Chapter 21 / The Summer Fair

August 1st, 15.006 South Wing, La Paz, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

Tech’s laboratory—technically not its real name, but it was the first-floor room where he spent nearly all his time; the space had earned the title by force of habit alone—smelled of burnt cables and lemon solvent. Coils slept in half-built nests; a whiteboard sulked under the weight of last night’s calculations.

Riku paced with an effortless swagger, white short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over another tee, like formalities simply didn’t apply to him, hair slicked back with the same arrogance he used to erase equations.

“If messages can cross the city in a blink,” he said, “why can’t people?”

“I cannot believe I let a mini-Jeda into my sanctuary.” Tech let out something between a sigh and a sarcastic laugh. “Because people are badly formatted packages,” he replied, not even bothering to look at him.

Sami didn’t laugh. She had that bright, fixed look that meant a new circuit had just clicked on in her head. She flicked her eyes to Tech; he pretended he hadn’t noticed and reached for a dead stylus.

Riku rolled his shoulders. “I’m serious. Axis gets instant comms between towers. We’ve already got stable message tunnels—so, we scale. Anchor plates, a signature handshake, send the body like a sealed message. Boom.” He clapped once, too loud. “Anyway—can I leave? Please? I’ve got fair duty and a reputation to maintain."

“Fair?” Tech repeated, genuinely lost.

Sami’s mouth curved, affectionate and exasperated at once. “The Summer Fair, Tech. The Triad’s ‘celebration for everyone’ idea. Street food. School booths. Lantern strings. We talked about this at the command meeting you ‘accidentally’ couldn’t attend.”

Riku smirked sideways, already backing out. “I’ll bring you a skewer of crystallized fruit if you invent teleportation by midnight. Candy’s for winners… though I guess you might want a consolation prize.” He saluted exactly the way his older brother had taught him—perfectly wrong on purpose—and vanished down the hallway, loud sneakers, hands in pockets, humming.

Among South Wing students and staff, Riku was already a star and behaved accordingly. If arrogance had a 16-year-old human form, it would be Riku: tall, strong, clever, charming, sharp-tongued, good-looking. Tech had noticed the lab cadets were more… distracted lately. Not a coincidence.

Silence poured back in. Fans breathed. Somewhere, a relay clicked.

Sami hopped onto the cleared side of Tech’s desk, heels tapping the cabinet. “He’s not wrong about the theory. Not entirely, at least.”

“I was… also thinking about it”. Tech twitched a pen to life and drew a broad rectangle. “Short-hop first. If anything, inside La Paz only. We’d need plates sunk into the foundations: a mesh of conductive material and iron, tied to the tower column. Two terminal points minimum. A handshake.”

“Plus an identity lock,” Sami added, sliding closer until their knees almost touched. She leaned over him, grabbed a battered notebook from a pile of confiscated curiosities—Haru’s notebook. She flipped until she reached a dog-eared page and tucked it under his pen. “Look at this.”

Haru’s tight handwriting curled around messy diagrams: three rings of concentric sigils labeled A/B/C, arrows between them, and a margin note that read:

Seals in triplicate → parity check → bounce back if seal C fails.

Below that, in smaller writing:

Use message-tunnel parity for mass, not just data. Need a living DNA code → Add a new layer to nano-tattoos.

And below that, almost a whisper:

Hehe, I looked at the awful diagrams Riku drew. Tell him I said not to send anything he can’t bring back! ;)

Tech’s posture shifted by degrees. “He’s been stealing time in here again.”

“Oh, he never stopped, and you knew it,” Sami said, softer. “Stop trying to play dumb with me.” A tease, but warm. She stole the pen out of his hand without asking and circled parity check.

“Live-signature key,” Tech echoed, writing as he thought. “A blood echo or aura seal that persists through the tunnel. If it degrades mid-transit, if C fails, you bounce back to origin. Now that’s a safety measure. Damn.” His laugh came small and involuntary. “Haru, you menace.”

“God,” Sami giggled, giving him a soft shove—more an excuse to touch him than a push. “A fifteen-year-old just saved us from turning people into abstract nouns.”

“Sixteen,” Tech corrected automatically. “In October.”

“You’re counting the days until he joins the wing, huh?” Her voice did that little thing it did when she was pleased. She drew a second diagram beside his: Anchor plate (tower) ↔ Step plate (field), with a boxed note: line of sight not required if plates are interlaced through the message network.

He pointed with the pen, taking Sami’s hand and moving it directly. Could he have taken the pen back? Sure. He could’ve grabbed a different pen entirely. But his brain saw the opportunity and took it. Direct contact. He moved both their hands as he spoke: “Short jump only. At most, across the city. Long range would need a plate network and a civic agreement we absolutely don’t have. And we’d be lighting up beacons The Barricade could see from their satellites.”

Sami let herself be guided, but a tiny smile betrayed her while she spoke. She didn’t move her hand, even though he was still holding it. “Short jump is enough to matter,” she said. “Medical evacuations. Fire teams. Getting the kids out if something goes wrong.”

When she realized what she had just said, she looked away, jaw working. Tech released her hand, also thinking briefly about the things that could go wrong. The odds that war would find them in the middle of the desert were low, but not zero, and that terrified them—no need to deny it. This was just another safeguard, another containment measure they could offer, if they managed to make it work.

The faint murmur of the fair drifted in from the open stairwell: a festive buzz that didn’t belong in a lab.

Tech studied her profile: the scratch on her cheek from some midnight repair, the way she tied her hair back with whatever tool was closest when she overthought. The glasses he had made with her in mind. He turned back to the whiteboard. He had already transferred Haru’s equations from notebook to board in seconds, thanks to the mechanical-pen scanner.

“Constraints,” he said firmly. “Energy consumption curve becomes exponential with distance. Parity rings cost either electrical power or mana; we can’t overload. Maybe a mix of both is the solution?” He added the question to the board. “We need an interlock so only registered signatures can activate a plate. Not everyone travels. Not everywhere.” More notes. “And a strict rule: if anything stalls for more than… three heartbeats, we abort and release the package.”

Tech loved rules—not just because he was a control freak (though, yes)—but because a clear system meant freedom within its boundaries.

“Package?” Sami repeated, smiling despite herself.

“Person, I meant person,” he corrected, and the correction felt like an intimacy.

They fell into it then, a shared silence. He refined Haru’s equations; she translated the equations into mechanical hints. At some point, their shoulders touched, and neither moved.

Tech wrote on the board:

Transport signal: A (plate → user), B (user → plate), C (mutual).

Sami added underneath:

Failure tree: C→B→A→origin.

He underlined origin twice.

The outside murmur swelled: someone testing a microphone, applause at the end of a speech. The Research Wing cadets started leaving the building in waves, some still arguing theories, others already excited for the fair and its stalls.

Sami blinked, reality snapping back into her face. “We should go,” she said, stepping away from the desk, and the space between them cooled instantly. “Or at least I will.”

He capped the mechanical pen, thumb stained black. “I… I’ll stay. Need to try… something.”

“That you can invent teleportation by midnight?”

“Sure, that.”

