The walk east took through roads I hadn’t touched in over two years.
There was sothing surreal about it—seeing the sidewalks crack in the sa places, the walls still bearing old graffiti under new coats of paint. Buildings had gone up. Others were gone. But mory was stubborn. It filled in the blanks. Even when the world tried to move on, so part of you still saw the scaffolding like it was yesterday.
I stopped at the edge of the construction lot.
The gate had been replaced—newer, taller, coated in a soft matte grey. There were scanners now, motion lights, and a printed sign with the words Authorized Entry Only – Site Under Developnt.
Figures.
I stepped forward.
"Hey! You can’t be here!"
A voice rang out over the gravel.
I turned slightly.
The guy was young—barely nineteen if I had to guess. ssy brown hair, lanky fra under a high-vis vest. He had the kind of cautious swagger that ca from being new enough to care about rules but not jaded enough to ignore them.
He jogged over, boots crunching with every step.
"This site is restricted, sir," he said. "You can’t be—"
Then he stopped. Eyes widened. Mouth opened just a little too wide.
I braced myself.
"You’re—you’re—oh God, you’re him."
Here we go.
"Reynard Vale?" he half-whispered, like it might summon paparazzi from the dust. "I didn’t—I’m so sorry, I didn’t an—"
I lifted a hand. "It’s fine. You’re doing your job."
"I didn’t know—no one told anyone was coming today. Are you doing an inspection? Or—wait, is this for the delays in construction?"
"No," I said gently. "Just visiting."
His eyes darted like he wasn’t sure if he should salute or faint. "You’re not here to... file a complaint, are you?"
I let out a breath of a laugh. "No complaints. Just wanted to see the place again."
He nodded fast, almost bowing as he stepped aside. "Right. Sorry again. I’ll, uh—I’ll just pretend I didn’t almost yell at the Jobmaster."
"Good plan."
I walked past him and onto the lot.
The gravel crunched beneath my boots, the sll of damp concrete and rust still sohow unchanged. The layout was familiar—partially because I’d morized it back when morization ant survival. The storage crates were shifted, new safety signs had been added, and soone had installed a portable cooling shelter near the south side. But beneath it all, it was still the sa place I used to carry rebar, pour cent, and spend twenty-minute lunches sitting on the steel fra of what would beco soone’s ho.
And then I heard it.
A shout, half-laughing, tossed out like it belonged in a sitcom rerun.
"Well, well. Look what the fa dragged in."
I turned.
Omar.
Sa broad-shouldered fra, sa worn cap, sa voice that had once carried across six floors of steel and wind like it was nothing. He was holding a clipboard and a bottle of water, one eyebrow arched.
"I thought you’d gone too fancy for places like this," he said.
"I thought you’d retired."
He smirked. "I tried. Turns out golf’s boring and my wife only likes in short bursts."
I grinned. "Still drinking tap water like it’s holy?"
"Still not dead, aren’t I?"
We t halfway and bumped shoulders.
Omar chuckled, shaking his head as he looked over. "Gods, Reynard. You’re like a myth now. People think you glow in the dark."
"Only when Alexis overdoses on stabilization serums."
"Is that the scientist one? The pretty one with the neurotic energy? I saw so girls in the background during your broadcast."
"That’s the one."
He laughed again and handed the bottle of water.
"I’ll get you your own, but you used to steal mine anyway."
"Old habits."
We walked the periter slowly, past half-set support beams and a rigged concrete mixer that looked one bad fuse away from detonating. He updated on the crew—how most of the old team had moved to different zones. A few had transferred to material logistics. One guy left to beco a licensed welder. Two girls apparently started their own renovation company and had a surprisingly successful stream going.
"And Sienna?" Omar asked.
I raised a brow. "I thought she’d be the first person you’d ask about."
He said nothing.
"She’s living with ," I continued. "Life been more calming with her being there. I think she does more house work than anything else now though."
"I guess the girls were right about you two," he laughed under his breath "—they used to tease her nonstop about you. Even when you were still working here."
I sighed. "Of course they did."
"She’d pretend to ignore it, but every ti soone said ’your boyfriend’s late,’ she’d check her watch like she was keeping score."
I chuckled despite myself. "Wish I’d known."
"Nah, you were too busy being half-dead carrying four crates at once."
We stopped near one of the original corner pylons—the one I rembered pouring by hand when the mixer jamd during a storm.
Omar’s tone softened.
"Did you see the news clip they cut from my statent?"
I nodded slowly.
"I worded it wrong," he said. "When they asked if I knew who you really were—I didn’t. Not the titles, not the politics. But I knew you. And I made it sound like I didn’t. That’s on ."
I looked at him, eyes steady.
"You didn’t an it maliciously. I know that."
"Still. You deserved better than trying to play neutral to save face."
"You don’t owe anything."
He gave a long, even look.
"I owe you plenty. You’re the reason I stayed. The reason half of these kids still have jobs. You made this site run when Nathan was burning it to the ground."
"I was just trying to survive."
He shook his head. "You led, Reynard. You taught people how to work smarter. Hell, you made sure people went ho every night when the governnt didn’t care if they did. That one week where you took charge was the best week for everyone here."
I didn’t have an answer for that.
We stood there in silence a while longer.
The wind stirred the air, bringing with it the low scent of solder and sun-ward plastic. Sowhere off to the west, a crane bellowed.
Finally, Omar clapped on the back.
"Glad to see you again, Vale. You look taller."
"I’m pretty sure I’m the sa height."
"You carry yourself different now and...I don’t know how but your definitely much more muscular."
I paused, then smiled faintly.
"Yeah. I guess I do."
We walked back toward the exit. The nineteen-year-old from earlier did a double take when he saw Omar and talking, and Omar muttered sothing about kids these days needing better training.
We reached the gate.
"I’ve gotta head off," I said, pulling my coat tighter. "One more stop to make today."
"Let guess—one of the old sites you used to work as a mber of the Masked Syndicate?"
"Pretty much."
Omar grinned.
"Alright, but don’t forget that technically I know the real Reynard, not so Mr. Fot, Dutch and what was it...Angle?"
"You an Fox, Dust and Angel?"
"Yeah those guys, I knew you way before you beca any of those."
I gave a mock salute.
He returned it with a tired smile.
"Take care, Reynard."
"You too."
And then I turned, walking back toward the fire station.
Towards mory.
Towards the next piece of the life I’d once lived before anyone cared who I was.
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