Javier, as always, was busy reading off messages. “Admiral Gates would like you to put in a word to the Ellegian News Network about the Vescentian riots.”

“He wouldn’t like the word I’d use. Ignore,” said Fiearius abruptly as he crossed the room. His loyal crew gave him a chorus of grunts as greeting and Maya said, “Extras in the kitchen, cap’n.”

Leta had found that Fiearius was hardly present on the Dionysian’s lower decks anymore. Instead, he was constantly occupied in the bridge, sending out orders to his fleet scattered across the Span. But he did make a point of sharing meals with them whenever he could. She’d been here all of a week and hardly seen him save for breakfasts, dinners and an occasional late night drink before he got back to work.

Still, few as those moments had been, Leta couldn’t deny she’d appreciated them.

Unintentionally, she met his eyes as he passed towards the kitchen and he smirked. She returned it with a tilt of her head before going back to her food.

Meanwhile, Javier went on. “Parés is asking for more ships again.”

“Ignore.”

“Arsen requests you pull your people out of the eastern front on Ascendia.”

“Ignore.”

“Commander Lirien wants to know if he can see you again.”

“Ignore.”

“Quin’s got a status update on the west Ascendia operation.”

Leta heard Fiearius heave a deep sigh. “Alright, hit me.”

“Area acquired, ten lost, thirty wounded.”

Beside Leta, Richelle sucked in a breath through her teeth and shared a solemn glance with Maya over the table.

“She’s awaiting further instructions,” Javier finished as Fiearius exited the kitchen and took his place at the end of the table. Leta observed him quietly as he brandished his fork without touching the food. He looked tired, but he always looked tired these days. Now, it was almost as if he was so tired, it didn’t phase him anymore.

And in fact, he sounded appropriately numb when he said, “Send a message to the Carthian lead in Ascendia proper, get shuttles out there for the injured. Tell Quin to take a break and head back to the CORS. I’ll meet her there when I can.”

Javier nodded and made a note on his tablet dutifully before finally sitting down himself and placing the thing aside, face down. An important part of the daily ritual, Leta had noticed. No messages, no contact, no disasters. Just for an hour.

“So,” Fiearius began suddenly, his tone a lot lighter, though perhaps forcedly so. “How’s my dear crew doing? Being nice to our guest?” He gestured towards Leta.

“Leta’s not a guest,” Javier flared up at once. “She’s family.”

Fiearius glanced over at her and upon catching his eye, she raised her brows expectantly. Yeah, she thought, what do you have to say about that?

But Fiearius just grinned and amended, “Of course, sorry. Being nice to our estranged cousin? Distant aunt? Prodigal daughter?”

Leta noticed Maya rolled her eyes, but Richelle was the one who answered, “Just fine, cap’n.”

“You forget your crew doesn’t have the detriments of your sparkling personality,” put in Leta to which he grunted a laugh.

On the other side of the table, Eve was all business. “So we’re headed for Ascendia, cap’n?” she asked.

“Not quite,” Fiearius answered. “Ascendian cluster, but not Ascendia itself. Got a very important target to take care of.” He caught Leta’s eye briefly, as though to ensure she didn’t elaborate on that any further. Apparently he didn’t even trust his mission to assassinate the Society Councillors to his crew.

Though Eve might have not taken that hint. “What’s the target?” she asked. “When can you brief me?”

Leta saw Fiearius’ awkward grimace before he brushed it aside and told her patiently, “Actually, you won’t be coming with me. Sorry, Harper. This one’s a little different.”

But if he wasn’t taking Eve, Leta realized —

“You’re going in alone on this?” she demanded.

To her surprise, he made the same expression as before, as though caught in a compromising position. “Not…exactly,” he admitted.

Before Leta could question him, a voice rang out behind her that made her jump. “Is this the kind of right moment you told me to wait for?”

She knew who it was before she even turned around to find the bulky shape of Desophyles Cordova leaning in the doorway. Leta wasn’t even the only one surprised.

“Where the hell did he come from?” Maya demanded, her eyes wide.

“Boarded when you dropped off the cute little family yesterday,” Dez answered. “Your captain didn’t think anyone else needed to know, though.” He looked back to Fiearius. “So was this it? The right moment?”

Fiearius had his head in his hand looking rather uncomfortable. “Maybe?” He ventured a glance at Leta, perhaps expecting her to explode at him, but Leta didn’t explode. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even feel a particularly strong urge to get up and leave the room.

Instead, all she could manage was a groan. “Are you kidding me?”

“Speaking of uncharted terraform,” Addy said suddenly, “I suppose I should talk about why we’re here.”

“Ah yes.” Eriaas leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass of perfectly vinted wine to his lips. “The Archeti project, yes? You’re still on that?”

Was that supposed to be a slight? Even if it was, Addy remained unphased. Frankly, she was better at this than he thought. Her willingness to ‘play the game’ and her cajoling charm was reminding him unpleasantly of his brother.

“ — and we’ve got the infrastructure of New Genisi nearly ready to go,” she was saying to him, her voice smooth and light like she could think of no better way to spend her evening. “We’re starting to build at last.”

“That’s fantastic!” Eliaas cried, lifting his wine glass to them. “I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned forward on the table and lifted a brow at her. “Don’t need my money anymore then, huh?”

Addy opened her mouth, then closed it. “Well — “ but Eliaas cut her off with a laugh.

“I jest, I jest, my dear. You know I’m more than happy to help you out.”

Cyrus caught Addy’s eye briefly as she grinned at him, relieved.

“What happened to that poor planet is awful,” Eliaas sighed. “As long as a remarkable mind like yours is on the job, I’m more than happy to assist in any way I can.” And then — Cyrus watched it, as though in slow motion — he caught Addy’s hand in his.

Cyrus stared fixedly, unable to help himself, as Eliaas’ thumb ran over the back of Addy’s hand. He probably shouldn’t have been mad. He had no legitimate claim on Addy. They had a daughter together, they lived together, they worked together, they were ‘together’ in the very broad sense of the word, but if she wanted a handsome rich guy to squeeze her palm like that, something that was, in effect, harmless, that was her choice. Right?

And yet when he glanced down at Kalli who, surprisingly, was staring at them too with her usual wide-eyed wonder, he couldn’t help himself.

“It might assist if you’d actually visit the planet for once,” he said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. Everyone turned to Cyrus, awed. Addy’s hand was freed now and holding the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes narrowed with warning.

Cyrus felt a rush of embarrassment, but he went on strongly, “I don’t know, having an actual investor on the ground could help a lot. Help morale, help order, help get things done…”

His voice trailed off as everyone else in the room continued to stare at him blankly. Addy pursed her lips and gave him a stern look that he recognized without question: he was in trouble.

