* * *
When the night sky changed from orange to purple, she moved. She wore a simple black shirt, flexible leggings and her last pair of boots, a black scarf wrapped around her face, her hair covered by another black wrap. A few small knives were hidden on her body, but nothing else.
The coordinates led her to a short, squat, and ugly building. At the rear of the building, one of the basement shutters was loose. She unscrewed it, set it aside and checked for any signs of life. Nothing: silent and black inside. The opening was only two feet wide, but she managed to shimmy through.
Once inside, she moved on the balls of her feet, up the basement stairs, past doorways and windows. There, around the corner: the sound of heavy breathing. A cough rippled down the hallway, followed by a wet sniff. Male, and sick. If weakened by illness, he was heavily armed to compensate. She needed the element of surprise; if this man were as big as he sounded, one direct hit would knock her down and out. A light knock against the wall to draw his attention. A shot to the throat, a kick to the knee, followed by a quick reversal of his firearm so the butt struck under the chin with a crack. He stumbled, and her steel-tipped boot swung into his temple. As he fell, Phaira darted forward and grasped the guard under the arms, following him down as he slid to the floor. Then she removed the charge from the Kivara firearm, leaving it heavy and dead against the wall, and continued to move.
Inside the room he guarded, a silhouette sat in front of glowing blue screens. Alone. Female. Blonde and black-streaked hair, puffed into a halo. Phaira assessed the space: a jumble of mechanics, supply units, half-eaten food. And sitting in the middle of a wire pile, a high-powered magrifle; very likely the weapon that blew through those two Hitodama.
Phaira waited in the shadows, listening to the tail end of the conversation:
“…you don’t need her, Keller. Or anyone, for that matter. I can do everything that’s needed. You’re bringing in too many outsiders. It’ll start to draw attention.” Her voice was raspy, rougher than Phaira expected.
“You’re good, but not that good,” came a gruff man’s voice through the sound system. “I know what I’m doing. Just hold your position. I’ll let you know what’s next.”
Phaira waited for the click of disconnection. Then she was across the room, her arm looped around the woman’s throat. When Phaira jerked backwards, the woman came with her, the chair tipping over on its side with a crash. The woman clawed at Phaira’s arm, but her long fingernails couldn’t penetrate the material.
Phaira put her face to the woman’s ear. “I know you’re called Saka,” she stated, her voice muffled through her scarf. “I also know that you contacted a Hitodama minutes before she and her friend were hunted down. And a magrifle sounds about right for a murder weapon.”
Phaira released Saka. Her halo of hair half-collapsed, the woman grasped her throat, wobbling to her feet.
“You have one option,” Phaira told her. “Tell me where Emir Ajyo is and I’ll take you to local patrol.”
Saka stared at Phaira, her make-up smeared black under her eyes. “Are you Hitodama?”
Phaira said nothing. Stumbling, Saka backed off, reaching behind for her workstation table. A Compact-model pistol lay under papers; she grabbed it and swung the weapon forward.
“Now you have one option,” Saka sneered. “Five seconds to leave before I blow a hole in you.”
Phaira didn’t move.
The pistol in Saka’s hand wavered. “Whoever you are, this doesn’t concern you.”
“If you shoot, I’ll be within my rights,” Phaira warned.
The woman’s finger tightened around the trigger.
“Hand over Emir,” Phaira ordered. “And - ”
A hole exploded in the opposite wall. Phaira was already knocking the pistol from Saka’s fingers, shoving the woman against her desk. Hardware clattered to the floor as Saka ricocheted. Then the woman sprang forward, rolling behind Phaira and snatching up the fallen pistol. As she swung it around to fire, Phaira grabbed Saka’s wrist and twisted. The bones ground together. Saka dropped the gun with a cry. Then, panicked, Saka snatched at Phaira’s hair, her cold fingers buried in her scalp.
At the touch, something exploded inside of Phaira. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, her heart exploding, synapses frenzied and screaming: the cold the cold get away get off get off. Somewhere, Saka was screaming, under the rush of blood in Phaira’s ears.
When Phaira snapped back to the present, nearly hyperventilating, she saw Saka holding her broken fingers, sprinting for the door. The Compact lay on the floor. Phaira scooped it up and fired.
The blast caught the edge of Saka’s arm. Saka crashed to the ground, but Phaira was there to meet her, grasping the woman by the throat, hauling her up, slamming her back against the wall and pushing her forearm against Saka’s wound. Phaira’s black sleeve was instantly soaked in hot blood.
