Detective Inspector Amber Rames investigates a series of murder cases in 2185 with the help of her new sergeant. Her attraction to him is hard to ignore, but having a relationship with a subordinate is illegal.
...
Zoe Ackerman ran from the glass skyscrapers, tears blurring her vision. Behind her, no lights shone in the grand duplex, but the privacy glass meant that they never did. Despite appearances, she knew everyone was still in there, merry on the aftertaste of Christmas.
A tram stopped at the end of the road, sleek steel glistening in the darkness. She reached the doors just before they closed and entered a cluster of commuters rich and poor, young and old, strong and weak. Trams were the only intercity transport for them all, and she hated it.
And how Ryker had laughed at her for that; mocked her wish for twenty-first century sports cars and segregation. What are you doing with a man like me, then?
I don't know, she'd always said.
But she'd always known.
The tram took her away from the neighbourhoods that were home, passing instead through the city centre of thumping music and gaudy neon shop lights, where party girls wore morphing tattoos and grinders sought out illegal cybernetics. She'd never liked the heart of the city either, but strangely, she liked downtown.
Ryker's part of downtown, anyway.
Eyebrows rose when she got off at the shadowed stop on Terra Road. Her face had already been recognised. She told herself that she didn't care what the journalists said, and yet she stood still until the tram had gone.
Tears came again as she crossed the rails towards the workshop. She shouldn't have come, but she knew Ryker would understand. He'd always understood.
Perhaps they could go back in time. Here, she would be in rags, not riches, and she'd forget to mind. If Ryker was working late now as he had done then, they would drink whisky and smoke real cigarettes. Afterwards, they would come out to the shadows and take a turn through the darkness like it was a garden.
She didn't see the next tram until its headlights were almost blinding her. Screaming, she threw herself off the rails, tripping into the alley by the workshop. Her palms landed on damp concrete, almost hitting an old hypodermic needle.
The tram raced past, stirring up a flutter of rubbish and then leaving her alone again. She stood on shaking legs, her heart thundering in her chest. But when the tram had faded into the shadows completely, her breathing eased.
Brushing away her tears, she extended her stride towards the workshop --
-- and was pulled back. A hand knotted in her hair. Her head tilted up, and she felt a tingle across her neck. Then something warm and wet gushed down it.
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