“Mmh.” She narrowed her eyes, about to leave. Then, as if reconsidering, she stepped close enough that the lemon solvent scent on her sleeve displaced the ink-smell from his hand. She took his hand, turned it palm-up, and drew a small circle with the pen cap at the base: one, two, three. A/B/C. Parity.

“Come find me later,” she said. “If your origin lets you.”

He looked at their hands—she still hadn’t let go—and at the little circle she’d left like a seal. “Where?”

“Near the light-arch,” she said, stepping back. “By the school tables. I’ll save you a crystallized fruit unless Riku finds you first.”

He nodded. Didn’t promise. She saw it—his half-shut door—and for a second almost dared to push it open anyway. But she didn’t. You have to be the one who comes out of hiding; I’m not dragging you. She turned, hooked the elastic back around Haru’s notebook, and left it by his elbow like a challenge.

When she was gone, Tech stared at the board until the lines resolved into something simple: three rings, a boy’s margin note, a small circle drawn on his skin by a girl. He picked up the pen again.

“Short jump first,” he said to the empty lab. “Three heartbeats. Don’t send anything you can’t bring back.”

He wrote it at the top, right beside Haru’s cramped notes, and underlined it twice.

♥︎

Command Tower, La Paz, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

On the far side of the Citadel, the Command Tower’s entry staircase opened into the residential corridor like the throat of a ship. Clotheslines, children’s voices, the scrape of a chair leg: home-sounds braided together with the loudest day the city had seen so far. Axis fell into step beside Sukira, hands in his pockets, one shoulder still carrying the ghost of his armor. They’d both come down from the Elite’s official rooms at the same time and were headed to the same place. And of course, they were both early.

Axis studied her in profile: tight jaw, unsmiling mouth, that half-wild, half-dead look she wore like a shield whenever the world came too close. She was in black again, but lighter this time: low-slung linen pants, a simple top of fresh fabric that closed in front and tied at the nape, almost completely backless, flat shoes; black sunglasses, the usual ones. Summer heat clung to her skin and left a faint flush on her cheekbones she pretended not to notice. The pendant she shared with Elon caught the light when she turned her head: no other earrings, no necklaces, no rings; just that piece.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Axis said, without harshness.

“I do sleep,” she shot back, quick and rough. “I just don’t rest anymore.” Too honest, and she left it there, like a knife on the table. If people keep pointing out the obvious, I’m going to start making them uncomfortable; that’s on you now, she thought, tired of everyone looking at her like she was about to leave this world.

They passed a cluster of junior cadets arguing over a slingshot. Two of them literally flattened themselves invisible against the wall when they saw the Commander and the General; a third launched forward anyway, shoved a chocolate wrapped in foil into Sukira’s hand, and bolted before she could refuse it.

“Thank you,” she told the air. She had no one to thank, so she tucked the sweet into her void and kept walking.

Axis found the softest voice his huge body could manage. He was almost in uniform—because Ailin had banned uniforms for the day—white shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, polished boots but no tie, no gun holster. The closest his body could get to off-duty.

“How does that work?” he asked. “How does someone sleep and not rest?”

“It didn’t give me the satisfaction I was expecting,” she said, plain and straightforward. No preamble, no sugarcoating. Axis had earned the direct version. Neither of them knew if they could call the other a friend, but they spent a lot of time together and the respect was mutual. “Killing them. It was supposed to be… final. It was supposed to give me some kind of closure. But it was just noise echoing. Like a door slamming in an empty room.”

It’s fine to carry the consequences of your actions, but you’re wearing the guilt stitched to your back, Axis thought. All I can see is everything you’ve done for everyone else, Commander.

They reached the landing where the light shifted from the tower’s blue to the warm tone of the sun. She kept talking, lower now. “I thought killing them all would shut off the voices inside my head. But it didn’t, and it’s those voices that won’t let me rest.” A half-smile appeared right on cue, like it had been rehearsed.

“You did a soldier’s work,” Axis said at last. “Peace never shows up when we go looking for it.” He searched her face, reading the tiny tremor in her eyelid, the way she was chewing the inside of her cheek until she forced her mouth to stop. “Sometimes it never shows up at all. Sometimes they just hand you… the next task.”

“Lucky me, General, you’re the one who keeps bringing me plenty of those,” she said, dry humor. The death in her gaze didn’t crack, but it did shift, like a layer of ice flexing under a boot.

They took the last stretch of stairs. Up ahead at the end of the street, the fair was already awake: a child’s shout—the happy kind—a vendor’s bell, a microphone popping. Sunlight slipped between newly built balconies and turned the street into a river of people. The sea sat as the perfect backdrop and the fresh air cooled the day’s heat. The fair had been laid out along the seafront promenade: a long, wide new avenue wrapping around the city along the coast.

“You’re not a monster, Suki,” Axis said, scratching his jaw. He’d heard her call herself that a thousand times and never found the right moment to argue. He still didn’t know how else to say it so she might believe him.

“Everyone keeps repeating that like a broken record,” she replied. She paused, met his eyes. “It feels like shit.”

They stepped out onto the avenue from the street that linked the waterfront to the Civil Quarter. Elon was standing at the start of the light-arch with Risha at his side, both clearly waiting for her. The lights weren’t on yet, not now, but they hung like garlands framing the entrance to the Summer Fair.

Risha had grown another centimeter: longer legs, taller neck, a gaze trying to look older and adorably failing. Even from a distance, Sukira could see the care in Elon’s posture; he’d planted himself like a beacon, a visible point to aim for. He was off-duty too: coffee-colored linen shirt with the sleeves rolled, dark pants; the wind had mussed his hair a bit and he’d left it that way.

Axis caught the look that passed between the two of them and forced himself to smile as if nothing had happened. He squeezed her shoulder briefly, the touch of one old soldier to another. “I’ll go walk the perimeter,” he said, because enjoying the fair was not part of his own protocol. “Go let them see you.”

“Let who see me?”

He tipped his chin toward the crowd. “The city you helped build when you weren’t sleeping.”

She pulled a face at that, her brows flicking up in surprise for barely a heartbeat. She swallowed the sharp answer and crossed the last meters toward the two waiting for her.

Elon didn’t walk up to her, and she didn’t walk up to him, but the air flexed the way it does when the weather’s about to change. Up close, she saw the heat in his cheeks and the stubborn line of his mouth. He raised a hand, slow, telegraphed, and touched the pendant at her ear with two fingers, twin to his own. It felt like a promise they’d already made each other in another life. He bent and kissed her cheek, the lightest brush.

“Hi,” he said, and it was ridiculous how good he was at that single word. “We were waiting for you.”

“Mmh.” Her smile surfaced again, but Sukira’s eyes still hadn’t softened. They slipped from him to Risha like a hunter recalibrating to daylight.

Risha slid in at her side with an easy hug, then leaned back to study her eyes the way only he dared. He was finally taller than she was. “Uhm, you look tired. But I like seeing you off-duty. You look pretty, mom.”

Elon’s mouth twitched with no warning. “He’s right, you look good, Suki,” he said, fond. He lifted a hand toward her temple, not quite touching, Risha still plastered to her side. “Can I put a cooling charm on you? Just a little. Summer’s showing off today.”

She almost said yes; she liked that he’d noticed, liked the careful can I—and then her pride lifted its head. “No.” Then, softer: “But I like that you asked.”