As Saka shrieked with pain, Phaira brought her masked face closer. “Where is he?”
Then Phaira’s ears pricked. There was a pinging sound over the hum of Saka’s broken workstation, something tapping on metal.
Phaira dug her thumb next to Saka’s gunshot wound, making the woman howl in pain. As she yanked Saka off the wall, the sound started again in the corner, low to the floor, coming from behind the wall.
Phaira jerked her head towards the sound. “Open it.”
With a burst of strength, Saka wrenched her arm away from Phaira, and flopped backwards onto the bundle of wires in the corner, where the magrifle lay. Saka snatched it up, her hands fumbling for the trigger.
It happened so fast. But Phaira’s hand was suddenly outstretched, her concealed knife gone and buried in Saka’s chest.
The magrifle clattered to the floor. Saka’s eyes and mouth were perfect circles of surprise, falling away.
Familiar. Nican made that face. They all made the same face.
Focus, Phaira ordered herself. Focus and get out of here.
As Saka writhed, Phaira crouched down, tracing the edges of the wall. There, the hinge: she hooked her fingers around the hidden strip and yanked.
Inside, the man with white hair and ashy brown skin blinked in the sudden light. Phaira offered her hand. It shook just a little as she helped Emir to his feet.
“Stupid - ” Saka’s voice rasped, followed by the slow, sucking sound of an open wound.
Instantly, Phaira knew what was to come, but Emir was stumbling half-blind and she couldn’t get him out of the way.
A swish of air, and a sickening thunk. Emir roared with pain as he clutched his arm, a bloody knife sticking out of his tricep muscle.
Phaira snatched at another concealed knife and flipped it into a reverse position.
But her hand lowered when she saw Saka gulp for air, shudder and finally go still on the floor.
Sheathing the blade, Phaira snatched Emir by his uninjured wrist and led him out of the glowing room. When Emir started to moan with pain, she gave his arm a jerk, silencing him.
An alarm went off. Panic swarmed through her. She suddenly flashed back to memories of Nox and the others on her team: the voices in her ear, her back up, and her defense. What was she thinking? She was a fool to do this alone.
But she had to finish this first. Left, then left again, down the stairs. Ahead of them, barely visible in the pitch-dark, she saw the open window. Emir might fit through the opening, but barely. Phaira held her breath as she boosted Emir up. He moaned, cradling his arm with the small knife in it. Shifting back and forth on his back, he managed to squeeze through the window and roll onto street level. Phaira kept glancing back at the stairs, listening for footsteps. There were none.
Go, her mind commanded. Get outside. Then don’t stop moving. Stay in the shadows. Take as many twists and turns needed to disappear. Keep Emir behind so he can’t identify your features.
It took nearly an hour to reach the designated safe spot at the city’s edge. The scarf around Phaira’s f
ace was wet from her breath. Deep inside the alley, and hidden from overhead view, she finally let go of Emir’s wrist.
Emir sank to his knees, sucking in the night air. His face was heavily lined, with dirt smeared into the crevices. It made him look ghoulish.
But he does look like his daughter, she thought. Funny.
Emir jerked his head up to stare at her. “Who are you?” he said fearfully. “Did my daughter hire you?”
When she nodded, Emir deflated with relief. She took the opportunity to kneel down next to him, examining his arm. The blade was only three inches long, but a good two were solidly lodged into the tricep muscle. This would hurt.
She began to straighten out the arm. Emir let out a shout of pain before muffling it in his throat. Phaira placed his hand firmly against her shoulder for support. A pile of gauze in one hand, she curled the fingers of her other hand around the blade’s handle. Phaira swallowed, counted to three, and swiftly yanked out the knife, pressing the gauze down in its place. Emir yelped, and then shuddered. He looked like he might faint.
Phaira shifted Emir so he could lean against the brick wall of the alleyway. Then she took Emir’s hand and placed it over the gauze, silently encouraging him to hold it.
Eventually he did. After several minutes, Phaira checked the flood of blood. Slower, at least. She was no Sydel, and with some stitches he would have a nasty scar, but for now it would do.
“Thank you,” Emir said, his voice scratchy.
“What’s your medical condition?” Phaira asked. “Do you need to be taken somewhere?”
“Just call my daughter. Please.”
Uncomfortable at the emotion in his voice, Phaira strode down the narrow alleyway to its end. Digging under a pile of discarded tools and rotten vegetables, Phaira unearthed a Lissome, carefully wrapped in clean cloth, along with that folded piece of paper. As Emir leaned against the wall, Phaira punched in the cc.
