Two weeks was long enough for the body to lie convincingly.

Void had learned that the hard way over the months: how flesh closed ranks, how pain dulled just enough to pass as permission. Her ribs no longer flared white-hot when she breathed in too deep. The bruises that once painted her torso in violent purples and oil-slick blues had faded into those sickly yellow-green shades that made people think "oh, you're better now." Even the headaches had spaced themselves out, arriving less like a hammer and more like a reminder tapped against the inside of her skull.

She didn't trust a second of it.

The kitchen was warm, and worse - peaceful. Sunlight passed through the narrow window above the sink, broken by the skewed blinds that Keira had never quite fixed properly. Dust floated lazily through the air, catching the light pretending it had better stuff to do than falling where it shouldn't. Szczecin carried on being itself: distant traffic, arguing neighbors, a gull screaming in defiance of ruthless human expansion, the hum of a city that didn't know or care what kind of fragile equilibrium was being held together inside this apartment.

Void sat at the table with her chair tipped back just enough to signal confidence without tempting gravity. One boot hooked around a chair leg, grounding her. Her hoodie was slung over the back of the chair - packed, mostly. She could feel it there like a countdown.

Amy had taken the middle seat again.

She always did, unconsciously. Like the space between Void and Keira was the safest place in the world - buffered on both sides by softness and menace. She sat curled inward, knees angled together, cardigan sleeves pulled just past her wrists. The sleeves weren't for warmth - they were a softer form of protection she learned back at her biological parents' place.

She was making lunch with meticulous care. Bread laid out flat. Knife cleaned between spreads. Ingredients stacked in deliberate order, like if she followed the steps correctly, nothing bad could happen. Void watched her hands for a long time before speaking.

"So," Void said casually, lifting her mug, "how's the amateur psychopharmacology arc going?"

Amy's knife froze mid-air.

The tomato slice wobbled, then slapped back onto the cutting board with a soft, wet sound.

"I- What?" Amy blinked, wide-eyed, resembling a person been caught shoplifting with her entire brain.

Keira, lounging to Amy's left, barked out a laugh. She was leaned back in her chair, one heavy arm draped over the backrest, posture loose in that way that only came from someone who'd never once in her life been told to sit properly and cared. "She means your mushroom obsession."

Amy's cheeks flushed instantly, pink blooming up her neck like a heat map. "I'm not obsessed."

Void's grin sharpened. "Kid, you asked me for three separate papers on enzymatic dephosphorylation pathways. That's obsession-adjacent."

"I asked for context," Amy shot back, voice pitching higher with indignation. "You're the one who dumped an entire archive on me."

"Because you asked," Void said sweetly. "And because I'm a good influence."

Keira snorted. "You're a terrible influence."

"Debatable," Void replied. "I'm alive."

Amy huffed, gathering herself. "I'm not doing anything reckless, okay?" she insisted. "I'm just... Reading. Learning. Hypothetically."

Void tilted her head. "Hypothetically synthesizing psilocybin derivatives in our old workshop."

"I am not synthesizing anything!" Amy protested, then faltered, quieter. "I just... Wanted to know what I'd be putting in my body. If I ever did. But... The more time I spend with you two..." She swallowed. "...the less I feel I need it."

Something in that sentence landed hard.

Void's grin softened, edges dulling, as she gave Keira a knowing look. "Yeah," she said. "That tracks."

Keira leaned forward, elbows hitting the table with a soft thud. "She woke me up last night only to ask whether solvent polarity counts as 'vibes-based chemistry.'"

Amy spun on her. "You said it was a good question!"

"It was," Keira said immediately, unrepentant. "I just also enjoy bullying you."

Void laughed - then sucked in a breath when her ribs complained. She ignored it, as usual. "Look at you," she said, nodding at Amy. "Almost a month ago you wouldn't even say a word without thinking it's some kind of a crime."

Amy straightened a little, shoulders squaring despite herself. "Almost a month ago I didn't think I was allowed to live."

The air shifted.

Keira stilled first, her grin fading into something more thoughtful. Void's mug paused halfway to her lips.

"Yeah," Void insisted quietly, after a beat. "Well. You are."

"And we're happy you're with us," Keira added.

Amy's mouth twitched. Not enough to qualify as a smile, but close nevertheless.

They ate after that. Slowly. No one rushed. The clink of cutlery against plates filled the spaces where words didn't need to be. Keira chewed too loudly. Amy nudged her foot under the table in protest. Void pretended not to notice how often Amy glanced at her hoodie.

