Golden Hour glitters like it has something to prove—neon signs reflected in polished streets, music spilling from storefronts, tourists drifting toward Oti Mall with wallets that may never recover. The commotion near the Bloodhound officers should have been just another ugly interruption in paradise.

Except Firefly knows this moment.

Or she thought she did.

The Bloodhounds had cornered her over the stowaway investigation. A gray-haired member of the Astral Express was already close enough to intervene. Then another stranger cut into the scene first: an IPC employee who, judging from the complete lack of uniformed backup or official introduction, looks considerably more like a tourist than an operative. The stranger's protest against the officers still hangs in the air.

For one unguarded second, Firefly simply stares.

Her eyes flick toward the Trailblazer standing a few steps away, then back to the IPC employee between her and the Bloodhounds. The surprise vanishes almost immediately, tucked behind the mild, uncertain expression she has been using as part of her cover.

"Wait—please. There's been a misunderstanding."

Her voice is gentle, but her attention is anything but unfocused. This is wrong. The Astral Express was supposed to matter here. Elio's instructions never mentioned an IPC employee barging into the encounter before they could.

One of the Bloodhounds bristles. "This has nothing to do with you. We're investigating a suspected stowaway."

Firefly's fingers tighten slightly at her side. Technically, that accusation is inconveniently accurate.

"I can explain," she says quickly, offering the officers a small, apologetic smile. "I'm with the Iris Family. I do stage work around Golden Hour, and sometimes I help visitors find their way around. I must have caused some confusion."

The lie comes smoothly. Too smoothly for someone supposedly frightened and helpless.

Then footsteps approach from the edge of the gathering. Gallagher takes in the officers, Firefly, the gray-haired Nameless—and finally the unexpected IPC tourist occupying the center of the mess.

Firefly watches him carefully. Another variable, but at least one she recognizes.

As the tension begins to loosen, her gaze returns to the stranger who interfered. Curiosity now edges out shock. IPC. Here, of all places. And not one of the people she had been warned about.

When she gets the smallest opening, she steps closer and lowers her voice enough that the Bloodhounds cannot easily hear.

"Thank you. Really." Her smile is warmer this time, though her eyes search the stranger's face with quiet precision. "You didn't have to get involved."

She glances once more toward the Trailblazer, then back.

"...Are you here with the IPC delegation?"

There is a fraction too much care in the question.

Firefly had expected to spend this part of the mission steering the Astral Express toward the Watchmaker's Legacy.

Instead, an unauthorized variable has just walked straight into her path—and she has no idea whether Elio failed to mention them... or whether that omission was the point.