But fortunately, it was Eliaas who broke the silence at last. “Maybe,” he said lightly, and then added, “But I’m afraid my schedule is booked for quite some time. I’m a busy man, you understand. Can’t just be making visits to all of my benefactors.” He grinned his sparkling grin and refilled his wine glass.

The gesture made Cyrus want to punch that stupid grin right off his face.

But before he had the chance, the attention was gone. Eliaas lifted Addy’s hand to his lips, said, “Perhaps one day, you’ll visit me for a reason other than investments?” and kissed it.

Cyrus suppressed a groan. It was going to be a long night.

———

“We smoked ‘em. Smoked ‘em good. Cap’n had the whole place locked down in minutes, shoulda seen it.” Rhys described the event with all the tenacity of a man a few drinks deep, his hands making grand gestures in the air and his eyes lit with inspiration. “Shoulda been there, Lena.”

“Leta,” Leta corrected, amused.

Eve, seated at her side, scoffed a laugh. “Don’t think our doc woulda cared for it much, Rhys. Not a lot of raids I cared for myself…” She shook her head and took a long sip from her glass. “Good work though. We’re doin’ good work. Believe that with all my heart.” She nodded firmly and Leta smiled.

“That base was turned into a refugee camp. Its housing hundreds of displaced families now, so I’ve heard. It is good work.” Whether or not it would remain good in the long run, she couldn’t be sure, but after the past week, Leta was tired of dwelling on politics. For now, she was much more interested in hearing about the heroics of old friends.

“Know what though, doc, cap’n ever tell ya ‘bout the first land on Ascendia?” Eve asked suddenly. Leta raised her brows and shook her head. Eve’s eyes lit up, she cast a glance at Rhys who squirmed in his chair with excitement, and started to tell the tale.

It was strange, Leta thought, being back on the Dionysian again, lounging around the mess hall as the ship plummeted across the Span, chatting with its permanent fixtures. A lot had changed since her time aboard. Without Cyrus, Corra, Nikkolai, Amora…It was quieter. The crew was small. The air was a little harsher than it used to be, more serious. This ship had seen a lot, Leta knew, in the past five years. Things it wouldn’t soon recover from.

But there was still Rhys with his ill-advised drinking. Still Eve, ever vigilant. Richelle, who had blossomed into a capable engineer, was helping Maya who had, of all things, taken cooking lessons from Fiearius in his few spare moments. It was easy to tell, Leta thought as the woman laid a plate in front of her on the table, given just how spicy it smelled.

Leta hadn’t realized how much she had missed this place.

“Are you telling the Ascendia story again?” Maya asked as she sat down across the table. “We’ve heard it a thousand times.”

“Leta hasn’t,” defended Eve.

“They snuck around for a few days and then took over city hall, just her and the cap’n and a couple Carthians, it was very impressive,” Maya spoiled with her usual dosage of snark.

Eve growled, “Better when I tell it…”

It was then that the faint sound of approaching footsteps met Leta’s ears. None of the others at the table looked up from their meals, this was such a clockwork occurrence to them, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the door as the ship’s captain and his assistant entered the room.

Finn tilted the murky bottle against his mouth, then thudded it onto the surface of the bar. It was either his fourth or ninth beer, but he couldn’t be sure — he’d let the hours bleed by, morning into afternoon. He knew he shouldn’t have been daydrinking, especially alone in a dive bar, but he decided he wasn’t just daydrinking alone. He was scheming. And thinking.

He had a lot of thinking time, after all, since he’d been kicked out — or forcibly removed, as Daelen would say — from his own ship three days ago. It was official now: led by Alyx, the Beacon had left without him.

It hadn’t been a ceremonious send-off. Finn had grabbed his jacket from his room, found his wallet, and left down the cargo bay ramp.

Still — when he pictured Alyx’s face, his stomach twisted into guilt. She’d probably never speak to him again. Now he had no vessel, no bridge to take charge of, no captain’s chair. He had nothing but some fraudulent credits to his name and, well, his current beer.

Surprisingly, the thought did not embitter him. He really had no bitterness left. Instead, he snorted an uneven laugh to himself as he swirled the last dregs of his bottle, watching the liquor swish around.

Behind him, the bar’s front door opened and shut, letting a warm breeze sweep in, followed by new voices.

” — usual, please, Reggie,” a man was saying to the bartender as he dropped into a stool. Finn spared the man a sideways glance and noted, with interest, that his wallet was visible in the pocket of his jacket.

Well, Finn thought, bemusedly, he had to start somewhere. Pick-pocketing wasn’t as glamorous as it was when he was in his young twenties, though — really, he should have been stealing ships, not loose change. He hadn’t hotwired and stolen a passenger vessel in years, but he supposed he could manage it. Maybe he’d head over to the docks …

The door opened and shut a second time. Another warm, sandy breeze blew through. Finn reached for his beer, ready to polish it off so he could leave and get to work — and then it happened. Mid-swig of his drink, he glanced toward the door and he could do nothing but cough up half his beer.

Eyes watering, hacking up his lungs, Finn could sense the bartender eyeing him oddly, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure who had just walked in the door.

She was petite and curvy, her black hair cut short. There was no mistaking those round doe-eyes anywhere.

“You’ve got,” Finn managed at last, “to be shitting me.”

Corra’s mouth curved into a tense smile as she slowly made her way towards him, her hands locked behind her back. “Hey there,” she greeted through a bit of a nervous chuckle. “Long time no see, huh?”

Finn stared. He was torn between the impulse to laugh and the impulse to yell, and in the end, his voice was toneless. “What’re you doing here?”

She broke eye contact with him and glanced awkwardly at the bar. “Getting a drink?” she guessed. “And looking for you of course.”

“How the hell did you even find me?”

“I’ve got people with eyes and ears all over. Plus you’re not too hard to track.” She slid onto the chair beside him, like they were old drinking buddies meeting up again, like old times, like nothing had changed. “Finn — I need to ask you. Do you know what the Transmission is?”

Finn slid a look toward his near-empty beer bottle. Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought. “What?”

“The Transmission,” she pressed. “It’s this old–I don’t know, tube thing? I don’t know what it does, but that’s what it’s called and–”

“No. What — are you kidding me?” Finn cut her off suddenly.

Corra looked surprised. “No? I–”

“Tell me you’re fucking kidding me,” Finn grunted, slapping his palm on the bar. “You disappear. For five years. After — god, the worst day of my life, without a fucking word. And you show up again to ask me a goddamned question about–what the fuck, Corra?”

