“So you’re going to store your ship here?” she asked, her voice bright and cheerful. “What kind of ship is it? What are you even doing here anyway? Sorry, I just can’t believe you, of all people, came into this garage. The span is smaller than I thought, huh?”

“Suppose it is,” Cyrus muttered, still feeling bewildered by the last ten minutes. He trailed after her, though it was hard to keep up with her brisk pace; she had a lot of energy.

Forcing friendliness into his voice, he added, “So — Atelier’s daughter? You worked with your dad?”

“Oh yeah.” Pride lifted her voice. “Worked in his garage since I was three years old.”

“How’d you end up here then?”

“I feel like asking you the same thing,” she mused. “But as for me, well … Paradiex isn’t exactly the same place it was when I grew up.” There was something sad in her tone that made Cyrus look up.

“What do you mean?”

“The Society. I don’t know if you’re familiar with what they’ve … “

“I’m familiar,” Cyrus assured her fervently.

“They’re more present in Paradiex than ever before. My dad can’t finish a single project without them knocking on our doors to see what he’s up to.” She heaved a sigh, wrinkling her forehead with distress for a moment. “Anyway, he wanted me to get off-world for awhile, and Carthis seemed the safest bet so here I am.”

She planted her hands at her hips and nodded at the garage laid out before them. It was the messiest workshop Cyrus had ever seen.

“It’s not like, my dream job or anything,” she added, darting him a nervous look. “But it’s hard to find work, y’know. It’s just a temporary gig until, y’know, I  …. find somethin’. I mean, I’m an engineer, not a mechanic. To be honest I’d much rather be on a ship … “

Cyrus nodded. It occurred to him moments too late that she was weary of him judging her.

“But this — this is good too,” she added quickly, brushing strands of hair behind her ear nervously with her wrist. “Anyway, let’s get started, yeah?” She pressed toward the ship’s ramp, swinging her screwdriver out of her pocket once more.

“I was trying to to tell him about the core power problem,” Addy went on, jerking her head in the older mechanic’s direction, “but he wasn’t exactly open to the idea. But maybe we — “

But Cyrus was only half-listening now. His mind was churning with an idea. Cyrus knew Atelier. He was a gifted engineer with an eye for innovation that Cyrus had always deeply respected. And this was his daughter. He stopped abruptly on the edge of the ramp. “Hang on. You said — you said you’d rather work on a ship?”

Addy turned around with another shining grin. “Oh yeah. Definitely. I’d love to see more of the span — this is actually my first time off Satieri, ever, believe it or not.” Her smile slowly faded with question. “Why?”

“Because, well, if you’re serious about it — “ An image of the Beacon’s engine room arrived in his mind. “I know a ship that’s looking for an engineer.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

In all her months aboard, Leta had never seen the Dionysian’s mess hall so crowded and lively, especially at this hour of the night. It seemed the crew had found reason to celebrate wildly after months of low morale: the captain was back on his feet, and just as important was a proper send-off party for Corra and Finn.

And for that reason, the liquor was flowing. Shots were thrown back, music was playing, and Rhys was already staggering on his feet as he told rambling, incoherent stories to Amora, who humored him with a shifty look in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Leta stood against the counter and kept close to Corra, nursing her third bottle of beer and trying to keep her mood light.

“Who’s that?” she asked Corra suddenly, lowering her beer. “Over there talking to Cy?”

Across the room, Cyrus was deep in conversation with a young blonde woman Leta did not recognize. He made a gesture with his hands, and she looked surprised, then laughed; whatever they were talking about, it seemed to be going well.

Corra peered in her direction for a moment and then grinned. “Oh, her! That’s Adrasteia. She’s the Beacon’s very first engineer,” she declared proudly. “Cyrus brought her by a couple days ago and told me so anyway. I wasn’t really in any position to argue. They just went down to the engine room and nerded out together for about an hour. Fine by me, but I’m pretty sure there’s an ulterior motive in the appointment. What do you think? Have I been replaced already or what?”