“Phaira?”
“South side of the Mac, and bring a suture kit,” Phaira said. “Target acquired.”
V.
Phaira unwrapped the black scarf from her head, wiping condensation from her upper lip and shaking out her sweat-matted hair. Then Anandi threw her arms around Phaira’s neck. Phaira stiffened, but let the girl squeeze her tightly. Phaira’s brain, however, was focused on berating her own stupidity, her arrogance.
Then she heard Anandi’s voice in her ear: “Come with us?”
“What?” Phaira said, backing away from her embrace.
“You’re amazing,” Anandi sighed, like a teenager with a crush. “We could do so much together. You can stay with us, we’ll make you a good meal, and then we can get into some trouble together….”
Phaira looked at Anandi askance. What was the matter with this girl? Why would she offer something like that? She didn’t know anything about Phaira…
“I have a place to go,” Phaira began.
Then she realized with a heavy stomach that she couldn’t be certain of that fact.
“And you should clear out of here anyways,” she added gruffly. “Get him whatever medicine he needs.”
“Awww - ”
“Don’t push,” Emir told his daughter, his voice still scratchy. “She’s right. It’s been almost a week since - ”
“Okay, okay,” Anandi huffed, interrupting her father. She clearly didn’t want Phaira to know any more about it.
Phaira glanced at Emir. “You know why Saka grabbed you and killed the others?”
“She never spoke to me,” Emir said, coughing. “Not once.”
Disappointed, Phaira hovered by the alley’s mouth, wondering if she should just turn and leave. But Anandi was talking to her again, her smile faded and her eyes now serious. “Will you keep the details of this private?”
Phaira cocked her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“What’s happened tonight, from start to finish,” Anandi explained. “I’m asking you to stay silent. If you’re willing to do so, I promise: if you need anything, if you are ever in trouble, you have my protection.”
Phaira didn’t need to think about it. “Consider it classified.”
Soon after, Anandi and Emir disappeared into the night, and Phaira headed north, keeping to the shadows. Anandi’s words rolled around in Phaira’s head; they were significant, somehow, but she was too drained to figure out the meaning.
Within the hour, she wrenched open the door to the old Volante. Her mind swirled with what to tell her brothers about Anandi, about Saka, or any of it. It seemed clear, however, that it was time to make plans to disappear again. It wasn’t fair to involve them in her mess. When Renzo and Cohen were far from this area of the country and any potential harm, she could go with confidence. Deal with the aftermath. Maybe seek out Anandi and her father, see what could come of that connection.
“What happened?” came Renzo’s voice, startling Phaira from her thoughts. He stood at the top of the stairs.
So much for keeping them away from this, Phaira thought. Still, she chose her words carefully. “I found Emir Ajyo. He’s safe. But there might be retaliation. We need to leave.”
“Did you hurt someone?”
Pausing at the top of the steps, Phaira lifted her gaze. “Would you believe me if I said that it was in self-defense?”
Then a massive blur shot past Renzo, and two arms slapped around Phaira.
“Cohen!” she shrieked, as he lifted her up in an embrace.
“Glad you’re okay,” came his muffled voice.
Phaira patted his shoulder, even as her heart raced from shock. “Tough guy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cohen mumbled. As he put her down, a smile grew on his face. “So what happened? Did you get him? I know you did, I bet you can’t wait to tell those Hitodama people - ”
“I’m not sure we want - ” Phaira began, but Renzo caught her eye and shook his head.
“You deal with that group,” Renzo said, drawing both Cohen and Phaira’s attention. “I’ll get us in the air.” He limped towards the cockpit.
Cohen looked at Phaira plaintively. She pretended to roll her eyes. “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you about it,” she told him, relieved that he was speaking to her again.
As the Volante lifted into the sky, Phaira ducked into her quarters to towel off the sweat and grime. Close enough to normal, she thought, and opened her Lissome.
“Phaira Lore.” The ghoulish face appeared again. “What news?”
Watching from the doorway, Cohen mouthed with a smirk: Phaira Lore?
“Target retrieved,” Phaira said, ignoring her brother. She needed to end this relationship.
“Where is he?” Lander said eagerly. His face drew nearer to the screen. “Was I right? Was it Saka?”
”Emiyo is safe,” Phaira told him. “That’s all the information I can share.”
A long pause. “What do you mean, that’s all?”
“Just as I said. The job is complete.”