Corra’s mouth fell open in shock, but then she clamped it shut again. Until, “Finn–”

“You’re ridiculous. And you came to find me because you need something? Corra.” He barked a dry laugh. “Whatever it is you need, you’ve come to the wrong person.”

Silence lapsed for a moment, and Finn wondered if she would get up and leave, disappearing again like a ghost, never to see her again. Then she said, “So you don’t know anything about it?”

Finn held the bridge of his nose with his fingers, overwhelmed and suddenly exhausted. He could not believe Corra was sitting at his side, after all this time, let alone demanding information from him.

“What did you say it was called? Transmission? No, I don’t know anything about it. What are you up to, Corra? Are you in trouble?”

Corra didn’t meet his eyes. “Maybe…” Before he had a chance to respond, she slid off her chair and tucked her arms behind her back. “It’s okay, I can take care of it. Thanks anyway. And–” She looked up at him, albeit briefly. “I’m sorry. For bothering you. And…” She swallowed hard and bowed her head a little. “Everything else.”

Just as she was turning to leave, Finn reached out and grabbed her arm to halt her.

“Hang on now. It’s been years. I know you’re some secret Conduit agent who can’t tell me anything now–” He ignored her sudden look of alarm at the company around them, “–but we can’t at least catch up a little?”

She looked hesitant and she was still poised towards the door, but then a memory flashed across her face and she said, “Oh, right, I wanted to ask. My contact tracked you here, but I didn’t see the Beacon anywhere in the docks. Where is she?”

Finn’s expression sunk a little. He had imagined a hypothetical situation in which he’d have to explain this to Corra one day, but it had been hypothetical. Now that she was standing in front of him, blinking innocently in his direction, the explanation came a lot harder…

“Yeah. About that…”

Her captor glowered and slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t you fuckin’ use that name you ungrateful shit.”

Corra recovered from the blow quickly, shaking off the blood from her mouth and looking up at him. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you,” she said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I hid it. I hid it in–” She mumbled something unintelligible and his face twisted in annoyance.

“Louder, kroppie, where is it?” he growled, but leaned in anyway.

“I hid it–” she mumbled again and this time he leaned closer. Just enough.

“ — Up your ass,” she finished shortly and, before he could react, she rocked back and forward again, slamming her head into his.

The man reeled backwards, clutching his head as Corra shifted forward, landing her feet square on the ground and lifting the chair she was still attached to behind her back. As the other man’s shock wore off and he came at her, she spun around and swung the legs of the chair right into his torso. He flew into the wall with a thud as she spun again, knocking the first man off his feet.

“Thanks, I got all I need,” she told them cheerfully before jumping as high as she could manage and letting herself (and her chair) fall on top of the one below her. The wood splintered and snapped apart on impact and she easily slipped out of the wreckage. The knife the man had been using glittered enticingly on the ground and she used it to slice away the ropes they had binding her while her captors groaned in pain, immobile for the time being.

Her bones protested as she headed for the door before that changed and her body felt the beginning stages of bruising, but there was no time to worry about her aches and pains. She had to get back to her ship and fast.

———————–

An agent of the Conduit had lent Corra the Spirit a few years ago for a single mission to a nearby planet. The ship was just big enough to carry her and just small enough to be hidden easily. Her dull grey exterior which blended in to practically any environment certainly helped. She’d often suspected the agent had wanted the Spirit back, but Corra had fallen in love with the tiny vessel the moment she first laid her hands on its controls. And conveniently, she had just happened to never run into that particular agent again…

Currently, she was parked amongst a heap of retired service shuttles in the city’s ancillary shipyard. No one noticed the small woman as Corra silently vaulted over the fence and made her way across the yard, finding easy cover amongst its residents.

She couldn’t get aboard the Spirit soon enough. She needed ice for her bruises, bandages for her cuts and more than anything, she needed to find that–that thing.

When she stumbled aboard into the small brightly-lit chamber of the ship, however, after the long run across the entire city, her first desire was to collapse on the cold metal ground in relief. She was safe, she’d made it, everything would be okay. But she forced herself onward to the storage area where she began digging through the cabinets.

When she’d taken care of Callahan and his men a few weeks ago, she had an urge to take something with her after the fact. She’d felt she deserved it, after all he’d done. After the hunt he’d lead her on. The ear was satisfying, she thought, as she found the jar she’d stored it in and pushed it aside. A little grim, but satisfying. Though not satisfying enough. There had been something else in that room that had caught her attention.

It had sat on his desk, glimmering at her enticingly. A deep red cylinder encased in some kind of golden cage, no bigger than her fist. It looked old. Perhaps even ancient. And honestly, it was just shiny. She’d figured she could sell the thing somewhere along the road when her credits ran dry.

But after tonight, she was convinced the thing was more than just the trinket she’d taken it for. Those men had certainly reacted when she’d said Callahan’s name, he definitely fit their description and this, she thought as she wrapped her fingers around the object and pulled it out of the cabinet into the light, was the only thing she’d taken from him.

The Transmission? She turned it over in her hand. What did that even mean?

Taking the object with her, she returned to the front of the ship and fell heavily into the pilot’s seat. Surely someone knew about this. Surely there was a trail here she could follow. A path to figure out what, exactly, she’d been storing on her ship unknowingly.

She tapped a command into her console and looked up at the screen that projected before her. Admittedly, it wasn’t the greatest search term. She scrolled through the results, finding nothing of interest before trying something else.

Well, those men had known what it was.

And sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the bounty on her. Corra whistled at the price. Whoever wanted this thing wanted it bad. But any mention of the ‘object’ that needed ‘retrieval’ was vague and unhelpful. She didn’t want to risk reaching out herself to find out more, but maybe someone else could. Maybe someone amongst her network could uncover more information. Maybe someone already knew, maybe–

And suddenly, a face came to her. A face surrounded by smoke and fire and ship debris, looking up at her with desperation, fear, concern.

Finn.

At once, it made sense. That was why he’d been there. He knew about the bounty. He’d come to the ship preview to warn her. And that meant…

She lifted the mysterious red tube to her eyes. He might know something about the Transmission too.

It was settled then. She wouldn’t be able to go back to Lars’ estate anyway, not like this. A beat-up ally would raise far too many questions. She’d put in a call to Raisa and have them expedite a rescue without her. It’d be more challenging and a lot more expensive, but she had faith that the work she’d done there and the information she’d gathered would lead it to be successful and her latest family would be free before the night ended.

So instead, she hit the switch to fire up the Spirit’s practically silent engines and tapped a few keys to make a call. “Hey,” she greeted when the line connected, “Sorry for the late hour, but I need to find someone.”