“There’s no replacing you, Corra,” Leta assured her laughingly, but her laughter soon faded into a sincere sigh.

“What’m I going to do without you?” she added, looking away and watching dully as Rhys poured a shot for Javier, who took a tiny sip and was immediately overcome with a violent coughing fit.

“Just come with me,” said Corra at once, leaning over and slapping Javier merrily on the back as he hacked away. “I mean it, chika. Join the Beacon crew.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time Corra had made this suggestion: every few hours, Corra excitedly sprung this idea on her and every time, for some reason, Leta felt herself hesitate. She could not bring herself to answer.

“Have you decided yet? If you want to come with us? No pressure,” Corra added, swigging her beer with one hand and patting Leta’s shoulder with the other. “I mean, a little bit of pressure, because we leave tomorrow, but y’know … “

Leta mustered a smile. “Well you are already taking Daelen away from me,” she noted wryly, glancing over the room toward her old friend, who was talking with Maya. He’d already happily agreed to join the Beacon’s crew as their tending physician (“Not like I have any desire to go back home!” he had declared with a grim laugh), a fact that made Leta sleep a little easier: at least her best friend would be surrounded by an able-bodied crew.

“We can never have enough doctors, though,” Corra teased in a sing-song voice, elbowing Leta in the ribs with such eagerness that Leta nearly staggered backwards. “Eh? Eh?”

Snorting into her beer, Leta pushed her off. Deciding to steer the conversation away from these waters, she asked briskly, “So. What’s the Beacon’s maiden voyage, captain? What’s the first run going to be?”

“Finn’s got something lined up,” she remarked, shrugging. “He was very excited about it so I let him take the lead on this one.” She leaned over and smiled at Leta impishly “Y’know. To keep his ego intact.”

“I heard that,” came Finn’s voice as he approached, shaking a long green bottle at his side. He was not looking at them, but over their heads. “Where’s Fiear? I need to spray him with champagne and remind him how much better my ship is,” he said, and then crossed through the room importantly.

Leta hadn’t actually seen Fiearius all evening, nor much over the past few days. His triumphant (if still somewhat unexplained) return to health had been somewhat soured when he found out about Corra and Finn’s departure. As good as it was to see him on his feet again, Leta got the distinct feeling that he may have been avoiding her. For what purpose, she couldn’t begin to fathom and with Corra halfway out the door, she had put her concern on the backburner for the time being. He’d probably seen enough of her over the past two months in the infirmary anyway.

Leta was fairly certain then that Fiearius wouldn’t be in the mess hall with the rest of the crew, but sure enough, she spotted him then leaning in the doorway, beer hanging loosely in his hand, already smirking at Finn. But he never got the chance to actually act on his bubbly threat: just then, Dez, of all people, stepped into the room, and nodded for Fiearius to join him in the hallway. Fiearius’ smirk dropped off his face, but he followed him, and they disappeared from the mess hall.

Leta could hardly believe her eyes. “Did you see that? What’s Dez doing out of the brig?”

“Fiear let him out this morning,” said Corra, shrugging her shoulders. “Dunno why exactly … that guy’s a total whackjob.”

Leta certainly agreed. And what was he doing with Fiearius?

Suddenly tossing her beer bottle into the garbage can with a thud, she followed them.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“So here’s what I was thinking,” Leta announced importantly, slicing her hand through the air to ensure that Cyrus, who walked at her side down the Dionysian’s hallway, was paying careful attention. They were headed to the bridge so Cyrus could check on the Dionysian’s fuel levels, but first, they had a plan to execute. A very important one.

