The niceties had to end at some point, Leta thought, as she reached across the table and seized the bottle of wine to refill her dwindling glass. She, Ren and Fiearius sat around his dining room table, empty plates around them, flames from the candles casting dancing shadows along the walls. Leta sipped her second glass of wine, hoping it would smooth over her edgy mood: the longer they talked, the more she couldn’t help but feel they were headed toward rocky waters.

“ … So I help around here where I can,” Ren was saying, his eyes resting on Leta for a moment before he tore them away and answered Fiearius. “Mostly I read a lot. Write sometimes. Help the other people who live here.” He shrugged. “Nothing that thrilling. It’s a relaxing life. Just what I needed really…”

“I bet,” said Fiearius, and, to Leta’s surprise, she couldn’t detect sarcasm in his tone. Before today, Fiearius and Ren had never exchanged more than a few words. There might as well have been a brick wall between them: Leta suspected Fiearius did not forgive Ren for leading them all to the Baltimore, and she suspected Ren did not forgive Fiearius for all that had happened with Leta.

And even besides that — they couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried. Ren was bookish and academic; he’d been in law school once upon a time, and now he desired a private life away from the war. While Fiearius was leading it.

But first Fiearius had displayed actual gratitude and humility for Ren allowing them into his home, and now he was making expert small talk? Leta wasn’t even sure this was the same person she’d walked in with. It couldn’t be. The Fiearius she knew couldn’t go two minutes without snarky comments or dry, needless wit.

And yet, he didn’t sound snarky or witty when he said, “You’ve recovered from ARC though, haven’t you?”

“Mostly. I have relapses and — bad symptoms sometimes … but it’s manageable. Carthis was very kind to treat the immediate effects and they were thorough. Just…after a while, I felt it best I leave and seek my own methods. Their treatment started to feel — ” He grinned, and heaved a sigh, “imposing.”

Leta couldn’t help herself from mumbling, “Like everything Carthis does,” into her wine glass. When both of them looked over at her curiously, she just shrugged. “What? Someone in this room has to be honest.”

Ren cracked a smile, then turned back to Fiearius. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to learn about my latest chess tournament with the neighbor downstairs.”

Fiearius gave a laugh that must have been fake, but sounded so real Leta started to question it herself.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admitted. “I’m sure you follow the news closely?”

“Of course,” said Ren. “I may have distanced myself from your war, but I can’t ignore it, or —

“It’s our war, Ren,” said Leta suddenly. “Yours too. All of ours.”

Ren gave her a swift, searching look through narrowed eyes. A look she recognized, one she certainly hadn’t missed. The one that made her feel like a child who’d spoken out of turn on a subject she didn’t understand.

“Maybe we’d better debate this another time,” he said slowly, and Leta sat up straighter.

“What’s there to debate?” she demanded. “They unjustly imprisoned you. They took over our home. They killed — gods, how many of our people?”

“Leta–” Ren warned and it only made her angrier.

“How can you even say it’s just ‘our war’? After what they did t– “

“Leta.”

It was Fiearius this time and when she caught his eye, ready to argue with him too, she stopped. It wasn’t anger clouding his face, it was pleading. And worry.

Ren stood up and walked into the dining room to retrieve another bottle of wine and in his absence, Fiearius, his eyes still locked on hers, mouthed, “We need him.”

Leta glared back, resilient, frustrated and annoyed that these two men, both so passionate and open and honest when she knew them, were now suddenly preferring to dance around and play this stupid game with one another instead of getting to the root of things.

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her wine glass.

“As I was saying, yes, I keep up with the news,” Ren went on suddenly, rejoining the circle, but this time he did not sit down. “I’ve read quite a lot about what you’ve been up to, Admiral.” And now, where before there had been only kindness, there was the tiniest hint of malice in his tone.

“Don’t believe everything you’ve read,” said Leta.

“So you didn’t lead a group of mercenaries into a civilian zone? Or sign off on the air strike over a populated city? Tell me, Admiral, have you visited the refugee camps? The people that your actions put in those camps?”

Leta scoffed. Wine or simply Ren himself was making her crave argument. Especially since Ren didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t there. He didn’t have the information Fiearius had sitting here in his cabin in the woods away from everything. She was about to tell him as much when Fiearius beat her to it.