Her cheeks were still red, and she was very aware of it. “Lead the way,” she said, exhaling, letting Risha’s chatter crack a line through the dead calm behind her eyes. “I’m craving sour ice cream. I used to eat it when I was little” —or she thought she did, at least— “Do you know where that stall is?”

“Of course I do, follow me,” Risha said at once, dropping the hug. He absolutely had no idea where the sour-ice stall was. But at fifteen, attitude trumped certainty, and he had a festival to conquer. He grabbed her hand and tugged; she let him, a miracle she reserved only for him. Risha allowed himself to be more childish than he actually was when he was with them, as if he didn’t want to let go of the childhood they hadn’t been able to share.

Elon fell into step at her other side, the three of them forming a silhouette he knew better than any spell. As they moved beneath the garlands, the wildness in Sukira’s eyes dimmed—not gone, never gone—but braided with something warmer, stubbornly human. Near him, she could be dangerous and kind at once. Near Risha, she remembered why she bothered staying at all.

Axis slipped away into the crowd and vanished without looking back, a tall shadow already taking the measure of the day.

♥︎

The stalls lined the street in two dense rows—people weaving in and out, food stands tucked between school exhibits, artisans running game booths, children darting through adult legs like swallows. A welcome banner in three old languages sagged charmingly in a corner where someone had tied it too loose.

“Look,” Risha said, pointing. “Bloodspire crystal fruit.”

Dominique and Eloise were already there, in matching summer dresses and matching braids, heads bowed together, fingers sticky, Eloise laughing with the shine only lovers had. Dominique caught Sukira’s eye and lifted her skewer in a little toast; Sukira answered with the smallest nod and kept moving.

They made it five meters before the first interruption.

A boy with bruised knees blurted, “Commander!” way too loud—and then forgot why he’d said it. Sukira rescued him.

“I remember you. You’re Kado,” she said. “I took your sister to the clinic last month. You joined because you wanted security after your village—” She remembered what had happened there and chose not to say it aloud. She grimaced but continued automatically, “You’re good at map puzzles. Swap your afternoon drills with Ryn for logistics with Axis on Thursdays. You’ll be a stronger asset there.”

The boy’s face morphed from terror to pride. “Y–yes! I will. Thank you, Commander,” he said, breathless. He glanced at Elon as if asking permission to exist—but Elon had stepped aside so the teen could have his moment fully under Sukira’s attention.

These are the situations I used to argue about, Elon thought—the quick, clean embarrassment. He heard the echo of his old words, flat as a fact: If I don’t go, who else will? He had lectured her anyway. He had wanted her safe, softer, different. And yet here was the proof of the choice he’d tried to forbid.

They walked three more meters before two school-aged girls cornered her with questions about their grips on *fake knives.

“They’re both too tight,” Sukira said bluntly. She took one girl’s wrist, corrected the angle, and dismissed them with a nod that would fuel them for a week. “There. Better.”

The younger girl found courage somewhere inside herself and said, loud and clear, “I’ll turn 15 in two years, Commander. I’m planning to join your branch. You saved me and my sister from a beast loose near Verellen—you probably don’t remember, but I—”

“But I do remember. How’s your father? His leg should be fully healed by now.” No softness in her tone, but the precision of the words made everyone feel seen, if only for a moment.

The little one fell silent, overwhelmed by being remembered by her hero. The older sister stepped in, steady. “Our father is well, Commander. We’ll let you enjoy the fair—we just wanted to thank you again for saving us—for saving the whole village.” They bowed and left hand in hand.

Elon watched the mechanics of it—the way her face shifted when she worked: not softer, exactly, but sharpened by a precision that had nothing to do with killing. He’d spent months wanting her to be another way because he loved her. Seeing her like this made him want to apologize to every version of her he’d argued with in his head. If I don’t go, who else will? Her words. She had been right. The city moving around them was the answer.

Stop trying to change her, his inner voice said.

Beside him, Risha bumped Sukira’s hip, smiling because he couldn’t help it. That’s my mom, he thought, bright as a flare. And now everyone knows.

Vendors yelled. Someone at the blacksmith’s booth announced that the next demo would feature recycled scrap collected by Sukira on her recent missions—or so they advertised—transformed into kitchen knives, and a cheer rose because Jeda’s parents were beloved by everyone while they cursed like poets.

Teachers had set up two long tables for a duel of songs: Umbra and Elaris kids trading verses, half of them wonderfully terrible in all the right ways. Lucius and Helena passed by, quietly untangling a supply disaster. Axis, true to his word, existed everywhere and nowhere. Ailin’s golden hair flickered by once or twice.

People she’d rescued found her one by one. Some thanked her in words; some simply exchanged a look and kept going. Aaron’s missions had been a wedge between her and Elon, and he felt that old heat rise—and, thankfully, fade. He saw evidence of her choices standing on their own: some eating sugar-dusted dough, some laughing with bandaged hands, dragging their trauma behind them but wanting to move on.

He cleared his throat and caught her arm to slow her, a few steps behind Risha. “You were right,” he said. Not an elegant phrase, but a true one. “About… this. About how it all adds up.”

She glanced at him sideways; a sly smile pulled at her mouth, though her eyes stayed sharp. “Uhm… A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“I know.” He let his palm skim her elbow as a woman with a baby squeezed between them. “I’m proud of you,” he said—loud enough, but close, too close to her ear—and he didn’t look away after saying it.

It put a tiny, almost invisible tremor in her breath. She masked it by stopping a third-year cadet who was sneaking toward the games.

“Sora,” she said, “you promised Eloise you’d help at the clinic stall. You always hide when you’re overwhelmed; no need to hide from her. Eloise doesn’t bite.”

Sora nodded, caught, and bolted toward the clinic with comedic urgency.

Risha had been watching like a spy. “She knows everything,” he whispered to Elon with the reverence kids reserve for superheroes and mothers—or both. Then, louder, to Sukira: “We said we’d meet the others on the game street. I’m going now.”

He never found the sour-ice stall.

“Curfew,” Elon said on instinct.

“Umh… but—” Risha was already ready to negotiate; he knew Elon was permissive if he played the cards right.

Sukira, well aware of the dynamic, cut in: “Do I look like I care what you’re about to say?” She flicked his forehead lightly.

Risha smiled with the pout still in place, waving once without looking back. Sukira watched him for several heartbeats, counted his friends, gauged the tone of their laughter, and then released him to the day.

“Let him be a kid,” Elon murmured, warm.

“I’m doing the best I can,” she answered, and it was true in the terrifying way only she could make something true.

They let the current pull them and were swept into a school exhibit: two rookies presenting a crank radio prototype, with Elaric magic runes ‘embroidered’ along its casing. Sami was there and asked the right question about heat dissipation; the kids lit up like lanterns.

From the other side, someone asked about frequency leakage, and Sami didn’t need to turn to know who it was; a wide smile broke across her face. So you finally left that lab. One kid answered—incorrectly—the other scribbled notes at full speed. Behind them, the bakery line stretched into legend. The air smelled of roasted peppers, cooking oil, soap, and hot metal all at once.

