“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.”

Snow crunched underfoot as Leta walked along the ship docks, leading Fiearius at her side. It was his very first walk outdoors in the winter air, and his arm looped around Leta’s so he could balance his weight, his other hand propped up on a cane. Possibly it was the slowest she’d ever walked in her life, and every few steps, he winced or inhaled a pained breath, but nonetheless — seeing Fiearius anywhere but the infirmary was making Leta’s heart stir with real, actual hope.

Progress.

And there was another reason her heart felt lighter: she had more help now. Daelen, one of her oldest friends from Vescent, had arrived an hour earlier via passenger vessel. Now, he walked along Fiearius’ other side. Leta kept stealing glances at him, hardly able to believe she had a familiar face here with her. When she left, she thought she’d never see him again.

“So how was the trip here?” asked Leta, her arm tightened around Fiearius’ as they took another step forward gingerly. “How difficult was it to get through Vescentian border control?”

“Not the worst security I’ve experienced,” Daelen mused. “Though certainly a lot different than the last time I ventured off-world. They made me answer so many questions about the patient I was visiting, I’m almost sure I broke confidentiality.” He glanced back at Fiearius and smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, I lied.”

Fiearius lifted his brows in vague interest.“‘Preciate it. And thanks for comin’ out here at all. Don’t know how she managed to convince you.”

“Wasn’t that difficult actually,” Daelen claimed with a laugh. “I’ve been looking for a reason to leave Vescent for a while now. And what better reason than to help an old friend?”

“See, not everyone finds me as insufferable as you do, Fiear,” Leta added. She slowed on the edge of the docks. “Let’s stop here for a second. How do you feel?”

“Like a ninety-seven year old man,” Fiearius grumbled, glaring down at his cane, though he didn’t protest taking a break.

“At least you’re outside, yes?” said Daelen, his voice cheerful. Leta had always liked that about him: even back in med school, he found being optimistic much easier than she ever did. “Must be nice to get fresh air after being on the ship so long.”

Naturally, Fiearius cast him a look of disbelief. “Nice? It’s fucking freezing out here. How could anyone actually choose to live on this planet?”

“Hey, what’re you talking about?” Leta swept her hand toward the tall snowy evergreens. “Look at this place. I think it’s beautiful.”

“I think you’ve got a few screws loose.”

At that, Daelen chuckled and started to drift forward once more. “You know, when Leta described to me her situation, she failed to mention half the challenge would be listening to you two bicker.”

Leta sent Fiearius a pointed look, to which he smirked.

“Sorry,” she said to Daelen, grinning sheepishly as she fell into step beside him. “Tell us more about Vescent. How’s home?”

“Well, let’s see. It’s approaching summer now so the weather’s turning up,” Daelen replied conversationally. “They finally built a bridge across the West Ciene Canal which has made my commute vastly more enjoyable. I’ve been visiting the clinic a lot recently. They still miss you. No one’s managed to beat your suturing record yet.”

“Of course not,” said Leta, lifting her chin with pride. “I doubt anyone has beaten my whisky-shot record, either.”

“Never,” Daelen agreed, laughing. But soon his laughter faded and he drew his brow together in thought.

“There’s — there’s been a lot of strange things happening in the past few months, though,” he went on, his tone growing more serious. “Ever since the Society opened up a few new departments. They’re really settling in now that they’ve gained control of the parliament. People have started disappearing.” He glanced at Leta apologetically. “Well…even more than before. And curiously, the news has said nothing of it…”

Fiearius grunted. “Sounds like you’ve got your own little Internal Affairs formin’.”

“Yes, I think that was one,” Daelen remarked, casting him a slightly confused look before pressing on, “People are starting to get scared. I’m sure you remember walking along the bayside on a spring night and finding the whole city out there doing the same?” Leta nodded. “Nowadays, it’s dead. The city shuts down when the sun sets. One of my patients was just telling me last week that he’s begun taking the trains home even though it’s just a ten minute walk and a lovely one at that. It’s worrisome.”