Cyrus nodded, looking gravely serious, so she continued, “First, I’ll distract Finn. No wait, I’ll get someone else to distract Finn. A pretty girl would do it. So I’ll distract Corra. Then you run downstairs to the Beacon’s engine room. How fast can you sprint? You know how to fix an engine which means you know how to break one,” she reminded him, lifting her eyebrows keenly. “So the Beacon will be here forever. It’ll be our secret. No one will need to know.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Cyrus agreed, but then he blanched. “But break an engine? Are you asking me to use my talents for evil? ‘Fraid I can’t do that. With great power comes great responsibility … “

He trailed off, and then, both of them sighed in unison. When Corra departed, they would soon be united in loneliness. Leta’s heart was already aching with loss. Of all to happen in the last two weeks — and it had been another tumultuous, strange stretch of time — Leta found the idea of Corra leaving hardest to manage. But, as Leta kept telling herself repeatedly, it wasn’t really goodbye. Hell, maybe she’d even be joining Corra when she left. Everyone needed a doctor, or at least everyone needed a best friend.

And how could she blame Corra at all? She had a ship in her hands, a pilot in Finn, and she had no reason to stay stagnant here forever …

Unfortunately, there was more to Corra leaving than just missing her presence. Cyrus seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“You know, the Beacon is the only thing keeping the Carthians from kicking us out,” he muttered as he started up the staircase. “Don’t think the military would appreciate having a renegade ship harboring multiple fugitives parked on their main docks. We’ll have to find another way to hide the ship when she leaves.”

“Maybe Corra won’t want to leave right away.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to hold her back,” he admitted. “I’m going to look into maybe moving the Dionysian to a local mechanic’s hangar. They have the space, they have the privacy, all I have to do is find a way to compensate them for borrowing it. And I have a master’s in engineering from Paradiex.” He shrugged. “How hard could that be?”

Leta was sure Cyrus’ plan was just fine, but she couldn’t muster much of a response. She only nodded as they rounded a corner to reach the command deck. Cyrus knew her too well: he seemed to know exactly what was on her mind.

“Hey, so,” he prompted quietly, sliding her a glance. “How’s Ren doing? Heard from him lately?”

“I just did yesterday, actually,” she said. “Heard from a few of his caretakers, too. It sounds like he’s doing well.”

It was then, however, that the conversation came to a staggering, startled halt. Down the hallway, in the bridge, came sudden noise that told them they were not alone in this part of the Dionysian after all.

She heard footsteps, the squeak of the captain’s chair, and the humming of a system console. And even more than that, she could sense the room held an occupant who belonged there. There was little argument as to who it was. Before she knew, she knew.

“Well Amora’s right,” said Leta to Cyrus bluntly, after a considerable, heavy pause. “The ship’s haunted.”

Yet, as the curious young woman carried forward, apparently fearless of ghosts, she was given newfound reason to halt sharply in the doorway of the bridge.

It was him, it really was Fiearius sitting there in the captain’s chair, like he used to, realer than real, apparently busy with — something. He scrolled through the console screens with one hand, lounged back casually, just like the old days.

The sight of him there went straight through her like a knife, and for a moment, Leta, shocked into pale expressionlessness, could do little more than stare.

Cyrus was at her side, equally as dumbfounded.

Fiearius glanced over his shoulder, spotted them, and smiled. “Hey! How’s — “

“What’re you doing up here?” Leta breathed, unsure if she should have felt alarmed, thrilled, both, or neither.

Cyrus sounded rather fearful. “Fiear. How’d you get up here?”

“I walked.”

“Without your cane?” said Leta in disbelief. “All the way up the stairs? By yourself?”

“Looks that way.” Fiearius started to push himself up to his feet, and immediately Leta and Cyrus launched forward to help him.

“I’m fine,” said Fiearius, brushing them off and laughing. “Really.”

“No you aren’t,” said Leta, “your legs — “

“Little achey,” he admitted. “But I feel great. Better than I have in months.”

“How?” said Leta, clasping her temple. “Fiearius, you barely made it along the docks the other day. You had to use me for support. And Daelen said — “

Daelen had said it was unlikely he would ever walk again. She swallowed those words and continued.