“But - but he wasn’t the only one targeted,” Lander sputtered. “Other members are hiding in fear. We are under attack, and you’re just going to - ?”
“Your group’s security is not my problem,” Phaira said firmly.
In the pixelated screen, Lander’s face grew spiteful. “I hired you. You do as I say, and you give me the information that I pay for. You don’t withhold from the Hitodama.”
“Oh really?” Phaira challenged. “You paid for the safe return of a man, which has been accomplished. Not happy with it? Keep your rana.”
When she broke the connection, the static backlash made her heart leap. Everything made her react, it seemed.
“That was weird,” Cohen remarked, walking into the cabin. “Are you in trouble?”
Phaira ran a hand through her frizzy hair; the smell of dried blood on her sleeve hit her. She brought her arm down quickly. “It didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, but still - ”
Suddenly the Volante tipped up. Phaira
and Cohen slid across the room, hitting the walls with a bang. The wind knocked out of her, Phaira could hear her older brother swearing. Holding onto the walls, she slipped and strained to stay upright.
“Co!” she yelled. “Are you okay?”
The ship shuddered again. The engines grew louder, screaming. Cohen gripped the doorframe, his feet planted wide. “Are you?” he hollered back, gesturing to his forehead.
A hot trickle on her temple. Phaira swiped with her forearm and ran into the corridor. As she did, the vessel seemed to hover in mid-air, as if taking a breath.
Then came the sickening drop in her stomach as the vessel began to plummet.
In the cockpit, Renzo gripped the flight controls with one hand as the other typed in a flurry. The Volante listed onto its side, its speed increasing. Clutching the pilot seat for balance, Phaira stared as the ship broke through the clouds, grasslands stretched below them.
“I can’t,” Renzo gasped, wrenching at the controls. The screens flashed ERROR. Another alarm began to shriek, a second layer of panicked noise. “I can’t control it! I can’t access it!”
Phaira’s blood went cold. Lander. She dug in her pockets. Where was that piece of paper? Had she left it in that alleyway?
The ship tipped to the side again. Renzo fought to keep the nose up, but the system wasn’t responding.
Phaira’s fingers shook as she punched in the letters and numbers. “Come on, come on,” she murmured as it rang once, then twice. “Come on!”
Then the connection clicked. “That was quick. Missed me?”
“Your friends have hacked into our ship!” Phaira shouted, grabbing hold of the console as the Volante shuddered again. “Get him out before we crash!”
“Hey!” Anandi shot back. “They aren’t my friends, and I don’t - ”
“Lady, we have about thirty seconds before we hit the water!” Renzo broke in. “If you can do something, do it now!”
“Stop yelling at me or I won’t do a thing!”
“You owe me, Anandi!” Phaira yelled. Her breath caught at the expanse of brown filling the windshield. The engines screamed. The Volante’s outer paneling started to peel off, bouncing off the glass. Her mind was a frantic loop. I’ve killed them. I’ve killed them.
Suddenly the alarms stopped. Renzo grabbed the flight controls and wrenched them to the left and up. The Volante turned sharply, screeching with the effort. Phaira slid across the floor, slamming against the opposite wall.
There was no crash, no fireball. They were alive.
Still, Phaira didn’t move for several seconds, even though she was upside down and covered with papers.
“Are you all right?” Renzo wheezed. “You’re bleeding.” He still gripped the flight controls, his knuckles white.
Phaira pushed the debris off her. “It’s fine. Co?” she called out, working to keep her voice even.
“I’m here!” Cohen confirmed, ducking inside the cockpit. “What happened?”
“Hacked,” Phaira said, trying not to pant. “I think.”
“More than that,” came Anandi’s low voice through the soundsystem. Cohen jerked a thumb in the voice’s direction, mouthing who’s that?
“Completely disabled your central processor,” Anandi continued. “Crude, but effective. But you’re fine now. You’re welcome.”
“Until Lander decides to track us down and attack again,” Phaira called out.
A scoffing sound. “Lander can barely find his own face. He won’t try it again.”
“He tracked down Saka’s location, didn’t he?”
“No, I found that woman and sent him the information,” Anandi corrected, her voice haughty. “I knew he would forward it to you, claiming it as his own discovery. And I was right.”
Phaira was speechless. Renzo and Cohen wore the same confused look on their faces.
Anandi continued to talk, her voice growing quieter. “I’m no good against a physical threat. I couldn’t have gotten my father out of there. I knew you could, but I had to be cautious. And protect me and my father as best as I could.”
No one spoke. The crackle of static filled the cockpit.