“I have. I do. Often,” Fiearius admitted. “And I don’t like them any more than the people who live there do. I don’t like the camps, I don’t like the air strikes, I don’t like raids or battles and, though everyone seems to believe otherwise, I do not like to kill people who at one point were friends simply because of a mark on their skin.”

“Then why do you do it? If you really hate it that much, why not end this sham of a war?” asked Ren.

“Sham?!” Leta cried, indignant.

“Everyone knows it’s just Carthis’ play to gain territory,” said Ren darkly. “That’s been obvious since day one. They say they want to defeat the Society, free the people, but they just want the clusters and all the resources that come with them for themselves. It’s a sham.”

“It is,” Fiearius admitted before Leta could get another word in. She was so surprised to hear him say it that she was stunned to silence. “Of course it is. Why would they sink so much money and energy and lives into something that’s not gonna come out with them on top?” He shrugged. “On Carthis’ part, the whole liberation thing is a total sham. But not on mine.”

Fiearius stood up then and crossed the room to meet Ren face to face. “This matters to me. Not because I’m gaining anything. But because it matters. I wanted to see Vescent freed. I want to see Ellegy freed. I want to see Exymeron freed. I want no one ever again to live the life I lived on Satieri. So you ask why I do it, I have to do it. I have to fight this war. Because someone has to.”

Ren stared at him. Seconds passed. Leta was certain he wasn’t buying this. He certainly didn’t look convinced. But apparently he seemed convinced enough for Fiearius to take his shot. “Look, I want this to end just as much as you do. More, even.” He frowned. “A lot more. But that’s exactly why I’m here.”

Without hesitation, Ren said, “You want my research on the Councillors.”

When both Leta and Fiearius regarded him with surprise, he furrowed his brow. “Why else would an admiral visit me? Not like I have anything else of value.”

Fiearius stumbled, but he recovered smoothly, “With that research, we can hunt them down. Cut off the head of the Society. We can stop plowing through towns and cities and people and get straight to the source and end this once and for all. You’re the only person out there who might know their identities. With your help, we can finish this war.”

Ren nodded solemnly, gazing down at his hands. Then he looked up, met Fiearius’ eyes, and said, with a strange manic edge that hadn’t been there before, “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“What?” said Leta softly.

“I won’t dive back into my research. Yes, I know how important it is!” he added, when Leta opened her mouth to retort. His eyes had suddenly grown wider, even scared. Breathing faster, he said, “Listen to me. What I know about the Councilors? It won’t help you win this war. It’ll just get you killed. You killed one of them, Leta, and you won’t get lucky again. Either of you.” He shot a look toward Fiearius.

Fiearius continued to stare at her, so she went on hurriedly, rolling her eyes, “His name is Liam, he’s a freelance investigative journalist, he grew up on Vescent, he’s my age, he dropped out of school. His writing is supportive of the war but seems too loyal to Carthis and I’m not interested in him.”

“For someone who’s not interested, you sure did your research.”

“Of course I did.” Leta snorted. “But I’d never date a journalist.”

“I should hope not. You? Fraternizing with the press?” He smiled at her. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Leta muttered, and then she polished off the last of her drink in one shot. Whiskey burned warmly down her throat and she sighed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time all day. Perhaps it was the liquor, or maybe it was the way she could feel Fiearius watching her, but Leta felt no reservations in suddenly musing quietly, “Besides, if I started dating someone, who would keep you company when you visit Vescent?”

He did not look surprised by the comment, but he did regard her with a new, certain level of interest. Light brimmed in his eyes.

“Certainly would have thrown a wrench in some things,” he admitted quietly.

They exchanged a silent look before Leta asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

——————-

It was fortunate that the far corner of the base lay quiet and deserted, which meant no one glimpsed two figures moving quickly across the bridge in the pouring rain, their hands clasped together as they discreetly went inside the building. No one witnessed Leta hastening to unlock the door to her room, nor she and Fiearius slipping inside quickly, not even bothering to turn on the light before they started a staggering, clumsy kiss towards the bedroom.

His hand pressed against the small of her back as he walked backwards, his mouth pressing urgently against hers, again and again and again. Breathlessly, Leta wound her arms around the back of his neck, her mouth pressed to his so hard it was almost painful. Her fingers slipped up into his hair to deepen the kiss, as his hands dug into her back beneath her sopping wet shirt.