A commotion by the blacksmith’s demo pulled a cluster of onlookers that way; Jeda’s mother had forged a frying pan from Ashveil scrap and was challenging anyone to dent it with a hammer. The crowd surged. Someone yelled “Queen!” at Ryn, and she laughed, swinging the hammer like a bouquet.

Elon watched Sukira staring at the city walking by, and felt the old argument fold in on itself until it was small enough to put in his pocket. If I don’t go, who else will? she’d said, and he couldn’t stop replaying the words. Around him, he saw the answer to why she hadn’t asked his permission.

The weight of everything he’d gotten wrong over the years flooded him. He let her walk a step ahead, feeling that, after everything, he wasn’t worthy of—

“Hey, you coming? Don’t make me deal with all these people alone, half-prince,” she said, almost offering her hand. An invitation to walk beside her, at least for a moment.

He froze for a heartbeat. It had been months since she’d spoken to him like that, without Risha as the conduit. He recovered as fast as he could and reached her in two long steps—and the fair carried them forward.

♥︎

Risha spotted the boys before they spotted him: Reno with his messy stride and too-bright smile; Zevran biting into a skewer like it had personally offended him. Even from afar, he could tell they were already arguing and seconds away from throwing punches.

“About time,” Zevran said—expression flat, but loosening just a fraction. Risha was a relief between the other two boys. 

“I was babysitting,” Risha said, because he liked saying it; it made him feel taller. And to be fair, it was a little bit true.

They walked for a while, shoulder to shoulder from the food section down the game lane, looking for the rest of the pack, letting the carnival noise fill the gaps while Risha said nonsense, pausing only to steal a sip of Reno’s drink. Zevran kicked a pebble in a perfect arc without even checking where it landed. Risha clapped when it dropped neatly into a drainage grate. Both boys looked at the vampire, waiting for the start of a competition—bet I can do it with my eyes closed, best of three wins, some exaggerated challenge.

Nothing. Reno didn’t even notice the feat.

“What’s up with you today? You’re weird, and honestly, it’s more annoying than when you’re annoying,” Zevran said, with no tact.

Risha added, “He’s right. I thought it was the heat slowing you down but… since I got here, you haven’t bumped into me, or yanked me, or shoved me, or punched—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Reno interrupted, rolling his eyes and bumping Risha’s shoulder lightly, half-hearted, way too soft. “Um… something happened,” he said at last, casual in the way that meant not casual at all. Reno was a vampire; if his friends asked what was wrong, he was going to tell them. Period.

They stopped walking automatically. Zevran and Risha formed a barrier, turning in unison, planted in front of Reno. Zevran frowned and crossed his arms. Risha raised his brows and smiled. They each had their own way of listening, but both were genuinely worried and wanted to know what that something was.

Reno read their faces, clenched his teeth. He knew he wasn’t getting out of explaining—and honestly, he needed to talk about it with someone. He needed to let it out. 

“Haru was sick the other night. Fever. I stayed and took care of him.”

Risha tilted his head like a puppy hearing a sound that made no sense. “And the something is…? You two always take care of each other,” Risha said, oblivious and gentle. “The number of times you’ve slept together is—”

“It was different,” Reno said—more stubbornly soft than stubbornly stubborn. His eyes flicked between the ground and the sky.

“Uhm… different how?” Risha asked, tilting his head the other way.

Zevran just listened, his brows tightening a little more with every word Reno said.

“I DON’T KNOW!! That’s the thing. It just felt different.” Reno’s voice was packed with confusion, surprise, and a bit of frustration. He pouted, angry-eyed. He tossed his empty juice cup into a trash bin ahead of them with perfect accuracy—and a bit of violence.

Zevran and Risha exchanged a look.

Risha wrinkled his nose. “I think you both had the fever.”

“I don’t get sick.” (Yes. He absolutely did.) Reno clenched his sharp teeth after blinking hard at them. “He was cold and I was hot and then he fell asleep and I— No, wait, I mean. He was hot and I had the cool in me. Or was I also hot?” He looked anywhere but at them. “See?? I can’t even remember!! My memory is ALWAYS PERFECT and now everything’s blurry. I don’t understand anything.”

He was being dramatic—of course he was. Reno was Reno. And in the end, they were just fifteen-year-old boys talking about feelings who didn’t quite understand, not yet.

“You like him.” Zevran didn’t blink, didn’t raise his voice. His brows even relaxed slightly. He said it like it was the simplest truth in the world. “That’s what happens when you like someone. You like Haru.”

Risha’s mouth made a small oh he tried to hide with a cough. A balloon popped somewhere; someone won a prize and screamed about it.

“Congratulations on discovering the obvious,” Zevran said, benevolent as a lounging cat. Then, because he and Reno shared that sharp-edged friendship, he bumped Reno’s shoulder with his own and added, “Who would’ve thought the wild little beast had an interest in romance.”

Risha snorted, but pushed Zevran on instinct, silently asking him to stop with the teasing. “Hey, you don’t have to name it today,” he said gently, still grinning. Risha had recovered from the giggle but was still smiling. “We can call it ‘different’ until you two actually kiss.” He used a theatrical tone for those words. Risha really really did try to be kind, but it was the first time they ever talked about crushes and romance and all that, and he was simply too excited not to mess with his friend.

“No! NoOO. Shut up, shut up, we’re not going to kiss. We don’t like each other. We’re friends. We’ll be soldiers. There’s no time for that stuff,” Reno said—angry, confused. He punched them both—Risha and Zevran—with a playful but strong pulse, much stronger than usual.

“Okay! Okay… if you say so…” Risha rolled his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where Reno had pushed him. “I mean, if you do like him—only if—it would be perfectly fine, you know that, right?” There he was: the kid raised by a patient sorcerer and a Commander who saw straight through people.

Reno grabbed Risha by the shirt, right after shoving him. “You’re saying that because we’re two boys, aren’t you??” The words slipped out before he could think. And as soon as they were out, his brows went from angry to lifted in surprise; part of him realized that by asking, he’d basically confirmed it—he did like Haru.

“Who cares about that,” Zevran said naturally as he pried Reno’s hand off Risha’s shirt. “But Haru is great and you’re a menace. You have z-e-r-o chances with him.”  Zevran’s sarcasm was clean, familiar—the flavor they always used to annoy each other.

That’s true… Haru is cool. Reno’s eyebrows found a new middle ground: neither angry nor shocked, more like… worried. If he liked Haru—only if—and his friends were fine with it… then the bigger question remained: Would Haru ever like someone like me? The words stayed too loud in Reno’s mind.

“Enough. I’m never telling you anything again.” Reno shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking. The other two boys followed, trading conspiratorial glances in silence.

They walked past the ring toss booth, where Ryn was now playing against a vendor—and winning easily. A wave of laughter chased them down the lane. Slowly, Reno’s shoulders relaxed, as if someone had turned a pressure valve the right way.

A part of him—the part that didn’t shout every feeling before it became a thought, the part that wasn’t all action—quietly thanked his friends. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened. Something had felt different that night, and for now, he’d leave it at that. But talking about it had definitely helped stop the spinning in his head. At least for now.