“You’re quite the professional,” Renzo said suddenly. “Maybe we could meet up sometime and you can show me some tricks. I’m looking to learn.”
“What?” Cohen yelped.
“Maybe. What’s your name?” Anandi asked, some of the old lightness back in her voice.
Renzo cleared his throat. “Renzo Byrne.”
Is he nervous? Phaira thought, incredulous.
A high-pitched titter echoed through the cockpit. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“What?” Renzo asked, confused.
“Heh. I’ll call you sometime.”
Then the line disconnected.
Renzo held up his hands to his siblings. “I don’t know her, I swear.”
“Sure, sure,” Cohen mocked. He punched Phaira lightly on the arm. “Come on, Phair. You’ve got blood all over your face. I’ll clean you up.”
It took all of Phaira’s willpower to hold her expression in place. But her mind reeled.
Find the missing Hitodama, Sydel wrote on the door of that freighter.
By finding Emir, Phaira gained the protection of Anandi, a powerful hacker. And now Anandi had just saved all their lives.
Sydel knew this was going to happen. She knew we needed someone like Anandi in our lives, to save us.
To find Sydel?
When Cohen looked to her to follow, Phaira forced a smile on her face. Still, as her body moved through the mass of debris, strewn throughout the ship, the same thoughts repeated themselves.
You can’t stay here. You can’t be around them. You can’t be around anyone.
VI.
They flew for hours, heading west, following the coastline and its increasingly rocky edge, before Renzo finally chose to land in Karum, a farm town by the sea, sparsely populated, but quiet and calm. The opposite of how they all felt.
Phaira paced as the Volante settled into its landing gear. With every step, she willed her nerves to stop trembling. They wouldn’t.
Her head itched. At Cohen’s insistence, her forehead was covered with a thick bandage; she didn’t have the heart to shrug off his concern. He stood several feet away now, on top of a hill, surveying the coastal landscape. Renzo jumped down from the ship and arched his back, wincing. His face was still pale, new lines grooved into his forehead.
Finally, they sat in a triangle, like children playing a game. Cohen hunched over, picking at the sea grass. Phaira sat with her knees to her chest. The salty wind was cold. She barely felt it. Renzo was the last to ease down to the ground, shifting to the side and unclicking his prosthetic. He sighed with relief as he set it aside. Phaira watched as he rubbed the edge of his thigh, the empty folds of his trouser leg.
We should have asked Sydel to help Ren, she mused. He still has phantom pains. Why didn’t I think of it?
When the silence grew too awkward, Phaira spoke: “What are we going to do?”
“I thought you already decided what you wanted to do,” Renzo said.
Phaira shot him a look, expecting to see anger or sarcasm, but his expression was neutral.
“I’m not sure,” Phaira said slowly. “But whatever I end up doing, protection services, reconnaissance, I do know that I was trained to work in a team, not solo. So before I do anything else, I have to consider how - ”
“I can do that.” Cohen interjected.
“Do what?”
“Work with you.”
Phaira and Renzo both shook their heads, but Cohen kept on: “You’ve already taught me, Phair. You showed me everything you learned in the military. I can do it.”
“No way,” Renzo shot back. “Are you forgetting what happened with Huma?”
“No, but I can make my own decisions,” Cohen said sharply.
“It’s not just that, Co.” When his face fell, Phaira smi
led to disarm him. “You’re a half foot taller than me, and twice my weight. We move differently, we think differently. What you’ve learned from me isn’t going to work in the real world, I realize that now.”
“Then I’ll do something else,” Cohen said firmly. “I want to be a part of what you do.”
“What about school?” Renzo interrupted. “I thought you liked the idea.”
“School?” Phaira asked, confused. “What were you doing when I was gone?”
Cohen and Renzo glanced at each other. “There’s a position I was looking at,” Renzo confessed. “At one of the smaller universities in Daro. Lab technician. It’s basic and boring, but it’s steady. Plus, I could probably get Cohen accepted into some classes.”
“Well, maybe,” Cohen corrected. “Only if they were willing to overlook my record, which they wouldn’t, so it doesn’t matter anyways, because I’d rather to do this. Hey, what about Nox? He’s a big guy. He can teach me.” He pointed a finger at Renzo. “And don’t get angry at me, because you were sure interested in that hacker girl. How are you going to use hacking in some lab?”
Renzo harrumphed and leaned back on his hands. “It’s a good skill to have out here. I just thought I’d try something different.”