“Did you take more painkillers or something?” she asked, circling around him to survey him up and down, full of skepticism. “Are you — you’re not drunk, are you?”

But Fiearius just laughed at her again and tilted his head to the side, brow raised. “Of course not. I just…I don’t know, feel better. Ain’t gonna question it if that’s alright by you, oh kiddo, ye of little faith.”

She could only shake her head, still in shock. She would have to unravel this mystery with physical tests — she’d check his heart rate, his blood pressure, run a scan …

But was it possible — was it actually possible — that he had a breakthrough? Daelen had said his mental health needed treatment as badly as his physical wounds. And now, here he was, looking steady on his feet, with healthy color in his face, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief. He even shaved a little.

She couldn’t fight the hope blossoming in her chest. “But — what’re you doing up here?”

“Well what do you think I’m doing?” he said gruffly, dropping his elbow on the captain’s chair with an air of his usual arrogance. “I’m takin’ back my ship.”

Finn could hardly believe the readings on the console screen. The efficiency grade, the fuel storage, the surveillance capabilities — this ship was unlike any other he’d flown before. He felt like he had actual hearts in his eyes.

It was no wonder, then, he hadn’t left the Beacon’s bridge all afternoon. The more time he spent here, scrolling through her diagnostics, examining the field of controls, the more he felt like he was falling in love with a beautiful, exotic woman. Who just happened to be outfitted with some of the best long-range weaponry he’d ever seen.

Vaguely he heard the bridge door glide open behind him, but he didn’t look up from his spot in the pilot’s chair. As it turned out, it was Corra, who approached his side and greeted, “Hey, Riley,” over his shoulder.

“Hi. You know, with a little mech tinkering, this beast could be the fastest of its kind?” he said reply, swiping his hand across the screen to show her. “See this? She’s completely unmatched in premium fuel and speed standards.”

Corra paused to stare at the screen, then she glanced toward Finn. “Okay….” she muttered patiently.

“I’m serious, just look at these readings I’m getting, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he went on as she lowered into the co-pilot’s chair, crossing her legs and gripping her ankles as she leaned forward. Finn couldn’t help but notice there was an excited light in her eyes, though he didn’t think it was due to the Beacon’s cloaking ability, for some reason.

“Great,” she breathed suddenly. “So hey, remember that night on Paraven?”

At last, his attention was captured. He turned his chair toward her, a devilish grin spreading over his face. “You mean with the tequila and the moonlight? Oh I remember.”

“Oh shut up, not that part,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “The other part. Before. When we were talking. About ships.”

“Ah.” He nodded. This, of course, was a bit fuzzy in his memory. “Vaguely.”

“Vaguely?!” she demanded indignantly. “I bare hopes and dreams to you and all you can remember is making out on the beach? Typical.”

“Hey, I remember a little,” Finn defended, scratching his hair. “You were talking about leaving the Dionysian.”

“Oh there ya go,” she remarked, looking mildly impressed.

“Something about you wanting a ship of your own. Having adventures on your own bird … “

“Right, and?” she prompted.

A long stretch of silence sat between them. Finn gazed at her blankly.

“Close enough,” she declared, and then she bounced up in her seat. “Well guess what!”

“You — ah — did it?” Finn guessed, startled. “Got a ship?” Then he narrowed his eyes as realization hit him hard. “Wait. This ship?”

“I got this ship!” she yelped, actually jumping to her feet with her hands in the air. “I talked to Cyrus, and he doesn’t want it and Fiear doesn’t want it and nobody wants it, so he said I can take it!”

Finn stared as she danced in a circle of joy around him. He felt she was missing a rather important puzzle piece here. Dryly, he muttered, “‘Nobody else’ wants it huh?”

Corra, mid-bounce, stopped and flung her hands back to her sides.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” she ordered shortly. “I haven’t forgotten about you. And I’ve got no intention of prying you out of here.” With a wide grin spreading across her face, she casually stepped around behind his seat and put her hands on his shoulders. “In fact,” she went on, leaning down to speak into his ear. “I was just thinking how much I could use a pilot.”