The normalcy was dangerous. Void felt it like a thin layer of ice underfoot - beautiful, but ultimately fragile, just begging to crack.

Keira broke the silence with a long, theatrical groan. "I still can't believe Luxy managed to turn a fucking MIKE into a charcoal briquette."

Void glanced up. "She was drunk. It's a miracle she could aim at all."

"It was burnt," Keira insisted, warming to the topic. "Not shorted. Not fried. Just fucking burnt. The inside looked like someone took a flamethrower to it and then got bored halfway through."

Amy frowned. "How does that even happen?"

"Feedback loop from hell," Keira said. "Some idiot - likely Luxy herself - bypassed the thermal limiter because 'performance.' Actuators overheated, insulation melted, fused itself to the chassis. I had to peel it apart millimeter by millimeter like I was defusing a bomb."

Void smirked. "And you still fixed it."

"Barely. And she complained the entire time, like she usually does," Keira said. "Asked if it'd be cheaper to 'just live with the tremor.'"

Amy's face pinched. "That's... Dangerous."

"And stupid, Keira agreed. Then, more quietly: "So is a lot of shit people decide they can tolerate."

Void felt that sentence settle somewhere deep in her chest, heavier than it had any right to be.

Keira's gaze slid to her - sharp, assessing. "Speaking of tolerating dangerous shit," she said, casual but not fooled, "you packed yet?"

Void leaned back, lacing her fingers behind her head. "Mostly."

Amy's hands stilled around her glass. "You don't have to go so soon."

Void met her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I kinda do."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward, more like... Dense. Pressurized. Like everyone at the table was circling the same unspoken truth from different angles.

"It's fucking prototype tech, Void" Keira said at last. "This neural link thing. Experimental. Unstable. And that Freya chick?" She scoffed. "Don't fuckin' trust her. Not. A. Bit."

Void's jaw tightened. "She's annoying," she said. "Not stupid."

"She's both," Keira shot back. "And she works for some shadow shit-org that trades in narrative warfare. That's the complete opposite of comforting. That's a red flag bigger than my tits."

Amy swallowed. "What if something goes wrong?"

Void shrugged, but the motion was smaller than usual. "Then it goes wrong."

"That's not an answer," Amy said, voice trembling now. "T-that's you pretending you're not scared."

Void opened her mouth - ready with a dozen sharp deflections - and then closed it again.

Because she was scared.

Not of pain, not even of dying. She was scared of losing herself - the part she'd carved out with nothing but discipline, stubbornness, and unaugmented flesh. The part she'd inherited from Aura. Letting someone open her skull and wire something deemed unstable into it felt like surrender. Like admitting that she wasn't enough on her own anymore.

But she couldn't put that on them.

"I'll be fine," she said instead. "Always am."

Amy stood suddenly and crossed the space between them, arms wrapping around Void's middle with careful urgency. Void stiffened - then relaxed, one arm coming up automatically, protective.

"I hate when you say that," Amy whispered. "It makes it sound like you don't care whether you come back."

Void rested her chin lightly against Amy's hair. "I care, Cherry," she said softly. "More than you think."

Keira joined them without ceremony, big arms enclosing both like a barricade. "You better," she muttered. "I'm absolutely not emotionally equipped to lose you."

Void huffed out a breath that might've been a laugh. Who knows, might've been something else entirely.

The group hug dissolved the way all fragile things did - not cleanly, and not at all simultaneously.

Amy pulled back first, a bit embarrassed by her own boldness, fingers lingering for half a second too long against Void's hoodie before retreating. Keira let go last, her hands slipping away reluctantly, like she was releasing something she didn't trust the world to keep intact.

Void cleared her throat and reached for her mug again, mostly to give her hands somewhere to go. The tea had gone lukewarm.

"So," she said, forcing lightness into her voice as if it hadn't just been choked out of her. "Anyone want to talk about literally anything else before you start drafting my eulogy?"

Amy gave a weak, offended noise. "That's not funny."

Keira shrugged. "It's a little funny."

Void smirked at her. "Thank you very much."

They settled back into their seats, but the table felt different now - something had been cracked open and left exposed. Amy fiddled with the edge of her plate, not eating anymore. Keira rolled her shoulders, restless, jaw working like she had something sharp stuck between her teeth.

Keira was the one who broke first - again.

"Talk me through it again," she said, eyes on Void. "The neural link - but please none of that brochure bullshit."

Void exhaled slowly. She'd been expecting this. Dreading it, even. "It's not a commercial implant just yet," she said. "From what I've found out in the datasheets - it's a direct cortical interface. No buffer layer, and - like usually it goes with prototypes - no consumer-grade safety rails yet."

