Nico woke up at 0530, hands already shaking.
The vape pen was on the nightstand. Always within reach. He took a hit before his eyes were fully open.
Breakfast hit. Just to function. Just to stop the shaking.
By 0600, he was reviewing financial reports and the shaking was back. Another hit.
By 0700, meeting with Kade about supply chain issues. His focus kept drifting. Another hit to sharpen up.
By 0800, the first petitioners were arriving. He needed to be present, attentive, helpful. Another hit.
Four hits before 0900. That was new.
Well, not new. Just... more than yesterday. Less than tomorrow would be.
"You're using a lot lately," Kade observed during a brief break.
"No more than usual."
"You took three hits during our meeting alone."
"I was stressed."
"You're always stressed." Kade's voice was carefully neutral. "I'm not judging. Just... noticing."
Nico waved him off. "I've got it under control."
The lie sat between them like a third person.
By noon, Nico had lost count of his hits. Six? Eight? The vape cartridge was half-empty and he'd replaced it fresh that morning.
The petitioners kept coming. Each one a crisis. Each one needing his full attention.
The baby formula mother from yesterday was back: her landlord was now threatening eviction for late rent.
A man whose medical treatment Nico had funded was facing complications, needed more expensive care.
The teenager with the expunged record had been beaten by SSS in retaliation, needed legal help.
One problem solved created two more. Hydra heads growing faster than he could cut them.
And every new problem sent his stress higher, which sent his hand to the vape pen, which dulled the stress just enough to keep functioning.
Functional addict. That's what Maya had called it.
Functioning. For now.
"Uncle Nico, you look pale," Lin said during the afternoon session. "When did you last eat?"
He couldn't remember. This morning? Yesterday?
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're running on stimulants and anxiety." Lin pushed a bowl of soup at him. "Eat. Or I'll tell everyone you're too sick to take petitions."
The soup was good. His stomach rebelled anyway.
Another hit to settle his system.
"That's not food," Lin said.
"It helps me focus."
"It helps you avoid feeling what you're feeling. That's not the same thing."
"Right now, I'll take it."
He took another petition. And another. The vape pen a constant presence in his hand.
By 1800, the day's audiences were done. Nico sat alone in the back room, reviewing what he'd committed to:
Fifteen new obligations. 22,000 credits in aid. Three legal interventions that would require calling in favors.
And he'd gone through two full vape cartridges.
Medical-grade Veil. Triple-concentrated. Enough to keep six casual users high for a week.
He'd consumed it in one day.
The third cartridge sat on the table. Unopened. Accusing.
Maya found him like that—staring at the cartridge, hands shaking.
"How many today?" she asked.
"Two."
"Don't lie to me."
"Two and a half."
She sat beside him. "Nico..."
"I need it. To function. To think clearly. To be what they need me to be."
"You need it because you're addicted. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't matter why I need it. Just that I do."
Maya took his shaking hands in hers. "Do you remember when we were twenty? Before the Veil got bad? You were so smart. So present. You felt everything deeply—too deeply sometimes—but you were there. Really there."
"That person couldn't handle this," Nico said. "Couldn't sit through thirty-seven petitions a day. Couldn't make life-or-death decisions about who gets help. Couldn't carry the weight of thousands of people."
"Maybe that person wouldn't have to. Maybe that person would have said no sometimes. Built systems instead of being the system."
"Well, that person's gone. This is who I am now."
"An addict using more every day to avoid feeling the weight of impossible responsibility you've taken on yourself."
"Yes."
The honesty of it sat between them.
"How long until you're using as much as Kade was?" Maya asked. "How long until I find you blue and unresponsive in a tunnel somewhere?"
"I'm more careful than Kade."
"Kade thought he was careful too."
Nico pulled his hands back, reached for the third cartridge. Maya didn't stop him.
"I love you," she said quietly. "But I can't watch you kill yourself slowly. And I can't save you if you don't want to be saved."
"I don't want to be saved. I want to help people."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"They are when helping people requires me to be functional eighteen hours a day. When every decision affects hundreds of lives. When—" His voice cracked. "When stopping means all of this falls apart."
"It's going to fall apart anyway. The money's running out. Corporate's pushing back. You can't sustain this."
"Then I'll sustain it as long as I can."
He loaded the third cartridge into his vape pen. Took a hit.
The warmth spread. The shaking stopped. The weight lifted just enough to breathe.
Temporary. Chemical. Necessary.
"I'm not trying to die," Nico said. "I'm just trying to survive until tomorrow. That's all any of this is. Survival, one day at a time."
"That's what all addicts say."
"Yeah? Maybe all addicts are right."
Maya stood. "When you're ready to get help—real help—I'm here. But I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you consume yourself and pretend it's noble."
She left.
Nico sat alone with his vape pen and his tablet full of obligations and his shaking hands that only stopped shaking when he was high.
Tomorrow there would be more petitioners. More problems. More hits.
The pattern was clear. Undeniable. Accelerating.
But tomorrow was tomorrow.
Tonight, he had enough Veil to keep the shaking at bay.
And that was all that mattered.
One hit at a time.
One day at a time.
Until the money ran out or his body gave out or Corporate shut him down.
Whichever came first.
Probably.