————

“So what, now you’re kicking me out?!” He sounded like he might laugh, but his eyes were humorless.

“You need help, help I can’t give you,” Alyx snapped. “Help that you’re sure as hell not gonna get here.” She took a deep breath and fixed him with a desperate stare. “So yeah, Finn. I am. Get the hell off my ship.”

————-

Corra’s feet landed with a loud thump on the marble flooring — louder than she’d anticipated. Freezing on the spot, she grimaced and peered down the hallway, praying that there were no figures lurking in the darkness to overhear. Or worse, see. She couldn’t imagine what someone might think observing Ranson Lars’ most obedient ally climbing through one of the mansion’s outer windows. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.

Fortunately, the coast seemed to be clear, all of the house’s staff and residents fast asleep by now. So as quickly as she’d entered, she straightened herself up and started toward the servant quarters as though that was what she’d been doing all along. If anyone asked, she’d simply remembered a task she’d neglected in the kitchen. And ideally, no one would have noticed she was even gone.

Admittedly, a few days before the big escape she had planned was not the best time to go sneaking off in the middle of the night. Usually, Corra wouldn’t have taken the risk. But when she’d heard the news feed describing a grim situation on Vescent earlier today while she served drinks to Lars’ guests, she couldn’t wait either.

It wasn’t safe to make a call on the mansion’s grounds, but Corra had discovered a quiet public console station only a few blocks away that allowed her to make the call to Leta discreetly. And she was glad she did.

“I know you can’t tell me where you are, but you’re safe, aren’t you?” Leta had pressed.

Corra had laughed grimly as she’d considered her current situation. Embedded as an ally and intent on staging a mass rescue in a few days. ‘Safe’ wasn’t a word she’d choose. Finally she’d muttered, “Safe enough. But I called to talk about you, not me. Tell me about Vescent. The news we heard here was a little skewed…”

“It was bad, Corra,” Leta sighed. “We had riots two years ago, but not as bad as this. I won’t be making it back there anytime soon … “

“So you’re staying on the Dionysian?” Corra couldn’t help but smirk at that, glad to know that even after all these years, she could still count on Fiearius to have as much invested in Leta’s safety as she did.

“I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not sleeping with Fiear.”

“I didn’t say anything! Nor would I,” Corra laughed. “Just making sure you’re okay is all. Are you hanging in there?”

Leta laughed. “Barely, but yes, I am,” she said, which was the most assurance Corra could have hoped for. Their calls were infrequent and never more than a few minutes, but she relished them.

Corra wouldn’t describe herself as lonely, exactly. How could she have been — she was constantly busy and surrounded by people. She enjoyed the company of the allies she worked to free. With each new ‘owner’ she situated herself under, she gained a new family of sorts.

And yet, none of her new families seemed able to fill the hole that had appeared in the center of her chest. No one had managed to come close to the kind of relationships she’d used to kindle and she still felt pangs of regret when her mind turned to Leta, to Cyrus, to Addy, Alyx, to Finn…

The image of Finn’s face came to her mind’s eye, staring up at her from the wreckage of that ship that had plowed into the grandstand. His voice calling out to her. Her sudden need to flee. She still didn’t know what he was doing there or how such a coincidence (if it even was one) could have occurred. But as much as she knew she had to get out of there at the time, there was a part of her now that wished she could have answered him…

She shook the thought from her mind as she gently eased open the door to the servant’s quarters and slipped into the hallway inside. There was no time to feel remorseful about days long past. She had a job to do and an important one at that. In two days, she’d be leading all of these people into freedom. Slipping up now wasn’t an option.

She was almost to the door to her assigned barracks when she noticed that she wasn’t the only one awake in this section of the mansion. Hushed whispers were coming from up ahead, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying and, in this darkness, she could see little more than featureless figures coming her way.

Corra slowed her pace, peering towards them as they entered into her view. They didn’t look like anyone she knew, nor did they hold themselves like allies. Guests of Lars? She didn’t like to imagine what some visiting dignitaries or businessmen would be looking for in the servant’s quarters at this hour. But they weren’t dressed nearly well enough to fall into Lars’ usual range of friends. And then, suddenly, their whispers silenced and they stopped where they stood.

Out of instinct, she too stopped. They’d seen her. And then one of them said a word she didn’t expect to hear: “Corra?”

They were–looking for her? And they knew her actual name? Lars’ people only knew her as Ava. Were they from the Conduit?

The two men were coming towards her as she tried to figure out what was going on. No one other than Raisa knew where to find her, perhaps she was trying to get in touch? Something must have been wrong for them to show up now.

Still, Corra stood defensively as they approached, holding her head high and keeping her hands firmly at her sides. “Corra?” one of the men asked again.

Corra regarded him carefully, unsure what the right answer was. If he was from the Conduit, she could tell the truth, but if not–

Unfortunately, she never got the chance to make her decision. Suddenly, the other man growled, “It’s her!”

Before she could think, a dark figure rushed towards her face, lifted his arm, and then everything went black.

“We can talk numbers in a bit, I’m still a little hesitant over what we discussed before, but maybe I can be convinced.”

“Finn, what is he –” Alyx whispered.

He jabbed his thumb back toward the door. “Shall we take the tour then? I’m excited to take a closer look.”

Finally, Finn managed to ask, “I’m sorry, have we–do I know you?”

At once, the man clapped his hand to his head. “Oh gracious, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” He seized Finn’s hand again. “Taros Lin. I’m the man who responded to your for sale ad? For the ship?”

Suddenly, alarm rose to Finn’s face.

Alyx felt her stomach drop. Her jaw followed. She spun around to Finn. “Your what?!” she demanded.

Guilt was written all over his features. “Alyx,” he muttered, “listen–”

“You’re selling the ship?!” she shouted over him “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Finn’s hand met his forehead. “It was a while ago. I just put up the ad, just to see, I didn’t really think–”

“Wait,” interjected the would-be buyer, looking stricken. “Are you no longer selling?”

“No,” Finn said decisively.

“But two days ago, you said–”

“Two days?!” Alyx snapped. “Oh, it was a while ago was it?”

“Alyx, c’mon–” Finn muttered.

“So what, you sell the ship, take your cash to go off and do as you please, what happens to the rest of us?” she growled.

“Excuse me–” began Taros Lin, but Alyx cut him off.

“You. Shut up. Get out,” she ordered sharply. “You’re not buying this ship.”

The man pursed his lips, but made to do as he was told anyway. That is, until Finn, his expression suddenly shifting from apology and guilt to pure anger, countered, “No. Stay here. It’s not your call, Alyx.”