They fumbled in the darkness before the back of Fiearius’ knees hit an armchair, and he sank into it, pulling Leta down with him. It was quiet in her room, but breaking the heavy silence of nighttime was their shirts hitting the floor, her sharp gasps of breath and Fiearius’ groan in her ear when she lowered to his lap and straddled him in their chair. Their lips were pressing clumsily and heatedly together, and she could taste the whiskey on their breath.

A corner of Leta’s mind was protesting this, but the voice was growing dimmer and dimmer in her mind as they progressed as they had a thousand times before. It was a familiar dance between them, and starting not long after the Battle of Fall’s End, it happened every six months, or every ten months, or whenever they saw one another on the station, or on Vescent. They had never fully reunited as a couple — Leta knew they couldn’t — but they seemed to have a silent agreement that this level of intimacy was acceptable. Consenting adults who trusted one another deeply: what was wrong with it, really? Leta didn’t particularly want to date anyone, but company in bed and the companionship of waking up with someone — well, she missed that, sometimes. And Fiearius treated her well. Their agreement was mostly unspoken, but neither of them voiced any regret after their trysts. They would wake up together, Fiearius’ lips against the nape of her neck, untangle themselves, get dressed, say goodbye for months, and get on with their lives.

In this moment, Fiearius drew her hips closer on the chair. Her hand went to fumble with the waistband of his pants, but that was when it happened: Fiearius grasped her wrist, halting her in place. His mouth was pressed against her collarbone as he muttered, “We can’t do this.”

Leta froze, stricken with surprise. Fiearius pulled back, his face clouded with distress.

“We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Okay,” said Leta slowly, her voice shaky. “That’s — never stopped us before … but — ”

“No no, you don’t understand.” He pulled his hands off of her and dug his palms into his eyes. “It’s different. It’s different this time. I — shit I should have told you earlier — ” He groaned and then blurted out, “I need you to come with me. On the Dionysian. That’s why I’m here.”

“What?”

Alarmed now, Leta pushed herself off of his lap and stood up to her feet, somewhat unsteadily.

“We’re not making enough leeway in the war,” said Fiearius, staring at her in the darkness, looking horrified with himself, “so we want to try and cut off the Society’s head by going after the Councillors, but we don’t know who they are or where they are and the only person out there with any clues is Ren Calimore but we don’t know where he is either and he wouldn’t want to talk to us anyway so–” He dragged one of his hands away from his eye to look at her. “We need you. I need you. I need you to come with me.”

“You need me to come with you on the Dionysian and find Ren so we can chase down Councilors?” Her voice was oddly shrill, hysterical. “And you’re telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!”

“Because we’re trying to keep it quiet! The only people who know are me, Gates and now you. We can’t risk this getting out. It’s too big. It’s too important. I needed to wait until we were alone.”

Leta opened her mouth, horrified. They were more than alone; they were both shirtless in her living room.

“Good job with that,” she snapped. Then she reached for her blouse from the floor, hurrying to pull it on over her head.

“This — wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” Fiearius said, catching a hand through his messy hair. “And no, I don’t want you to chase down Councilors, I want you to convince Ren to tell me where they are so I can chase them down. Look, when he was released from ARC rehab, Ren pretty much took Carthis’ subsidy and ran. No one’s seen him or heard from him since. But you know where he is.” Fiearius leveled her a meaningful stare that she couldn’t ignore. “Don’t you?”

Leta wanted to tell him to leave, but she couldn’t — not when he looked so desperate, eyes shining in the shadowy darkness.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “I do. And you’re right, you do need me, because there’s no way Ren would trust you or Gates with anything.”

Fiearius’ mouth twitched like he wanted to retort, but then thought better of it. Shifting uncomfortably, he stood to his feet, and that was when Leta found his shirt on the floor and tossed it to him — or rather, threw it a little unnecessarily hard at his chest. He caught it and blinked, narrowing his eyes.

“So. That’s a yes? You’ll come?”

“Maybe.” Leta crossed her arms. “On some conditions.”

“I figured.”

“You need to bring me back here right away. I can’t leave my clinic.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“And when I’m on your ship, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That’s fair.”

“And — ” Leta shifted on her feet. “Tell Gates to give my apartment back.”

Fiearius opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but decisively shut it again. “I’ll…see what I can do,” he grumbled, eying her skeptically.

“Then fine. I’ll help,” she growled, “but next time you’ve got some big mission to take me on — you open with that, alright?”

“So you have been in contact with him. I knew it.”

“Leta –” he warned.

“Dez, his whole group — they’re terrorists, Fiearius!” she protested under her breath.