“Something illegal,” Phaira pointed out, hardly able to believe her words.
Renzo shrugged. “What does it matter? Besides, maybe if I learn the trade, I can get rid of that bounty contract myself.”
Phaira flushed. She didn’t know what to say to that.
“Not only that,” Cohen added, his voice growing more excited. “But Ren and that girl can work together and find Sydel. And Huma. We can’t forget about them. There’s something more to all of this, you know there is - ”
“I should have fought more,” Renzo murmured, staring at the ground. “She was a nice girl. Co’s right. We were supposed to take care of her. So we should make sure she’s safe.”
As Phaira listened with horror, her core continued to vibrate, like a string pulled taut and plucked. Nothing would stop: not the tremor in her hands, or the sparks in her brain alerting her to every little sound. Now her mind raced now with images of the future. Cohen would get killed. Renzo would be arrested and jailed for illegal activities. Phaira had already faced death ten times since the bounty went active; it wouldn’t be long before someone was successful. It wasn’t possible for them to become some kind of team. She wouldn’t let it happen.
But Cohen has a resolute expression on his face, his thick arms crossed in front of his chest. And Renzo was looking to Phaira, waiting for her response.
They were serious about this. She had to play along.
So arrangements were made within the hour. If they were to work together, they had to learn how to protect themselves: as individuals, and as a unit.
Nox agreed to house Cohen and take a leave of absence from his position. He promised to train Cohen in conditioning, offense, defense and infiltration. A southbound shuttle would leave in an hour, scheduled to reach Daro in six hours.
Begrudgingly, and only after hearing about their experience with Huma and Sydel, Anandi agreed to teach Renzo the latest in hacking, cracking and information extraction. She was still coy about knowing him, only stating that she would tell him everything when he got back to the Mac, where she was currently stationed.
When he asked if she could teach him how to deactivate bounty listings, a few seconds of silence followed. Then a final, decisive click came through the speaker.
“Already done,” came her smooth, high voice.
“What? You mean - just now, you - ?” Renzo exclaimed.
“I’ll show you lots of tricks, once you get here.”
An overnight ride was arranged, heading east, with Renzo as passenger. Phaira would leave the next day, taking a train southwest. As a girl, she won a poor-kid scholarship for a month of free martial arts training at a school near the Midland border. The master of the temple remembered her, and agreed to let her return, no doubt ready to point out all the flaws in her long-lapsed technique. Probably had some floors for her to scrub as well. But it was the only place they could think for her to stay.
Until the morning, she would remain in the old Volante. Then she would lock it and leave it behind for Nox to pick up; it was already marked as hostile, and the Hitodama could try and hack it again.
Decisions made, they returned to the ship and split off into their cabins. Phaira sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the bounty network on her Lissome, searching for her listing. No sign of it anywhere. The Macatias’ contract was gone, just as Anandi said. It was over, just like that? Was it freedom? Or something worse?
Cohen was the first to leave. He shuffled from foot to foot as the shuttle pulled up. Phaira took his arm and squeezed it. “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “And you know Nox. He’ll take care of you. And we’ll talk all the time, I promise.”
Renzo slapped Cohen on the back. “Behave yourself,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“I’ll see you guys soon, right?”
“Of course,” Phaira and Renzo said simultaneously.
Phaira watched as her little brother visibly screwed up his courage and stepped onto the shuttle platform. And then he was gone.
“Weird,” Phaira murmured to Renzo. She knew he felt the same undertow of worry when it came to their brother. With their father consumed by mental illness and their mother long dead of bone cancer, Cohen was their equal responsibility for years. It had been a long time since she and Renzo worked together for a common goal. That thread was still there, she could feel it: tenuous, but connected. It felt good.
“I know,” Renzo said. “He’ll be all right.”
“Convincing me or you?”
Renzo just let out a long exhalation. “We’re really doing this.”
“I know it’s not what you dreamed of, Ren.”
Renzo shrugged. “What’s left to dream? Lives change. We adapt.”
“You might have fun with Anandi,” Phaira said, noticing that the driver had pulled up.
“I might. Either way, it’d be good to learn something new. Get my brain forming neural pathways,” Renzo said. His glasses glinted in the sunset. “You’re going to the temple, right?”
“Yes, tomorrow, like I said,” Phaira replied with a hint of annoyance.
“I’m just asking.” Renzo glanced at the waiting transport, then back at Phaira. “Be careful.”
She held back the shiver that threatened to escape across her skin. “You too.”
And then she was alone, waiting for the night to come.