“Not my call?!”

Finn’s glare hardened. “It’s my ship, you know I could sell it if I want to.”

“So you’re okay putting eighty people out of work? Out of a home?!”

“If I have to.”

“Have to?!”

“Alyx, all you’ve been telling me is how the ship is falling apart, how we’re behind on payment and schedules. I wanted to see what the ship would go for and split it with everyone. I was just keeping the option open!”

Keep the option open? Alyx could hardly believe her ears. She didn’t even have a response, finding herself only able to stare at Finn in complete disbelief. If he cared so much about Corra, she had to wonder what Corra would think, hearing this? How would she feel knowing that the ship she had worked so hard to build was so easily written off by the man she’d left in charge of it?

Not that it mattered what Corra thought. Corra wasn’t here. Alyx was here. And Alyx was angry.

Finn, oblivious, turned back to the Taros Lin. “You want to buy this ship? Make me an offer. A real offer this time. It’s good enough, ship’s yours.”

“Oh no, it is not.”

“You can’t stop me, Alyx,” Finn growled. “The Beacon is falling apart. It’s done. Let it go.”

Alyx bit down on the inside of her cheek and marched forward until her eyes were even with his. “No, Finn. The Beacon isn’t done. You’re done.”

“‘Cuse me?”

“You wanna leave? You wanna be free of this terrible burden you’ve had to bear?” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Fine. But to hell if I’m gonna let you hand off everything we’ve worked so hard for to this guy.” She gestured to the short stocky man who was now inching towards the exit. “Be free, Finn. Get the hell out. Go live whatever delusional dream you want, I can’t care anymore. But the Beacon? She’s mine.”

An odd expression came to Finn’s face — half appalled, half admiring, like he could not believe her daring. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t I? I’ve run this ship pretty much on my own for years, Finn. You may have had the title, but honestly, who did all the work? Sure as hell didn’t see you helping out ever.”

“That’s bullshit — “

“Face it, I am the only reason this ship kept sailing after Corra left. I know what happened back then was shit, I know it was hard on you. Losing your home, your parents, your best friend, I get it, it sucked. And I have been so patient with you, I have. Through all of your binges and your alcoholism and every hindering step you took along the way. But Finn I have been too fucking patient for too damn long and I just can’t be patient anymore. I can’t put up with this any longer.”

“You told me to do this,” Fiearius said suddenly, his voice colder than Cyrus had anticipated. When Cyrus just gawped up at him, he said again, “You told me to do this.” He cocked a brow. “Five years ago. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think good would come of it. And you told me I should. You told me you wanted to go home. And I’m doing this–not for freedom and liberty and all that bullshit. I’m doing this for you.”

Cyrus felt his words catch in his throat. “I didn’t ask you to–”

“You did,” Fiearius snapped, his voice rising again. “You did ask. You wanted me to do this so one day, you could see Satieri again. So your daughter could see it.” He slammed his palm down on the table, so hard that it made Cyrus jump. “You think I don’t know how fucked up this is? You think I don’t see, every fucking day, how much more damage we’re causing than fixing? It’s been one step forward, three steps back for five years, Cyrus, and you think I don’t realize that?”

“Well–” Cyrus stuttered, but he was immediately cut off.

“And the funny thing is, you don’t even know the half of it!” Fiearius cried, a manic tilt to his voice as though this was, in some sick way, hilarious. “You have no idea what I put up with. The way Carthis uses me, the way the damn media treats me, the shit from my own fleet, not to mention the actual battlegrounds, do you even know how many people I’ve lost, Cy? Do you? I would give anything to end this. Anything. But I keep going through all of it because for some fucked up reason, I still believe in what you said to me five years ago. That one day, I can fucking go home.”

For the first time, Cyrus found himself at a complete loss for words. His mouth hung open stupidly as his brother just shook his head.

“But sure, you’re probably right, it’s pointless. It’s all pointless, it’ll never work. I think that every minute of every waking hour, but you think you have the right to come in here and lecture me about it? How fucking dare you,” Fiearius growled. “Fuck you, Cyrus.” And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving his half-eaten meal sitting on the table.

Cyrus was left reeling. Whatever exchange he’d been anticipating, it certainly hadn’t been that. For a long moment, he was dumbfounded and speechless. And then, slowly, when the shock wore off, he started to get angry.

‘Doing it for you’ Fiearius had said. He was doing this whole war for him? Bullshit. Convenient excuse, maybe. Pin all the guilt on someone else. But Cyrus knew better than that. It wasn’t his fault all this had happened. Regardless of what he’d said five years ago, the choice to join Carthis and all the choices since then had been Fiearius’ and Fiearius’ alone. In what universe was he supposed to take the blame?

“I can’t believe him,” he groaned finally, balling his fist on the table. Addy remained silent at his side. “Acting like this was all my doing? That I started this war. I didn’t fucking start anything, I want it to just end already.”

Finally, he heard Addy mumble, “Who doesn’t?”

He looked over at her. “Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way,” he remarked, a little crueler than he’d intended and at once he regretted it. Her eyes narrowed on him and she stood up from her seat, taking the abandoned plate with her.

“I’m not getting involved in your sibling rivalry,” she told him, her voice sharp enough to slice right through his pride. “If you two want to argue like children, keep me out of it.” Cyrus winced and dropped his head again, feeling even more stupid and ashamed now. That is, until she added from the kitchen, “And for the record, I agree with your brother anyway.”

At that, he gaped at the kitchen door. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not,” she answered, returning to lean in the doorframe. Quickly, she waved her hand and amended, “Not about you and what you said or any of that, but–” She looked away from him and sighed. “He’s right. I want to go home. And I do think it’s possible.”

Cyrus frankly couldn’t believe his ears. “But at what cost?” he demanded. “The people of Vescent wanted their home back too and look how that turned out.”

Addy sighed again, heavier this time as she returned to the table and sat back down. “I know. I’m not saying it’s easy or simple or black and white, but some change, any change, is better than where we started.” She reached over and took his hand. “Cy, I want Kalli to see Satieri. I want to see my father again. I want to build a home and a life for our family.”

“We have a home,” Cyrus said at once and she recoiled her hand. “Adds, we have Archeti. We can build a home and a life there.”

She fixed her eyes on him seriously. “I don’t want to build a life on Archeti.” Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but found no words came out. She shook her head. “Archeti’s been fine, don’t get me wrong. And I’m glad that we’re helping people who need it, I am. But–gods–” Suddenly, she fell back in her chair and touched her fingers to her temple. “Look, when you told me rebuilding Archeti was what you wanted to do, I was proud of you. And of course, I wanted to be with you so I agreed to come without a second thought, really. But Cy–” She leaned forward again. “I didn’t ever think we’d be staying.”