♥︎

A few stalls past the food row, a small plaza had been built along the avenue, on the inland side opposite the sea. Nima and Lola shared a low bench under a garland of paper suns; Haru sat across from them, one leg tucked up, chin resting on his knee. A square cement table separated the two seats. They were cooling off after a ping-pong match the girls had won against Haru and another boy from school.

“The Tanner brothers are so hot,” Lola declared with the tone of a popular girl presenting a thesis, licking the sugar from her lollipop.

“Ew. No. They’re loud,” Nima said, face scrunching in pure disgust. “And cocky. Mostly cocky.”

Haru tilted his head, eyes scanning the crowd. Searching. Across the shifting sea of people, Reno was laughing at something Risha said, and forgot to hide the sweetness on his face. Haru’s mouth curved inward, small and private and defenseless. He didn’t say anything, but he hoped their eyes would meet from afar.

“Exhibit A,” Lola murmured, catching Haru’s smile and then pretending she hadn’t. She nudged Nima. “You know I’m right.”

The girls believed Haru was looking past them toward one of the Tanner brothers standing just behind them on the avenue in the middle of the fair.

Renji arrived like a storm, flirting with the air itself and efficiently stealing a bite from the half-forgotten skewer on the table—Haru’s property, not that Renji cared. “Hello, little stars. Rate my score on a scale from one to ‘I just left someone heartbroken.’” He had just placed second in the strength booth, right after Ryn.

“Minus three,” Nima said without looking up, voice dripping rejection.

Riku wandered behind his brother with the careless confidence only seventeen-year-olds achieved. He waved at the girls and then, as if as an afterthought, asked, “Anyone seen Reno?”

Haru’s head lifted a fraction. “Why are you looking for Reno?”

Lola raised an eyebrow and whispered to Nima, “Is he jealous that Riku isn’t looking for him?”

Riku shrugged, crooked smile in place. “I owe him a rematch. And a crystal fruit. Debt of honor. We said we’d meet here.” He didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes tracked the game lane, searching for him. Confident, unbothered… infuriating.

Haru simply frowned.

Lola and Nima exchanged a look that meant yes, absolutely.

Yuki—new face, messy green hair—hovered at the edge of the group like someone invited to two parties at once and attending both out of politeness. “What are we rating?” she asked, eyes smiling.

“Renji’s hair,” Lola said, returning the flirt with a confidence only geniuses or idiots possessed.

“Ah. Cultural heritage: tragic,” Yuki said, expression so amused Nima snorted in disagreement. She slid in beside Haru with a paper cup of sour ice cream and offered him a spoon without looking directly at him. He accepted with quiet gratitude.

Across the plaza at a nearby game booth, two little kids were failing hilariously at a strength test until Ryn appeared, knelt, and showed them how to plant their feet. The bell rang on their next attempt; joy rippled through both groups at once, stitching the moments together.

“Okay, if Reno’s not here, I’ve got nothing to do,” Riku said. He stretched and glanced at his brother. “Game zone?”

“Game zone,” Renji echoed, winking at Lola as he left. He took Yuki’s hand and she followed.

Haru jumped, hesitated, then stood beside Nima. Lola noticed Haru’s gaze flick forward—beyond the crowd—to where Reno’s laugh had been a minute ago, and where the Tanners were now heading. She pushed her sunglasses up her nose and smiled to herself, satisfied.

“Let’s go tease them,” she said sweetly, and the little pack slid into the fair’s current, converging with the boys effortlessly.

They regrouped at the game zone and stopped at a stall built like a tiny arena. Twin Boards: two balance planks paired against another two, a swinging pendulum target weaving between shifting hoops. 

A hand-painted sign read: Pairs Only. Sync or Sink!

“Okay,” Lola said, clapping like she owned the place, lollipop angled to the side. “Who versus who?”

Risha, Zevran, and Reno finally appeared through the crowd.

Reno saw Haru and lit up like a flare. “Haru! There you are, finally—come on, I want you to try these explosive candies…” He was already half draped over Haru’s shoulder, too loud, not hiding anything because he was certain there was nothing to hide.

Oh, thank the spirits you found me. Haru held onto the grip Reno placed on his arm.

From the corner, Nima murmured to Lola, “He’s jealous because Riku’s here for Reno.”

“And did you see the way Haru looks at Riku?” Lola replied, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Delicious.”

But Riku didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed Reno’s wrist, and peeled him off Haru with a smile that said obvious choice.

“We’re playing. Reno’s with me,” he announced, already dragging him to the left pair of boards. “He owes me a rematch.” He hooked an arm under Reno’s, pulling him in close.

“Hehe, deal. What’s the game?” Reno said, delighted beyond reason. Of course he wanted to play—every game, always. He shot Haru a grin like look, we’re already winning, baring every fang, and didn’t see how Haru’s mouth pinched traitorously small and his hands tightened into fists.

“And the challengers?” Lola shouted. “I am not getting wet, no way.”

“You’ll get wet only if you’re planning to lose.” Risha pointed, and Nima stepped up beside him, already shaking her head at the invitation to play.

“Us,” Zevran said, jerking his chin at Yuki, who responded with a loud, enthusiastic “YES!” She hopped onto the right boards, tested the flex with her heel, and gave Zevran a conspiratorial nod.

Renji spread his arms wide. “And I will provide commentaries and moral intimidation.”

“Minus three points. Again,” Nima said automatically, glancing at Lola. Lola smiled at Renji, delighted, ignoring her friend’s death glare.

Risha stepped beside Nima, eyes bright. “This is going to be chaos,” he whispered. “The good kind.”

Nima leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Haru is going to explode with that pout. Five coppers says he turns around and leaves.”

“Huh? Why? What did I miss?” Risha pulled her in so no one else could hear.

“Well… we think he’s jealous because Riku likes Reno and Haru likes Riku.” It sounded like a tongue-twister.

“NoOoOOO! That can’t be! Reno likes Haru.”

“?? Since when?” Nima asked immediately.

“Well—” Risha was cut off by Renji’s raised hand for silence.

On the boards, the booth attendant explained rules no one listened to. Riku planted Reno’s feet, warm hands at his hips for exactly one second too long.

“You move too much,” he said quietly. “Use your shoulders to balance. We throw on three. Not fast—together.”

“Together,” Reno repeated, chest swelling, utterly pleased by the word.

Across from them, Yuki rolled her shoulders like a fencer and Zevran cracked his neck like a fighter. “We sync with the bell,” Yuki said. “Don’t chase the target. Make it come to you.”

Renji, Riku (well, not anymore), Yuki, and Zevran had all been training with Sukira. Their stance, their approach—even in a silly game—mirrored things she’d taught them.

The bell rang.

Both pairs fell and rose, the boards flexing in synchronized rhythm. The pendulum swung. Riku counted evenly: “One… two… now.” He and Reno threw their disc; it grazed the first hoop and sailed clean. Reno shouted—too loud—and nearly slipped; Riku grabbed his elbow and laughed in his ear.

Haru’s fingers tightened around the cup of sour ice, knuckles white—the treat Yuki had given him wilting in his grasp.

Zevran and Yuki missed by a hair, recalibrated without speaking.

In the crowd, Risha breathed, “They’re actually good at this,” and Nima answered, “Because they’re showing off for someone.”

“For who?” Risha asked.