“According to Carthis.”

“According to everyone. They bombed that temple on Ascendia.”

But he was shaking his head. “They didn’t. They were just the easiest group to pin it on.”

“There was proof, their ships were there when–”

“ — when the bomb went off, yeah,” Fiearius finished for her. “But that doesn’t mean we were the ones that did it.”

Leta opened her mouth, then hesitated, suddenly stricken.

“We?” she repeated, and clearly Fiearius hadn’t even realized he’d said it. He regarded her with his jaw clenched, and Leta said, with dawning realization, “You’re working with them, aren’t you?”

His eyes darted around the room at once, desperate to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, the bar was nearly deserted.

Still, Leta lowered her voice to barely a whisper as she said, “Fiear, what the hell are you doing working with Dez? Does Gates know?”

“Gods, no. Of course not. He’d fucking murder me.”

“For good reason! Can you imagine what would happen to the war effort if it got out that its main admiral is working with branded terrorists?”

Fiearius sighed, exasperated. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like that. I’ve lent them a hand a few times. I’ve given some advice a few more. And they’re not terrorists. They’re on our side.”

“But not on Carthis’ side.”

“So what, you gonna go tell ‘em now?” Fiearius demanded, full of challenge. “That I’m a traitor? That I support terrorists?”

Leta shot him a warning look.

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” she said darkly, and then sighed. “Besides — I’m not exactly on good terms with Carthis these days, either.” She inhaled sharply. “They’re seizing my clinic. I found out this morning.”

Fiearius looked surprised, and then unsurprised.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“It’s not that I’m not appreciative for everything they’ve done. Removing the Society strongholds, stabilizing Vescent, they’ve supported me and my efforts too, but…”

“But they’re beginning to wear down their welcome,” he muttered. “Even without rioting in the streets, that’s pretty obvious.”

“But Gates said they’ve started meeting on an exit strategy,” Leta insisted. “He said they’re finally looking into pulling out.”

Fiearius’ eyes were locked on hers. His mouth twisted toward a smirk. “You believe it?”

“I have to.”

Uncomfortable silence fell. Fiearius went to respond, but suddenly the door to the bar swung open and a group of men and women in uniform strolled in, laughing amongst themselves as they moved to a booth nearby. Fiearius downed the rest of his beer, put the glass down on the bar and waved for a refill. For now, at least, the conversation was dropped. It had to be dropped, with Carthian ears so close by.

So Leta changed the subject.

“I almost forgot,” she said, straightening up. “I have something to show you.”

From inside the fold of her jacket, she withdrew a handheld console, switched on the screen and slid it over to him. A headline blazed on the screen.

Rogue Verdant Returns to Fall’s End! You won’t believe what (and who) he’s brought with him!

“Don’t suppose you saw this masterpiece of journalism?” she posed innocently. “I stumbled across it working today. There’s something in there about you bringing your newest conquest with you. A new girlfriend.”

Fiearius squinted at the screen, but didn’t bother reading the article before he pushed it away from him in disgust. “This exact kind of garbage is why I keep getting in trouble.”

“I doubt articles can take all the blame for that.”

He ignored her. “Did I tell you about this? Gates called me in for a meeting about a month ago. I thought it was just a debrief from the mission, but oh no. No it was not. It was about–” He leaned toward her and quoted, with absolute disgust in every syllable. “Professional and personal conduct.”

Leta snorted. “Because of that woman who wrote about her date with you and got picked up by the mainstream feeds? That was a fascinating read. Very well written. Descriptive.”

“For the record, most of that wasn’t even true. But fine, okay, I date around a bit, and sure, I don’t have the best judgment about which of those dates are secret wannabe journalists, but c’mon. Do I really deserve to be lectured by this guy about how my ‘behavior’ was ‘inappropriate for my station’? That, as a ‘key player in the war’, I had a responsibility to keep my ‘personal desires’ in check? Key player or no, I’m only human.”

Leta glanced down at her drink, which was nearly finished. Perhaps that was why she felt bold enough to ask, “Speaking of, how’s Quin?”

Fiearius arched an eyebrow at her, and Leta knew she’d startled him. “Quin? She’s fine. Ran into a bit of trouble on one of the border planets a while back, but she’s back in business and running a scouting trip as we sp– ”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you and her? How are you two?”