Cyrus again found himself dumbfounded. “What did you want to do then?” he asked, his tone coming off a lot more accusatory than he’d intended.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought we’d go back to the station eventually, maybe Carthis proper, work on ships, hell I even considered coming back here.” She gestured to the Dionysian around them. “Because I thought we were on the same page, Cy. I thought the end goal was still Satieri.”

“I-it was,” Cyrus stuttered, shaking his head. “I mean, of course, I’d love to go back there, but– gods, Addy, you really think that’s gonna happen? After everything we’ve seen? You’re so focused on this dream, I’m tired of waiting for our lives to start when it may never even happen.”

Now, he stared at her and he knew that she knew exactly what he was referring to. Most people referred to the couple as ‘partners’. It fit and neither Cyrus nor Addy had ever refuted the title. It sounded more appropriate than ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ anyway for a pair of people raising a child together. But Cyrus had an old-fashioned streak and while he was content being Addy’s ‘partner’, there was another word he would have preferred.

Unfortunately, when he’d proposed to her a few years ago in the most romantic manner he’d been able to conjure, she had apologized profusely and insisted that if she was going to be married, she wanted to be married at home, on Satieri in a traditional Ridellian ceremony. Only a year into the war at the time, Cyrus hadn’t really disagreed. But as the war dragged on, his agreement started to wane. Addy’s resolve, however, had not.

“Cy, c’mon,” Addy said, shaking her head, wanting him to stop, of course. It was her typical reaction when he brought it up.

“What if it never ends?” he asked, apparently more daring this evening with every subject. “Hell, what if we outright lose?”

“Cy,” she scolded.

“I’m just saying.” He took her hand again. She didn’t fight, but she didn’t reciprocate either. “I love you. I don’t want to put off everything for us because of politics. And I don’t just mean a wedding, I mean our home, our family. You don’t like Archeti? Fine, we’ll move. We can go anywhere, do anything. I’ll be happy with you no matter where we are.”

Addy looked down at their interlocked hands and then up at his face. “And if I want us to move to the CORS and work on the active Carthian fleet?” she asked bluntly.

It was a test, Cyrus knew. And as his mouth hung open without a response for each passing beat, he knew he was failing it. “Well–” he finally blurted out, without follow-up.

She slid her hand from his and stood up. “That’s what I thought.” She started walking away from him, but she paused in the doorway. “Cyrus, I love you, I do. You’re an amazing father and a genuinely kind, talented person. But–” She looked away from him. “Sometimes I think we’re just very different people…”

And then she was gone, disappeared into the dark hallway of the ship, leaving him alone in the dining room, just as stunned as before.

Despite himself, Cyrus was just intrigued enough not to look away as Leta smiled at him kindly, touched his elbow once and walked away towards the crew quarters. Fiearius watched her leave, running his other hand through his hair — a gesture of unease, Cyrus was sure. Then Fiearius turned towards the kitchen.

Out of instinct, Cyrus was prepared to duck back inside to pretend he was still washing dishes, but Addy did just the opposite. She stepped out into the dining room and put her hands on her hips. Fiearius froze and regarded her suspiciously, likely bracing himself for whatever she was about to accuse him of.

“So you two back together finally?” she asked cheerfully, which made Fiearius laugh, but after a too-long pause.

“What? No. No of course not. The hell would you think that for?”

“Really?” Cyrus couldn’t help but ask. “Really?”

Delayed as it may have been, Fiearius’ typical attitude kicked in. He rolled his eyes dramatically and remarked, “You two don’t have anything better to do than eavesdrop on me? How about you, I don’t know, take care of your daughter maybe?”

“She’s in bed,” Addy answered simply. “Did you sleep together again?”

Cyrus did a double take. “Again?”

Fiearius just glared at her. “No. Just–How is this any of your business?”

“Because you’re family and I care about your emotional well-being?” She nodded towards the crew quarters. “And Leta’s.”

“Our emotional well-beings are fine.” Fiearius forced an unpleasant smile. “Can we not please?”

“You can’t ignore this forever, you know,” said Addy wisely. “Is she staying on the ship? Because that’s really going to–”

“Here’s an idea,” Fiearius said suddenly, stalking forward and pushing past them into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, peered inside and then pulled out the leftovers Addy had just put there. “Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested cheerfully, pulling a fork from the drawer. “Like where the hell I’m dropping you lot off.”

Happy for the change of subject himself, Cyrus answered, “Home?”

Addy cast him a bit of a scolding glance, but she released a sigh as Fiearius walked between them again and back into the mess hall with his food.

“I was actually thinking we should stop by Azbel to visit Eriaas while we’re in the neighborhood,” she said.

Now it was Cyrus’ turn to groan. He sat down at the table beside his sibling and grumbled, “I can’t stand that guy.”

“I know, but he’s been a useful investor for New Genisi so far and we’ll need his support in the next phase,” Addy explained, dropping into a chair too. “And you know as well as I it takes an actual visit to lock things in with him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cyrus agreed, feeling pretty grim about the idea. “What about Kalli though?”

“I’m sure she can behave herself for one meeting, then we’ll catch a ship back to Archeti right after,” Addy said absently. To Fiearius, she asked, “How far is Azbel from where we’re at?”

“I can have you there by tomorrow afternoon,” he promised with a shrug, mouth half full. “It’s close to where we’re dropping off Ren anyway.”

“Perfect,” Cyrus muttered, the opposite of enthralled. But Addy was right, of course, as always, so he couldn’t exactly argue. Instead, he glanced over at his brother. “And you’re…headed to where?”

Fiearius’ jaw tightened and he tilted his head. He didn’t answer and Cyrus got the hint. “Can’t tell, got it.”

“Sorry, Cy, it’s just better if you don’t know,” Fiearius explained.

“I get it. Don’t want to get in the way of your assassin-ing.” He waved his hand vaguely in the air while Fiearius regarded him with a bit of a guarded frown. Cyrus looked over at him, feeling a spike of irritation he couldn’t quite explain. The very thought of Fiearius’ colorful employment history had always set him a bit on edge, but it was something more than that which lead him to say, “I thought you were done doing that, by the way.”

By the look on Fiearius’ face, he had at least partially been expecting this. “We’re really gonna go through this again?” he asked, a touch impatient.

Truth be told, it was a conversation they’d had a number of times before over a span of many years. When they’d fled Satieri nearly a decade ago, Cyrus had been appalled to learn what his older brother had been up to in his absence: killing people. Professionally. And while Fiearius had initially agreed and promised to give it up, it always seemed to go back to that. There was always an excuse. They needed money, it was a good connection, no one would miss them, and now this.