“Exactly,” Nima said, cryptic. Risha didn’t get it and let it go.

Second swing. Riku didn’t look at the target; he watched Reno’s shoulders and matched him. “In three… one… two… now.”

Another clean hit. Reno smiled at Haru like see?, and Haru’s chin lifted a millimeter in defiance—of gravity, of feelings, of everything.

“You’re making so many weird faces,” Lola murmured, delighted. “Adorable.”

“I’m not,” Haru said, pouting harder.

Zevran and Yuki found their rhythm on the third pass; Yuki stomped once, Zevran matched her breath, and their disc threaded the middle hoop as neatly as a stitch. The crowd cheered. Renji delivered commentary about “the poetry of motion” and winked at three different people, none of whom cared. Jeda’s little brother, unmistakably.

Final swing. Tie point.

Riku’s hand rested over Reno’s on the grip, guiding, steady. “Trust me,” he said.

“I do,” Reno said before his brain could intervene.

They threw as one. The disc arced, kissed the bell, and skimmed down the lane like a small victory.

“Winners!” the vendor shouted, throwing his hands up.

Reno jumped, grabbed Riku in a wild hug, then released him quickly as if that had been the surprising part. Riku grabbed him back and spun him. “We make a great duo, don’t you think?” he announced to the world, voice bright as sunlight.

On the other side, Yuki gave Zevran an exaggerated bow. “Next time.”

“Obviously,” Zevran said, tone bitter, smile unmistakable.

Both were completely soaked—the losers’ boards split open instantly, dumping them into a tank of cold water. Yuki laughed loudly while Zevran walked off silently in search of towels.

Risha and Nima exchanged gossip in “whispers” that weren’t whispers at all.

“Recap. Quick. So… Riku likes Reno,” Nima said, scribe-like. “And Reno… we think he likes Haru.”

“And Haru likes who?” Risha said, staring at his friend’s persistent pout.

“I don’t like anyone,” Haru said toward the murmur—clear, careful, a sentence crafted to be heard by exactly one person. He was very sure he did not like Riku. He really hoped he didn’t sound like he did. Luckily, from the whole conversation, he had only caught that last line.

He finally let out a breath; the cup of sour ice in his hand had collapsed like a crushed flower. Lola slipped him a new spoon without a word and bumped his shoulder, friendly. Renji draped an arm around both of them like a cape.

The fair roared behind them, but here the noise tightened into breath, heartbeats, and a thousand tiny suppositions settling into place: none exactly true, all dangerously close.

“Let’s go to the beach,” Lola announced. “The fair is full of noisy kids and boring adults.”

“Oh, I like you. You’re the rebel of this group, aren’t you?” Renji beamed at full wattage.

“Of course you like me,” she said, fluttering her lashes in a way that made three people sigh and one (Nima) gag dramatically.

They began to move the way a leaderless pack does: messy but somehow aligned. Riku tossed a coin at a vendor and grabbed a lollipop to offer Reno. Zevran rolled the stiffness from his shoulders like he’d just won a war—even though he’d lost the battle. Yuki bounced into step, joining the group easily. Haru pretended he wasn’t glancing over his shoulder, eyes drifting toward someone who floated slightly above his own gravity—and the too-bright green eyes smiling beside him. Risha drifted along the group’s edge with Nima next to him, already composing how he’d tell the story to his parents later (he loved gossip, and Elon and Sukira were perfect recipients; they didn’t care at all but let him talk as much as he wanted).

♥︎

As the sun tilted toward the water, the fair turned golden at the edges. Vendor bells softened, the strings of lights that acted as garlands began considering becoming lanterns, and the sea pushed clean air across the promenade along the shore.

Sukira brushed Elon’s sleeve—almost childlike, conspiratorial.

“Let’s go cause trouble,” she said, eyes shining in a way he almost never saw—almost no one ever saw.

The look he returned was charmed caution. “What kind of trouble?”

“The supervised kind. Don’t get scared on me, blondie.” She nodded toward the lower path, where a familiar cluster of teenagers had formed a suspiciously perfect circle by the sea wall. In the center, Lola’s “cat” was grooming itself with theatrical boredom. Cloud monitored calmly.

Elon’s mouth curved. “Ah.” He didn’t manage much more; seeing her like this—playing, plotting—lit something old and tender in him. Don’t ruin it, he ordered himself, and decided to follow her lead without commentary, for once.

“Come,” she said, and—without even glancing to check whether it was “allowed”—interlaced her fingers with his.

The faint smile she didn’t even know she was wearing hurt him in a place that wasn’t going to help the rest of his day. Elon swallowed the emotion.

This is the first time she’s held my hand, he thought, startled by the simplicity of it and at the same time steadied by it. How's the teenager now?

Below, by the sea wall, shoes were more suggestion than rule: the kids had tossed theirs into a neat-but-chaotic line. The circle opened to make space for the two adults; the teenagers put on neutral expressions like actors testing masks.

“Commander. Professor.” Yuki gave a short, precise salute that three others—the ones already cadets—mirrored out of pure muscle memory.

“Weee aaare oooff duuutyyy,” Riku declared through a yawn, stretching the words, but standing as still as a well-trained cadet could.

“It’s not curfew yet!!” Risha whispered from the second row, as if pre-defending everyone’s existence.

Renji rocked on his heels, smile sharp. “Commander, tell me you finally ditched my old man of a brother and you’re ready for Tanner Round Two.” He struck his chest. “Version 2.0.”

Zevran didn’t even look at him—he simply kicked him in the shin. “Shut up,” he said, reverent in the way only someone who respected Sukira more than anyone could be. Renji hissed, then bowed theatrically to cover it.

Lola raised her eyebrows like a stage signal. The “cat” yawned: too many teeth in too small a mouth.

Nima clocked the way Sukira’s gaze fixed on the animal and then slid to Elon—automatic, perfect. She and Haru exchanged a look: This is happening.

Elon caught them looking and winked with effortless you’re safe; enjoy the show.

Reno, panicking at full volume, threw his arms out like curtains, planting himself in front of Lola and the “cat.” “NOTHING TO SEE HERE!!!” (Obviously there was everything to see there.)

Sukira ignored all of them. She stepped through the first wall of teenagers and asked Reno with a deadly look to move aside. When he did, she knelt, palms on her thighs. “Rex,” she said lightly—and the ears went very, very still. “How much longer are we going to pretend you’re a cat?”

Elon’s laugh was silent and treacherous.

Somewhere behind the front row, Risha felt a chill sprint up his spine—She knew she knew she knew—and tried to keep his face neutral.

Sukira’s smile sharpened. “Ready to be honest?”

Rex stayed perfectly still, like a tiny beast pretending it couldn’t be seen.

“Okay,” she said, and when she looked over her shoulder at Elon—winking, full smile in place (not the most honest, but a good one)—the spark in her eyes was his for half a breath.

“I’m going to show these kids how to break a containment sigil.”

Two pistols—clean-born from her void—settled into her palms as if they’d always lived there.

Half the circle forgot how to breathe.

Lola’s heart jumped into her throat and darted to Risha. His face was steady amid the chaos—She won’t do it—while he waved a low hand to calm Lola’s panic. He knew she wouldn’t—but he still glanced to Elon for the calm he trusted.