“That’s not the Vescent I remember,” said Leta, feeling quietly horrified. She shifted her shoulders, unsettled. “Daelen, you haven’t … you haven’t seen my dad around, have you?”

“Not in a long while, no,” Daelen admitted, frowning at her. “Right after you left, he came by my office a few times to see if I’d heard from you, but I haven’t seen him personally since. He was publicly supporting a few of the Society candidates for election a couple months ago, but he’s disappeared from the public eye as far as I can tell.”

“That’s — well, that’s good, I suppose.” Leta sighed, her breath turning white in the air. “Good that you haven’t seen him, that means he’s off-planet or in hiding. The Society must want him dead now, thanks to me.”

“Thanks to me, you mean,” Fiearius put in, half-sarcastic, half-apologetic. Leta looked over at him in surprise, but he went on to Daelen, “So that’s why you up and left? Abandon ship before it sinks?”

Daelen grimaced. “Somewhat. Though there are a few…well…personal reasons too,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Personal?” said Leta quickly. “What’s the matter? Is Rosietta alright?”

“Oh no, she’s fine,” he assured her at once, waving her off. “Better than ever even. I’m sure she’s quite content traveling with her new southern artist lover.”

“With her what?” said Leta, balking in surprise. She’d met Rosietta Orsada a handful of times and always found the woman pleasant and friendly; always with her arm around Daelen, always smiling up at him fondly.

Fiearius nudged Leta, looking confused. “Girlfriend?” he whispered.

“Wife,” Leta clarified.

“Ex,” Daelen corrected with a sigh. “The divorce was finalized about a month ago. Like I said…I was looking for a reason to get out for a bit.”

Fiearius grimaced in understanding. “Yeah I bet. Gotta fill that void somehow…”

Daelen nodded in agreement, but then suddenly threw Fiearius a more curious look. “You were married? Or are? Sorry, I noticed the–what is the word for that again? The Ridellian matrimonial mark. On your palm.”

Fiearius released his grip on Leta’s arm to glance down at the crudely drawn circle that seemed to be painted on his skin. Leta had noticed the mark before and assumed it was just another tattoo. But apparently, it symbolized marriage.

The realization gave her pause.

“Chi’tauri. And yeah. I was,” Fiearius confirmed, though he said nothing else. He dropped his hand and quickly circled his arm around Leta’s once more. Daelen seemed to take the hint.

“Well let’s just say your message couldn’t have come at a better time, Leta,” he went on breezily, brushing over the awkward pause.

They reached the outside of the Beacon and started up its long ramp, Leta’s arm still closed around Fiearius’ as they trekked up the angled floor carefully. Now that they had completed their entire walk on real terrain and made it all the way into the warm cargo bay, Leta swept out a hand in victory.

“What do you think, Dr. Orsada?” she asked, pointing at Fiearius’ legs. He was still leaning half of his weight on her, but he’d walked nearly the entire way, and for that, she was eager to ask, “What’s the prognosis on our patient here? Am I a miracle worker or what?”

Daelen glanced at Fiearius’ legs, then forced a cheerful smile. “Well let’s see, how do you feel, Mr. Soliveré? On a scale of one to ten, describe your pain level?”

Fiearius blinked at him. “Just call me Fiearius, thanks. And uh, I don’t know. Seven?”

“I see,” said Daelen, his tone mild and unreadable. “So moderate to severe, then?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Daelen nodded, then gestured toward a crate against the wall. “Well why don’t you take a break and have a seat over here for a while?” Completely ignoring Fiearius’ look of suspicion, he went on, “Enjoy the fresh air a little longer, it’ll be good for you.”

Fiearius agreeably lowered to the crate, but not without throwing a look of questioning toward Leta. She had no opportunity to assure him, however, because Daelen met her eyes and gestured pointedly toward the hallway.

Leta walked with him, already sensing something was off, something was on his mind. Daelen didn’t look merely thoughtful, he looked worried.