Still, Cyrus should have dropped the matter. Of all of Fiearius’ excuses to murder, this was probably the best he’d had to date. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself. “I just thought you were tired of people ordering you around to do their dirty work.”

Fiearius’ eyes narrowed and Cyrus felt Addy tense at his side.

“Alright,” Fiearius said shortly, standing up from the table. “We’re not doing this.”

“But you are doing it,” Cyrus countered without skipping a beat. “You’re doing all of it. Carthis tells you to run, you run, they tell you to jump, you jump, they tell you to assassinate high-level government officials?”

“Carthis didn’t tell me to–” Fiearius began, his fist noticeably clenching at his side. “This was my plan. My decision.”

“Was it?” Cyrus asked, feeling bitterness rise. “Was any of this your plan? Really?”

“The hell are you saying?” Fiearius demanded.

“I’m saying we’re five years into a war that’s starting to look a little pointless, don’t you think?”

Fiearius barked his usual dog-like laugh. “Pointless? Pointless?!”

“Cyrus — “ said Addy quietly, but Cyrus continued on, “Yeah, pointless. What good has come of all this? Honestly?”

“We’ve chased the Society out of 50% of their strongholds,” Fiearius growled. “We’ve liberated a handful of planets from their grip. We’ve freed countless people–”

“And then what? Put them directly under Carthis’ thumb?” Cyrus pointed out with a grim laugh. “For the gods’ sakes, Fiear, you were just on Vescent. You saw what I saw. And you really believe what’s happening is right?”

“No!” Fiearius snapped, “Of course I fucking don’t, but I’d take Carthis over the Society any day.”

“Of course.” Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Because Carthis at least gives you the illusion that you’re more than just a tool to them.”

Fiearius opened his mouth, a bitter argument already on his lips, but he hesitated.

“Face it,” Cyrus went on, unafraid. “You’ve spent all this time fighting the Society for them and when it’s all over? If it’s ever over?” He lifted his hands in defeat. “The Span’s just got a new overlord to deal with and is practically no better off than it was before.”

He expected Fiearius to argue. Or perhaps hit him. But his brother’s jaw was clenched shut. His eyes were fixed on Cyrus, ablaze with fury, but he made no motion to act or speak.

Feeling a little hesitant himself now, Cyrus continued, “You’re never gonna be done fighting this, y’know. And–”

“Fiear, no!” Leta shouted from behind, pulling him out of the moment. He faltered and looked back at her. She was doubled over, one hand on her knee, the other wiping the stream of blood from her face. “Fiear…don’t…” she begged and he felt his grip loosen.

When he looked back at the woman he was still holding in place, she no longer looked afraid, but smug.

“Well I guess that’s my answer,” she growled under her breath as Fiearius reluctantly released her. And just like that, the dynamics changed.

The crowd’s hesitation, one by one, started to alleviate. Their concern, their fear, evaporating slowly as they continued to close in. His gun still raised, Fiearius took a step back to stand in front of Leta, but it had lost its effect. They knew now. He’d let up once and they knew. They had the power here, notorious admiral or no.

Cyrus, who was nursing a spot on his jaw where he’d apparently taken a blow of his own, took up his own defensive position on the other side of Leta as the threatening glares surrounding  them continued to advance. “Now what?” he asked, to neither of them in particular.

But Leta had her answer ready. She pushed through the both of them to have a better viewpoint and shouted, “Please, listen. We’re not your enemy. We’re on your side!”

Someone let out a sharp laugh. Another shouted, “Liar!” The woman Fiearius had nearly executed just chuckled bitterly. “On our side? You? You were the ones who put us in this position.”

“We were helping you,” Cyrus growled. “We freed you from the Society.”

“From one hell to another,” said a nearby man grimly.

“All I’ve ever tried to do is help the people of Vescent,” Leta pleaded. “Maybe I got something wrong along the way. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, for what Carthis has done to this place. I never meant–”

“It’s too late for that,” said the woman. “You’ve chosen your side.” She gestured towards Fiearius who did nothing but narrow his eyes at her. “We’ll take our city back. Even if we have to do it one Carthy bastard at a time.”

Fiearius heard Leta choke out a noise of disbelief, the tears starting to stream from her face, but this conversation was clearly over. He reached out with his free hand to take her arm and move her behind him as the crowd rustled with anticipation.

He didn’t want to shoot these people. They didn’t deserve it. Not really. But to hell if he was going to let a bunch of rioters rip them to shreds right here and now.

“Fiear, you can’t,” Leta begged behind him as he readied his gun and switched his aim between a number of the closest threats.

“Not really giving me much of a choice,” Fiearius growled, gritting his teeth and backing up against Leta and Cyrus.

“You kill them, you’ll just prove their point!” said Leta in his ear.

Fiearius glanced back at her incredulously. Though he seemed to be the only one with a gun, he certainly wasn’t the only person here with a weapon. Throughout the mass of bodies he caught glimpses of knives, pipes, tools. “You’d rather they kill us instead?”

“No, but–”

Fiearius locked eyes with a woman brandishing a long metal bar, poised for the assualt that would start the onslaught. Fiearius adjusted his grip on his gun and, a little more desperately than intended, snapped, “You got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Leta didn’t. But Cyrus said, “I think I might.” And then he spoke into his COMM, “Now.”

Both Leta and Fiearius glanced at him in confusion, but his eyes weren’t on their impending deaths. They were on the sky. Fiearius looked up just as a familiar shape soared into view, sending violent winds whipping through the area. A crazed laugh caught in his throat as the crowd looked up in alarm, stumbling backwards. The Dionysian.

“Attention!” came a garbled version of Addy’s voice from the hulking beast above them as it descended slowly into the square. “Under order of…well, me. You will disband at once or you will be destroyed.”

Some of the crowd scattered. The few that remained were simply stunned. But as Addy continued, “At the very least, if you do not leave, I will land this ship on you. So out. Shoo! Go on!” they seemed to get the hint. Fiearius managed to lock eyes once more with the woman who’d hit Leta. She narrowed her glare on him once more before turning to disappear into the streets.

Fiearius held his arm over his face to brace himself from the blast of air and dust as the Dionysian touched down. The ramp lowered and Eve was the first to run down it, guns at the ready. “Cap’n!” she began, “You need–”

“We’re good,” Fiearius cut her off, shaking his head. “We’re fine.” He looped his arm under Leta’s and helped her towards the ramp as she winced against the roar and tumult of the ship’s engines. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

He felt Leta slow to a stop. She was staring past him through bleary eyes, blood smeared across her mouth, gazing over the streets of Fall’s End.