Elon’s mouth almost smiled. A tiny, treacherous laugh.

He raised a fingertip and wrapped the circle in silence so that any shots—if any—wouldn’t trigger a stampede through the fair. She’s in control, he told himself. She’s always been in control. I was the idiot who didn’t trust her. Admiration licked at guilt: how many times had he tried to make her smaller than this?

Sukira lifted both arms. No aim, no tremor, just the clean geometry of a metronome. “Hand,” she said to Lola, and “Paw,” to the cat. Her voice low and tender, almost a prayer.

Bang—bang

Two silver shots cracked the air.

Lola yelped, jerking her left hand up as the white thread—previously invisible—snapped with a sting and a puff of black dust. The cat’s front right paw jolted as a rune—previously invisible—spidered apart and shattered like thin glass.

Silence detonated. Even the Tanner brothers, born unshakeable, flinched.

Renji’s mouth hung open. “She shot a… bracelet?” Yuki’s eyes went wide despite herself. Perfect shot, Commander. Zevran’s brain supplied: precision shot / non-lethal / sigil disruptor. Reno had stepped in front of Haru like a guardian before he even noticed it. There’s nothing for you to protect me from, silly, Haru thought. Nima still hadn’t restarted her lungs.

Then noise returned in new shapes: gasps, nerves melting into laughter because nothing bad had happened and the world was ridiculous.

The “cat” spasmed once like a shadow shaking off skin and collapsed into a puddle of wrong-colored substance. The puddle rose, stretched, unfurled into something more like a rabbit that then grew slightly taller, with a smoke-tail, small comma-shaped horns, and a body refusing to pick a contour—like a concept trying to manifest.

Eyes appeared: two, then four, then one, then three—each configuration glowing red, delighted and furious.

Everyone stared, stunned—even Elon, who had never seen this kind of magic before.

Sukira sat on the lone cement bench, one leg up, chin resting on her knee, enjoying the show. She holstered both guns without looking; they dissolved into black smoke and vanished into her void.

“FINALLY,” Rex announced at full volume, in a raspy contralto like he’d smoked an entire city and swallowed the filter.

He shook himself, flinging dark-energy dust everywhere, and pointed at Lola with his whole head.

“Do you have ANY idea how exhausting it is to lick my own fur like a civil servant for months? Not weeks. Months. I was one hairball away from treason. I’ve endured enough of this shit. I’ve said ‘meow.’ I used a litter box for goddamn diplomacy. Our kind… we don’t even shit—why the hell did I have to use a litter box, Lola? Explain. Explain it NOW.”

He turned on the semicircle, tail moving lethally.

“Lola, tiny tyrant in sunglasses, your management style is a crime and I respect it. Risha, cursed little sorcerer-child, I’ve seen your to-do lists; they scare me more than priests. Zev, your whole personality is the word no with boots. The red one is right—you’re boring. Nima, you give me goosebumps; look at me like that again and I’ll start paying taxes.”

He shifted to the last two, eyes blooming from one to four and back.

“Reno, walking exclamation point, you could power the city with the volume of your feelings. Haru, wipe that tragic pout off your face—if you get more dramatically silent, I’ll push you off a building.”

He exhaled, big and loud.

“Uh. I needed to let all that out after being quiet for so long.” He sighed, leaning heavily on Lola’s leg.

He planted his tiny shadow-hands on his hips, incandescent with relief.

“I have witnessed too many almost-confessions, twelve catastrophically planned bets, three unauthorized wrestling matches, and exactly zero hand-washings after training. I’m small. I’m perfect. I’m terrifying. And I REFUSE to keep pretending I enjoy laser pointers. I have behaved long enough. It’s over. From now on I will be a THREAT!”

Lola pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “You agreed to cat form.”

“I agreed to a disguise, goblin princess, not a lifetime of indignity,” Rex snapped, then groomed himself, tail doodling pleased shapes. “Look at me. Small. Perfect. Terrifying.”

Renji clapped once, delighted. “I love him.”

“Of course,” Zevran and Nima muttered, eye-rolling in unison. The Luunel siblings shared identical disdain for theatrical personalities.

The other teenagers were beginning to murmur.

But Risha’s hand shot up involuntarily and his voice cut through the noise.

“Uhm. Question: did you just shoot my friend??”

“Two questions,” Nima added. “What were those circles you shot?”

“Third,” Yuki said. “What is he now, technically?” She and the Tanners had known nothing about the tiny Calamity until this exact moment.

“Fourth,” Riku said, pointing with blatant interest. “If you braid a sigil backward inside a decoy anchor, will it hold against a two-point disruptor like that?”

“???” Renji and Reno exchanged looks after the fourth question, ignoring whatever Riku meant.

“Fifth,” Haru blurted before he could stop himself, eyes still huge. “How did you know where to aim?”

“HELLO? Did anyone hear what I just said? I WILL BE A THREAT FROM NOW ON!!!”

The Calamity tried to leap and shout for attention. But the curiosity of a group of teenagers outweighed any emotion the ex-cat could stir.

Sukira didn’t bother hiding her broad smile. She didn’t answer immediately. She let the silence stretch, eyes moving between Lola’s wrist and Rex’s paw as if listening to something only she could hear.

When she’d confirmed everything was intact, she spoke:

“It wasn’t coincidence,” she said at last, answering Haru first. “I observed. The leash was braided between the two of you: the thread on Lola’s pulse pulled on the sigil planted in Rex’s paw. When she flexed, his mark flickered; when he groomed, the thread vibrated. That’s your tell.”

She pointed with her chin at the faint mark on Lola’s skin.

Elon added, easy and soft as a teacher, “A trained eye can catch those echoes in spells—more like a misbehaving shadow than a light. But they’re nearly invisible if you’re not a magic user.” His eyes were full of admiration for Sukira.

A small sigh rippled through the non-magical kids.

Lola flexed her fingers, half relieved, half offended that she hadn’t been allowed the dramatic reveal herself.

“The circles you saw were the spell anchors: I used special rounds to break the sigil—non-lethal. Chalk, salt, and a very rude prayer meant to disrupt surface bindings without breaking skin. They’re both fine.” This answer was for Nima.

“This sigil was well hidden,” Sukira continued. “Lola concealed the leash—the conduit through which she kept suppressing his form—at a place where the pulse is constant; in this case, her wrist.” 

She touched her own left wrist, mirroring Lola’s.

“And with familiars, the leash almost always echoes somewhere on the body: paw pads, jaw hinge, sternum. Cat paws are a favorite anchor because people think paws are adorable.”

Rex snorted. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to,” Sukira said without looking at him.

“As for Riku’s question,” Elon added—stepping in like the calmest TA in the world—“technically, it’s a restraint sigil with two anchors: object and mark. Break one and the other wobbles; break both within a heartbeat and the matrix drops clean. Break them off-timing and it screeches and tightens. You should all know this by now—basic runic theory.”

Then, gently, to Lola: “Yours was neat and stable. But you over-tightened the second braid, which made the core fragile—”

“—which is why I shot both cores instead of the jaw,” Sukira finished, as if they’d rehearsed it. “Also, I don’t shoot children. Not even the annoying ones.” She looked at Risha, answering the first question of all.