Fiearius looked distinctly uncomfortable. Brow furrowed, he grunted, “How’d you find out?” to which Leta felt some grim satisfaction. She’d had a feeling in her gut that Fiearius and Quin were sleeping together, although she couldn’t pinpoint how, exactly, she knew.

So all she said was, “Did you forget that both of our assistants are terrible gossips?”

His mouth flinched in disapproval and he took another drink. “Look, it’s not really like that. There’s no ‘two’ of us. We’re partners. That’s the main thing. And sometimes, when things are rough especially, we find some alternative forms of comfort in one another because we kind of always have.” He hadn’t been looking at her, rather staring at the empty glass in front of her, but now he met her eyes and smirked. “It’s not like Quinida Utada would be my girlfriend.”

Leta returned his smirk, as if she was more amused than she felt. “But would you want her to be?”

“Gods, no, she scares the shit out of me,” Fiearius laughed. “I like her and I respect her more than anyone else in those damn war room meetings. We’ve been through a lot together, especially over the past few years. But whatever you’re implying? Two of us? Together? Like that?” He blanched, and threw a nasty glance toward the glowing screen. “You can tell Vescent’s star journalists that they should rethink their sources.”

“I’ll pass the word along.”

“What about you then? Since we’re on the topic. It’s only fair. Anyone special in your life?”

Carefully sipping her whiskey, Leta shook her head. “I’ve got needy patients. I’ve got Nikkolai pointing out every attractive Carthian soldier we see. I’ve got a journalist following me around. That’s about all the attention I’m getting from men these days.”

Fiearius barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

He squinted at her face and went on, “Well, I can’t see you with a soldier, so I guess that’s out. And we both know how strict you are about doctor patient relationships,” he said with a smirk. “So the journalist then. Tell me about him.”

“He just wants an interview,” said Leta composedly. “We barely know one another.”

Finn, however, wasn’t concerned with their chatter. His eyes were locked on the street addresses that they passed. Thirty one, thirty two, thirty– He stopped suddenly. “We’re here.”

The apartment building was non-descript, innocuous — a bit run-down, perhaps, but a woman was hanging laundry out of her window and children were playing on the stoop. Clearly, Callahan had taken refuge here as a regular citizen. Just another soul trying to make his place in the world and not someone who sold and traded living people. Not the monster he was.

Without hesitation, Finn moved inside the foyer and bounded up the dark narrow stairway (“Apartment twelve,” Alyx had said). He found the number on the door, he marched right up to it and shifted his balance, about to kick it down with all the rage in his body when Alyx grabbed his forearm.

“Finn, hang on,” she whispered angrily. “Look.” She nodded toward a small device above the door. Finn hadn’t noticed it. It was hidden in the shadow of an overhang, a small, shiny black thing. A security camera. “He’s probably ready for us. We need to take this carefully.”

Finn’s expression darkened. Carefully? If Alyx thought he was going to wait one more second to give a vicious ally-trader what he deserved, she was crazy. “Maybe there’s another way around or–” she was saying, but he didn’t care. Shaking his head, he muttered, “‘I’m ready for him,” under his breath and then, in one motion, much to her chagrin, he swung his heel against the weakest point of the door, making it crack and fall with a thud.

Alyx groaned her distaste, but her gun was in her hand in an instant and she didn’t say a word as she followed Finn over the broken door, and inside the apartment. It lay silent — eerily silent. Finn glanced at Alyx. Alyx glanced at Cai. Cai shrugged and then they split up, each taking a different path into the dimly lit rooms.

Slipping his own gun into his hand, Finn pressed through the apartment, ears alert for any sound. The carpet crunched underfoot, he could still hear the children from the street, but the inside of the apartment was plunged into quiet. It was a normal sort of apartment. The walls were a non-offending light tan, the furniture, what little of it there was, was non-descript and generic. It didn’t seem like the home of a vicious criminal, it could have belonged to anybody.

But whoever it belonged to, they weren’t here. The bedroom was empty, the kitchen was empty. He whipped open a pantry door and found nothing but shadows and cobwebs. The hallways, too, were quiet as a tomb. The more he searched, the more Finn’s hopes plunged and his desperation rose.

Finally, after digging through a pathetically empty closet, he marched, frustrated, back into the main room. Both Alyx and Cai were standing by the front door. Cai had already holstered his gun and Alyx, a woman who was on her guard even in comfortable situations, looked practically relaxed. Clearly, their searches had been just as fruitless as his.