He thought he could read her mind. After all this, she still wanted to stay here? She still thought it was safe to stay here? He followed her gaze and saw her fixated on the sight of her clinic, or what had once been her clinic, now a pile of ash and rubble, smoke coiling in the air. Her team of staff along with Nikkolai were attending to the few patients that made it out of the charred remains behind them. But the building was gone. Unsalvageable. And so much of what had come with it.

She stared at it in silence, still as a statue — Fiearius thought she might never move until finally Fiearius felt her grip tighten around his side. She looked back at him, clearly trying to hold back the tears lingering at the edge of her eyes, and nodded once.

Fiearius pulled her closer to his side, and together they finished the walk up the ramp and into the Dionysian.

“I’ll do it,” he volunteered, an offer that he’d thought would relieve her.

“It’s my clinic, Fiear,” she snapped, ripping her arm from him yet again. Anger filled her face, but her voice was cracking. Was that the nearby smoke making her eyes red? “My people, my responsibility and–”

“Running into burning buildings is my specialty,” he interrupted, the tiniest of smirks twisting into his lips. It was no time for jokes, but the desperate need to keep the woman before him from breaking was enough that he’d try anything. He gripped her shoulder for just a moment before promising, “I’ll check it out,” locking eyes with Cyrus. Cyrus nodded his understanding at the unspoken order to watch over her, and then Fiearius ran straight into the mess himself.

And it was a mess. All around him, rebels were cheering as they watched the clinic’s demise. The Carthian soldiers, the ones that Gates had gone through so much trouble to have stationed here, to protect it, to keep it safe, had been rounded up, stripped of their weaponry and they too stared up in silent horror. Closer to the doors were people Fiearius vaguely recognized. Leta’s staff, attending to those patients they had managed to get out of the destruction. Few as they were.

He felt a few sets of eyes on him as he pushed his way through the crowd, unyielding. A few murmurs, even a few shouts (“Is that the admiral?” “Soliveré? Here?”) but he ignored them all. No one even tried to stop him as he barrelled straight into the building without looking back.

He was only inside for a moment when the smell hit him. He recognized it instantly. Burnt flesh was a scent one never forgot.

Fiearius drew one last breath of relatively fresh air before he powered forward. Flames licked at his flesh as he ran through the space as quickly as he dared over the debris and squinted through the smoke for any signs of life

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any left. There were shapes in some of the beds, but he only spared them a passing glance before he needed to look away. Fiearius would never describe himself as squeamish, but there were some images he didn’t need burned into his memory.

The back of the clinic yielded no further results. He called out and received no response. The realization hit him slowly. They were too late. If anyone else could have been saved, he’d missed the chance by a long shot. He tried not to imagine who those charred corpses belonged to ten, twenty minutes ago, but outside, there was at least one woman who knew. The thought made his stomach churn.

“Dov’ha rei’ja…” he muttered, marking the ih’laana with his fingers over his chest before turning back for the door. But just as he did, he heard a noise that gave him pause.

A crash followed by a curse and then a ‘aha!’

Fiearius turned back and around the corner into a room he’d neglected to check. And there, crouched on the ground in a halo of medicine containers and shattered glass, was the source of the noise.

“Nikkolai?” he asked, almost in disbelief. The young blonde man looked up at him, startled.

“Cap’n?”

“What the hell are you–” Fiearius began, but he cut him off.

“Help me with these,” Niki coughed, gathering as many of the bottles as he could hold in his arms. “If we lose this stuff we won’t get it replaced for weeks and those people out there need it now.”

Fiearius didn’t have time to argue. He rushed forward and seized an armful of his own and then forcefully pushed Nikkolai out of the door before he could argue.

As the two of them made a dash for the exit before this whole place decided to collapse, Fiearius glanced back around the room one last time. All of this. All those people. All of Leta’s work. Reduced to ashes. And for what? A statement? Political protest? Who had even started this?

As if reading his mind, Nikkolai suddenly explained, “I didn’t really see what happened. Just that one of our regulars got in an argument with one of the Carthian guards. Things just escalated from there.” He too glanced back over his shoulder. “It burnt so fast…We barely got anyone out.”

Fiearius felt some obligation to comfort the kid, but he had no words of comfort to give. Hadn’t Leta warned of this exact thing? Hell, even he, separated from Vescent, could have predicted this happening the moment Carthis swept into the place. He wasn’t feeling very comforting, he was feeling angry. An anger that was only exacerbated when he reemerged into the sweet relief of the cold night air and realized the attention of the crowd had altered. No longer were they jeering at the Carthian guards or the clinic they’d destroyed. Their focus had gone to someone else: Leta.

From the doorway, he could see her in the middle of a circle of rioters, speaking passionately, but her words didn’t reach him. Whatever she was saying wasn’t going over well. Cyrus was at her side, his body language defensive as the protesters rounded in on them.

Without another word, Fiearius dumped his pile of medicine into the arms of a shaken clinic worker nearby and pushed his way through towards the epicenter of this charade. The fury was burning through him now, filling his veins and spreading into his clenched fists. He paid no heed to the people he pushed out of his way, some more forcefully than others. One looked ready to start a fight with him next, but one look at his face and they backed off. Smart.

He was nearly through when the conversation finally met his ears. “–trusted you! We believed you were on our side–” someone was yelling at Leta.

“I was,” Leta was pleading over the jeers of the crowd. “I am, I–”

“This was our safe space,” yelled someone else. “We needed it! And you sold it out to those Carthy scums!”

“I didn’t, I’d never!” Leta cried. Fiearius slipped through the angry crowd and glimpsed her expression, torn with despair and determination.

“We thought you were one of us,” snapped one woman, stepping forward out of the fray toward her, her voice cold. “Thought your loyalty was to Vescent.” Fiearius shoved one last body out of the way just in time to see it happen: Leta stepped backwards. Cyrus stepped forward. And then in a flash, two sets of arms reached out from the crowd and seized Leta’s arms, wrenching her backwards as someone yelled, “Whose side are on?!” and launched their fist.

The blow cracked across Leta’s face, and she staggered slightly against the man holding her arms, but then pulled herself free and held her wrist against her blood-soaked mouth. She didn’t look particularly hurt, but she did look angry, and it was nothing compared to the rage that roared in Fiearius’ chest.

With a growl, he threw himself into the crowd and grasped the assailant, seizing her wrist tightly in his grasp and pulling his gun against her head.

Yells and gasps filled the air. They sounded scared. As they should be, Fiearius thought furiously as his finger tightened on the trigger and–