Finn lifted his eyebrows with intrigue. “A pilot? And here I thought you learned to fly her overnight.” He paused, and added casually, “So … you got someone in mind?”

\

“Maybe,” she cooed, leaning her elbow on his shoulder and her head in her hand. Dreamily, each word soaked in sugar, she went on, “There’s a candidate I’m looking at that knows so much about her already and about ships in general and would be such a great asset to my crew, I’d really love it if he’d join me.”

Finn wrinkled his forehead, feigning confusion. If Corra was going to bait him, then he was going to play dumb.

“Wait, who is this guy?” he asked suspiciously. “And what makes you think he wants to pilot for you, eh?”

She blanched and said bluntly, “Because his alternative is to go back to an aging decrepit rust bucket that can’t even reach a decent cruising altitude without nearly exploding?”

Well, it was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

“Fair point,” he admitted, turning to face her. “So is this a real offer? An official offer? ‘Cause you’re gonna have to ask me all official-like, you know.”

Corra sighed, rolling her eyes as she drew herself up importantly. “Finnegan Riley, will you please come with me and be the Beacon’s official pilot?”

“Of course I will, why didn’t you say so?” he said at once, grinning at her. He leaned back in his chair and slid his hands behind his neck. “I’ll accept. With a few terms.”

“Terms?” She planted her hands at her hips. “What kinda terms?”

“Term one,” said Finn briskly, “I want a say in the crew we bring aboard. The Beacon will need about 100 hands, y’know.”

“I’m aware, thanks,” Corra grumbled. “Go on.”

“Term two. I’m not signin’ a contract of any kind. Nothing that says I can’t leave. I can bail at any second. Alright? But,” he added, lifting his hand, “I do promise to land the bird before I ever do that.”

Corra did not look impressed. “Commitment issues, huh? Couldn’t see that coming.”

“And finally. Let’s discuss our titles.”

Corra barely blinked before she said, “I’m the captain.”

“You — what?” Finn laughed, but he was not joking when he said, “You mean co-captain. Seeing as you can’t fly it without me, ma’am, I’ve got just as much right to this ship as you do.”

“You do not.” Corra gaped at him. “If you wanted it so bad, you should have done something about it. I did. So I’m the captain. You.” She prodded him in the chest. “Are the pilot.”

Finn scoffed in disbelief. “Not only the pilot. Co-captain.”

“Fine,” she relented, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Lead pilot.”

“I’m the only pilot.”

“You’ll be my first mate, then.”

“Not a chance.”

Corra was stumped for a moment, but only a moment. “Sub-captain!”

“That,” said Finn, pointing at her, “is not even a thing.”

“Fine.” Corra crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine…You can be … “ But then she trailed off and grumbled nonsense under her breath, averting her eyes to the side.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Corra groaned. “You can be co-captain,” she said again, her voice both loud and bitter. Finn beamed.

“Well ya don’t hafta shout. And thank you kindly.” He threw out his hand to shake hers, which she did begrudgingly. But still, he could see a small smirk growing on her face.

“We oughta celebrate,” he decided, jumping to his feet as he looked around the bridge with newfound love in his eyes. “Drinks?”

Fortunately, Finn knew just where to look. The captain’s quarters, which he’d taken the liberty of exploring for himself, boasted an impressive bar. A few minutes later, he returned into the bridge, swinging a green champagne bottle at his side.

“To the Beacon,” he said, filling not a champagne flute, but a coffee mug – it was the only glass he could find quickly – and passing it over to Corra. He poured another for himself and tilted the mug against hers. “Cheers, cap’n.”

“Cheers,” said Corra, grinning brightly as she took her sip — but then she added, under her breath, “Pilot.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As soon as they were out of earshot, Leta pressed, “What is it?”