“No,” Finn muttered, practically seething as he approached them, “No no no, this cannot be happening.”

Alyx exchanged a worried glance with Cai. “Finn…” she began, hesitant.

“Don’t tell me he got away. Don’t tell me he’s left already,” Finn growled, pacing the living room furiously, feeling an incredible urge to puncture a hole in that perfectly nondescript tan wall.

“Maybe we can figure out where he’s headed next,” said Alyx quietly, but Finn just groaned his frustration.

“No, you don’t understand!” he insisted. “This was it. This was supposed to be it. Today. We were so close!”

“I know, believe me I know, but–”

“Where the hell is he?!” Finn demanded, but before Alyx could answer, Cai, looking suddenly alarmed, crossed straight through their conversation across the living room, stood before a set of tall green curtains and looked down.

“Uh. Guys — “

Raising his eyebrows, Finn hurried after Cai and what he found made him halt so sharply Alyx nearly ran into him. Amongst the light coming in beneath the curtain, playing across the carpet, was something else. Something dark. Something red. Blood.

Finn found himself holding his breath as he tore back the curtain, revealing the open door onto the balcony beyond. And sprawled out on the concrete balcony floor was the limp body of Callahan, his limbs fallen over the ground at odd angles. His eyes were wide, startled, and vacant. Crimson pooled from his middrift, a river of blood flowed toward their feet.

“God,” Alyx breathed, breaking the tense silence at last. “This — this must’ve just happened — look how fresh the wound is … “

“And I can take a guess why,” said Cai quietly. Their eyes fell toward one detail in particular: part of Callahan’s ear had clean chunk chopped out of it. Just like an ally. But that wasn’t all.

“He was stabbed in exactly the same place he stabbed me,” Finn muttered, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck as his hand subconsciously rose to touch the spot where the scar still ran across his chest.

As he stood there, gazing at the body, Finn felt nothing — no pity, no sympathy and no validation. It may have been a victory, but it didn’t feel like a victory. Callahan was dead, that was what he wanted, right? Then why did this sight fill him with such a vicious sense of wrongness? And before he could think to do differently he heard himself growl, banging his fist on the balcony railing, “Who the hell did this?! Who else was here? How did this happen?!”

Unsurprised by Finn’s unpredictable moods, both Cai and Alyx simply blinked at him.

“Well, if my source knew he was here, he had to find out from somewhere — who knows where else the information went?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The important thing is that he’s dead,” Cai suggested softly, but Finn yelled, “No! You don’t get it! I was supposed to do it. He was mine!”

Cai regarded him with a mixture of concern and confusion, but Finn couldn’t look at him anymore. He couldn’t look at Alyx. He couldn’t look at Callahan’s corpse either. He tore back into the living room, brushing past the both of them. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! This isn’t how I wanted it. Five years! I gave five years to killing this man and someone else finishes him?! How? Who? I fucking need to know who did this!”

“Well, we might be able to find out.” Alyx caught his eye meaningfully, then tipped her head upwards. Finn looked up and saw what she was looking at. Something small, black, shiny. The security cameras.

In the blink of an eye, Finn rushed through the apartment to the bedroom where he’d seen a console screen. Cai and Alyx crowded beside him, and Alyx typed something into the keyboard. And there it was. Hours upon hours of security footage. She chose a recent one, from only the night before. The screen showed Callahan moving around the apartment, speaking on his COMM, reading a book. Alyx scrubbed through the footage, and then, it happened so fast Finn almost missed it — a shadow moving behind him —

“Stop,” Finn hissed. “Play it there.”

They all froze as the footage continued: Callahan was picking through his bookshelf and didn’t notice as a small hooded figure crept up behind him and suddenly, as far as Finn could tell, held a blade against his neck. They struggled, and the hooded figure was small but powerful and confident in the way they rammed their knee into Callahan’s stomach, grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him into a wall, making the bookshelf overhead rattle.

In the struggle, they moved off-camera toward the balcony. There was no sound on the footage so Finn leaned in, his nose almost touching the screen. He watched as the hooded figure withdrew their blade and planted it right where it belonged: Callahan’s gut. Whoever they were, this person could fight. There was something oddly familiar about them …

As Callahan writhed on the ground at their feet, the figure re-sheathed their blade swiftly and briskly, business-like. Their hood had fallen off in the fight, and when they went to adjust it, that was when Finn caught a glimpse of the assassin’s face and his chest stilled.

Corra.