behind a graffiti-coated shutter and tapped a rhythm with her knuckles, two short, one long. A slot slid open; a pair of eyes stared out.“Password?”Maya hesitated. “Ghost Circuit.”A click. The door opened. Inside, the light was low and blue. Computers hummed like insects. Cables coiled across the floor. A half-finished neon sign on the wall read LOW SIGNAL.At the center sat a man with violet hair and a soldering gun. “Lex,” Maya said, “I need a favor.”“You always do,” Lex replied, not looking up. “Who’s the guy bleeding secrets all over my network?”Rashford frowned. “Bleeding what?”“Metaphor, mate. Sit down before you short-circu

The Royal Hospital rose above the Thames like a sleeping fortress, gray, clinical, silent except for the low hum of electricity that never stopped. Maya adjusted her hood, eyes scanning the gates. “You sure about this?”Rashford stood beside her, face half-lit by a passing car’s headlights. “My father used to say this place was built to save lives. Guess he forgot to mention it could end them too.”Lex exhaled smoke from the energy drink can he’d crushed flat.“We’re breaking into a government medical facility to hack an AI made of living code. I’d rate this a solid bad idea, but it’s too late to vote, right?”“Right,” Maya said, glancing at Rashford. “Once we’re in, how long before they know?”“Seconds,” Lex replied. “Maybe less. Cameras, biometric locks, heat sensors, they’ll see us the second we breathe wrong.”“Then let’s make it count,” Rashford said.The back entrance was a slab of reinforced glass and steel. Lex knelt, attaching a small black cube to the lock. “EMP scrambler. B

Rain drummed against the cracked tunnel roof, slow and steady, like a clock ticking down.Maya stood frozen, eyes locked on Rashford’s face. The faint glow beneath his skin pulsed in rhythm with the flickering lights. “You said it’s inside you,” she whispered.Rashford nodded slowly. “I can hear it… feel it. Every wire, every signal, it’s like the city’s heartbeat’s running through me.”Lex swallowed. “That’s, horrifyingly poetic. And also impossible.”Rashford glanced at him. “You think I’m imagining this?”“I think you’re running on zero sleep, and you just survived a building exploding on your head.”Maya stepped closer, voice low. “Rash, listen to me. Whatever this is, we can fix it. We’ll find a way.”He smiled faintly. “You don’t fix a storm, Maya. You survive it.”They followed the tunnel toward the surface, the scanner in Lex’s hand twitching with every step. “Signal’s jumping again,” he muttered. “It’s reacting to him, not the other way around.”“What’s it doing?” Maya asked.