Amy's fingers curled tighter.

"They map the motor cortex, sensory feedback loops, executive function regions," Void continued. "Then they insert the link node directly against the dura. It doesn't replace anything - it listens. Tunes in with the thoughts. Talk directly to the brain. Comes with a datashard interface too."

Keira grimaced. "That sounds... Intimate."

"It is," Void said. "That's the point. I'm also gonna get a Microtech Hydra biomon as a bonus. Required for the link to function. Void's eyes lit up for a millisec, "Kinda excited about it."

"And if it doesn't like you?" Keira pressed.

Void shrugged again, smaller this time. "Then we find out how fast Trauma Team reacts to catastrophic neural rejection."

Amy went pale. "Void!"

"I'm kidding," Void said quickly, then added "Mostly. Chill out, this isn't the Deus Ex universe. No Nu-Poz required."

Keira leaned forward, elbows planted hard on the table. "Fuck! This is Freya's doing. All of it. She dangles prototype hardware like candy and suddenly you're boarding a plane."

Void bristled. "I was already heading there eventually."

"Not like this," Keira shot back. "Not rushed. Not while you're still healing."

Void snapped, "I'm fine."

Keira's eyes flashed. "You're functional. That's not the same thing."

The room tightened once more.

Amy looked between them, panic flickering. "P-lease... Don't fight."

Void closed her eyes briefly, dragging a hand down her face. "We're not fighting," she muttered. "We're... Calibrating."

Keira scoffed. "You calibrate machines. This is you."

Void met her gaze. "Exactly."

Silence again.

Amy finally spoke, reluctantly. "I don't like her either."

Both of them looked at her.

"Freya," Amy clarified. "She talks like everything is a game. Like consequences are just... Aesthetic."

Void tilted her head. "You noticed that too, huh?"

Amy nodded. "People like that scare me. They don't feel things until it's too late."

Keira exhaled sharply through her nose. "Fucking thank you. Finally, someone else says it."

Void stared down at the table. "She's not wrong about Zetatech," she said. "And she's not wrong about the link making things easier. Plus, if I pull this off, we're all gonna be set for life."

Keira's voice dropped. "You don't do things because they're easy. And you were never in it for the money. What got into you?"

Void swallowed.

"No," she admitted. "I do them because they're necessary."

Amy leaned forward. "Is it necessary... Or is it you trying to outrun something?"

She struck a nerve.

Void's instinct was to deflect, to sharpen her tongue and cut the question in half. But she didn't. She sat there, shoulders tense, jaw locked, staring at the tile, searching them for answers.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I just know that staying still feels worse."

Keira rubbed at her face, tired. "Night City chews people up. Especially ones who think they can't be chewed."

Void smiled faintly. "I don't think that."

Keira looked at her. "Good. Because that'd be stupid."

Amy reached out, tentative, resting her hand over Void's knuckles. "You don't have to prove anything," she said. "Not to Freya. Not to anyone."

Void squeezed her hand back, grounding herself in the warmth. "I know."

But part of her - the ugly, honest part - knew that wasn't entirely true.

She did have something to prove. To herself. To the world that kept trying to put limits on what a person without implants could be. To the fear gnawing at the edges of her confidence, whispering that the game was changing and she might get left behind.

Keira pushed back from the table and stood, pacing twice. "If anything goes wrong," she said, stopping, "you call. I don't care if you don't want to wake me up or if you're drooling on the floor. You fucking call."

Void nodded. "Yeah."

"And if Freya starts pulling bullshit," Keira added, "you loop me in. I don't like not knowing who's holding the knife."

Void smirked faintly. "You always assume there's a knife."

"There always is," Keira replied flatly.

Amy stood too, suddenly decisive. "I'll keep your rig clean," she said. "No changes. No updates. Exactly how you like it."

Void smiled at her, something soft and aching in her chest. "Thanks, kid."

They lingered like that for a while - hovering, pretending they weren't counting minutes.

Eventually, Void grabbed her hoodie.

"I... Should go," she said.

Amy nodded, eyes glossy. Keira stepped aside to give her space, jaw tight.

At the door, Void paused, hand on the frame. "Hey," she said, not turning around. "You two... You did good. Taking care of each other. And me. Keep doing that."

Amy's voice wobbled. "You're not gone forever, right?"

Void glanced back, smile crooked and fierce. "Nah. NC's loud, but it's not louder than the both of you combined."

She stepped out.

The door slid shut, and the apartment felt immediately, profoundly emptier.