Daelen paused before her, rubbing his chin. “How long ago did he sustain the injury?”

“Just over six weeks ago.”

He nodded, then lifted his eyebrows at her. “And walking still produces a 7 pain level? Even exaggerated that’s…” He shifted his lips thoughtfully. “Concerning…”

“It is,” Leta agreed quickly. “But I also lowered his dosage of painkillers. And he’s moving much more than last week.”

“That’s good to hear,” Daelen said, though he didn’t look any more relieved. “Any progress is something worth celebrating. But at this point…” His voice faded off until he asked suddenly, “You said you weren’t able to treat the wound until a few days after the incident?”

“Right. That’s why the wounds are so severe.”

“It’s possible that the damage from that initial period is more permanent than I’d hoped,” he admitted, his tone growing more quiet. “And what of his mental state? He seems…agitated?”

“Oh — he’s always like that,” Leta assured quickly. “Trust me.”

Daelen spared her a short smile, but it soon swept from his face. “And the hallucinations?”

“They’ve — well, he’s still having them,” Leta admitted.

“That,” Daelen sighed, “is what I was afraid of.”

He took to pacing around her, full of thought. “In my experience, in these kinds of situations, the physical state can be held back from full recovery by mental or emotional barriers. If a patient doesn’t believe they can recover, if they don’t want to recover, if there’s a significant stress getting in the way of their recovery, that takes a physical toll. I can see it in your patient clearly. Even when he’s speaking to you, he doesn’t always seem like he’s entirely present. I’m afraid that until he’s able to reign in these ‘nightmares’ as you say, he may not be able to truly recover.”

He paused, and looked at her directly. “Leta, I’m — I’m afraid he may never walk without support again.”

But that was hardly part of the plan, thought Leta at once, as if correcting him. Visions of Fiearius sprinting up the Dionysian’s ramp passed through her mind.

She found she couldn’t speak; she said nothing. Was this, she wondered, how her patients felt when she talked to them back in the clinic? Did her bedside manner hurt as badly as this?

Daelen studied her face, terrible worry in his eyes. “There are options,” he went on gently, composed as always. “First and foremost, he’ll need a psychiatrist. Perhaps someone who knows about these ARC treatments.”

“No one knows about the ARC treatments,” said Leta at once, sounding more impatient than she would have liked. “That’s the problem. They’re Society experiments; no one outside the Society knows anything about the program.”

Daelen went on mildly, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Then, our next step will be finding him a specialist. He needs a someone with experience in muscular recon–”

“How would we get a specialist, Daelen?” Leta interrupted hotly, her voice straining with despair.  “A specialist from a Society institution, you mean. He can’t just walk into a hospital, he’s a wanted fugitive.” She shook her head, feeling exasperated, exhausted, and most of all, scared. She’d spent six weeks with Fiearius in the infirmary, and it may have been for nothing.

Daelen went to reply, but Leta raised her hand sharply.

“Look, I’m all he’s got,” she said, her voice shaking. “So that’s going to have to be enough.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

He hadn’t meant to overhear. He wished that he hadn’t. But as Leta and Daelen argued quietly in the hallway, Fiearius could not stop himself from tilting his head in their direction and listening as their hurried voices carried his way.

What he heard made him freeze in place.

So he really wasn’t getting better then. The news did not shock him: in fact, he felt like nodding along in agreement. Even as he sat on that crate, watching people trudging along the snowy docks just outside, he could feel his sickness creeping in on him. He was learning to cope. The visions and reality were more easily separated. But if Daelen was right and they were keeping him from walking…

But that prognosis wasn’t what was making him want to sink to the floor in defeat. The part that truly got to him, that made his stomach clench in discomfort and shame burn behind his eyes, was the sinking despair in Leta’s voice.

She had been trying so hard to make him well. The past month and a half, she’d dedicated her existence to helping him. And yet he failed her over and over and would keep failing her until he could rein in this mania.

It was that thought that made him unable to just sit there by himself any longer.

Planting his cane against the Beacon’s metal floor, he painfully pushed himself back to his feet, wincing as he did. He didn’t know where he was going, but he started walking nonetheless, deeper into the ship’s maze of halls and stairways. It was a slow trek and he found himself clutching the walls for support as his feet lead the way.

He eased himself down a set of stairs until he finally stopped, of all places, in the brig. It was a long hallway of cells, all of them empty save for one.

Steadying one hand against the wall, Fiearius eased toward the chamber that held Dez. A pane of thick clear glass separated them. Inside, Dez sat lounged against the back wall.

He raised his eyes toward Fiearius expectantly, like he knew it was only a matter of time before he arrived here. Fiearius hadn’t seen him since he’d affronted him in the infirmary over two weeks ago.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. At last, words fell from Fiearius’ mouth before he could consider them.

“Why did you help me escape from Satieri?”

Dez blinked his eyes, his expression stoic. “Because you weren’t supposed to be there.”

It was about as unsatisfying of an answer as Fiearius could have received. He tiredly put his hand to his forehead. “I really wasn’t looking for your Ridellian ‘path of the dov’ha’ bullshit, Dez,” he groaned.

“It’s not bullshit,” Dez said simply, coming to his feet. He stepped closer to the glass. “And that wasn’t what I meant. Do you remember the night you left Satieri?” he asked suddenly, taking Fiearius by surprise. “The night you fled, once and for all. When you asked me to come with you?”

Fiearius snorted indignantly. “How could I forget? You left me a damn reminder on my face.” He pointed to the thick scar across his brow and down his cheek

Dez’s brow creased in mild thought. “If it’s any consolation, I think it makes your face less forgettable.”

“It’s not,” Fiearius growled. “Get to the point.”

“When you asked me to leave,” said Dez, “I should have said yes.”

At that, Fiearius froze. In all his years of knowing Desophyles, he had never shown an ounce of remorse or regret. For anything. He was unfeeling, and he simply did not operate that way.

Dez continued, “It took time to realize, but I understand now. To the Society, we’re all disposable. You. Me. Aela, Denarian, my brothers, may the dov’ha claim their souls. It’s always been that way. But seeing your life about to be tossed away, I knew. I knew there was another option. I knew that we, you and I. We can fight back. That’s why I helped you escape.”

Fiearius simply gaped at him. Then, he barked a single-note laugh. “Yeah, Dez, you and me can take down a centuries-old institution, absolutely. You’re fucking insane, you know that? Insane and, frankly, wrong. You can’t fight them. That other option you discovered? Is to run.”

“For you, yes. For me, yes. But for us.” He lifted his brows. “Do you realize the power you have embedded in your wrist? You are their Verdant, Fiearius, whether they want you to be or not. You have more influence than you believe. And I. I have worked closely with the Council for four years. I can teach you how to use it.”

Fiearius scoffed indignantly. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a coward.”

Fiearius’ glare narrowed on him before he finally rolled his eyes and looked away. But as much as he wanted to leave the brig, his feet didn’t move. There was a reason he came down here. It was in the back of his mind, nagging. He just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

After a careful pause, Dez asked, “Why are you down here, Fiearius?”

Fiearius shut his eyes and told himself to walk away. To go back upstairs. But then he thought of the infirmary, the walking lessons. Leta’s utter defeat. His worried brother.

“You were right,” Fiearius grunted, opening his eyes. “For once. About what you said a few weeks ago. They’re not going away. The…nightmares, hallucinations, whatever they are. I can fight them off, but…they’re still there. I can’t do this anymore.”

Dez did not look at all surprised in the slightest. He nodded along, even when Fiearius stared him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t trust you. And this changes nothing between us. And I’m not fucking help you fight the Society. But…if you’re sure it works. If you’re sure Flush will fix this….” He took a deep breath. “I’ll take it.”