Risha exhaled so loudly someone laughed. “Okay. Fine. Moving on.” He pointed at Rex, who was now trying to eat a fish he’d grabbed from the shallows, getting more on his smoke-tail than in his mouth. “Is he dangerous?”

“Yes,” said Sukira and Elon together.

“Rude,” Rex muttered around a mouthful. “But true. Anyone got a cigarette? I’m dying here.”

Everyone ignored him.

“Characteristics?” Haru demanded.

“I was going to ask the same,” Riku said, stepping forward like it was a competition.

“Minor Calamity,” Sukira said. “He feeds on affection: attention, delight, the little sparks people produce when they enjoy something. Stable if the host is stable. Unstable if the host is spiraling.” She pinned Lola with a look. Lola lifted her chin, unrepentant.

Elon folded his hands, serene as a professor. “Think of him as an emotional amplifier that’s learned to be more than something feral. He’s safer when he’s seen, but not when indulged without rules.”

“Rules?” Yuki asked, curious and fearless.

“Yes, rules. And we’re establishing them right now. Three of them,” Sukira said, raising her fingers.

“One: Consent. He doesn’t feed on anyone who doesn’t want it. If he makes you feel drained, you say so; he stops.

Two: Forms. Cat for the public. You can be whatever you want in supervised spaces, but always in a small size. No large forms anywhere inside La Paz unless I say so.

Three: Keep a low profile. When adults say ‘enough,’ it’s enough.”

Her gaze sliced to Renji and bounced to Reno just to catch them both—who were slowly losing interest.

“This is a city, not a stage.”

Reno straightened, hands up as if innocence were a profession.

“We would never mess around with the Calam—”

“You two absolutely would,” Zevran said, deadpan.

Renji grinned and tousled his hair.

Rex cut in. “So this is the pact you want, you shitty vampire?” He wiped his mouth on Nima’s skirt. “Ugh, what a pain in the ass. I have to agree, right? Otherwise you’ll go bang-bang on me again, and not with those harmless special bullets.”

Sukira nodded—no sound at all. A lock shimmered in the air and vanished.

Pacts with Calamities did not obey a single ritual but rather the hierarchy and appetite of the entity.

The old blood pacts (like the one between Elon and Sukira, or the one Sukira once signed with Umbra’s government) or name pacts—born in vampiric courts and ancient cults—came from a culture that lived close to imps, demons, and “bad lucks”; that’s why a vampire like Sukira knew the shortcuts and warnings better than most.

In general, a major Calamity demands high prices and ceremony (blood, organs, identities, memories), while a minor one—like Rex—accepts a spoken contract: clear clauses, clean intent, and a minimal seal the world recognizes (the lock in the air) to bind conduct and form. That seal doesn’t standardize all pacts: some are written, some bitten, some whispered. All depend on the broken balance left by the old war between Blessings and Calamities, where power responds to cost and witness.

Everyone stood stunned after watching ancient dark magic unfold before them. Elon had a million questions he was dying to ask. For some reason, it never felt like the right moment.

Silence broke again when Riku’s hand shot up.

“So if the matrix fell because you hit both anchors, what happens if someone tries to re-bind it?”

“Then we’ll have a conversation about consent,” Sukira said, her eyes sliding to Rex, suddenly not playful at all. “And about who is allowed to own what. I have those kinds of conversations with my guns.”

Rex’s eyes shifted to four, glowing; he bowed like a gentleman made of ink.

“Understood, Commander Heartless.”

Elon hid a smile behind his hand. She doesn’t even flinch at this thing. Admiration was a clean pain. And I spent months trying to shrink this into something small enough for my comfort. He let guilt rise and fall like breath; what remained was pride—the good kind.

Risha had one more question.

“Then… why shoot them? You could’ve just cut the thread.”

“That’s true,” she said, pleased by the question. “I shot them so it sticks in your heads,” Sukira said simply. “Fear stays closer to the skin than any lecture.” She flicked her eyes to the pistols that were no longer there. “Also, it’s fun.”

Elon let out a laugh, unable to hide it. The kids laughed too, letting their nerves spill out as humor.

Rex took advantage of the opening and launched into another monologue, tail drawing scribbles in the air:

“I can finally stretch, blink horizontally if I want, speak like a civilized horror; do you have any idea how many times I had to pretend I was fascinated by balls of yarn? YARN! I was this close to chewing off my own—”

“Rex,” Sukira said, and his name was a leash—but a gentle one.

He paused, eyes dilating from four to two to one and back again, purely for effect. “Yes, love?”

“You’re under my roof,” she said. “Which means: you don’t shove Lola when she’s on the ground. You don’t feast on crowds. And if any part of you even looks at one of my kids as food, I will unmake your leash and scatter you into the sea. I’ve killed hundreds of your kind. Clear?”

The wind changed. Even the Tanners went still.

Rex blinked four times, then displayed the cartoonish smile of a demon extremely interested in surviving.

“Crystal.”

“Good,” she said—and then, softer, almost private: “Be useful.”

“Oh, incredible—a job??” Rex said, thrilled despite himself. He leapt onto Haru’s shoulder, weighing exactly nothing, and surveyed the teens. “Who wants to feed me their emotions?”

“Consent,” half the circle sang at once, laughing.

“Fine, fine,” Rex said, flipping upside-down midair, supported only by the tail of nothingness. “Form a line! Donations of affection graciously accepted. I also take compliments in rare metals.”

“Cat form,” Sukira warned without even looking.

Rex sighed like a tragic actor, collapsed into elegant shadow, then rose again as an absurdly pretty cat with a ridiculous tail. He sat, wrapped the smoke-tail neatly, and said (clearly): “M i a u.”

Lola finally burst into laughter, releasing everything. She scooped him up and buried her face in his not-fur, and he allowed it, with a vibrating groan of resignation.

Sukira scanned the circle, reading every pulse, every stance. Satisfied, she dipped her head toward Elon; the spark in her eyes found him again for one beat. He wanted to keep it—hold it for himself alone—but he settled for sharing it with this whole messy flock.

“Class dismissed,” Sukira said. “Go touch grass. Or sand. Or whatever.”

“Water!” Lola declared, already marching, Rex draped over her like a stole.

The pack dissolved into joyful disorder: Renji narrating everything, Yuki asking whether Calamities could learn to juggle, Nima walking slowly, Riku staring at Rex in intense observe and report mode, Zevran muttering ‘don’t drown’, Reno orbiting Haru at a “respectful” distance that was absolutely not respectful. 

Risha lingered half a second more, looking at Sukira as if trying to memorize her entire face. “That was… cool,” he said, the word dropping with more reverence than it deserved.

She said nothing but cupped his cheek. He smiled and sprinted after the others.

Sukira and Elon watched the teenage pack splash into the water, while they walked back toward the avenue where the fair continued as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Lanterns lit above them, the sea stacking its quiet against the wall; they let the day settle where it needed to settle.

When he looked at her again, Sukira’s mouth held a smile she didn’t owe to anyone.

“Supervised trouble,” Elon murmured against her ear.

“The best kind,” she said. Then, lower, only for him: “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

He hadn’t realized until that second that he’d been holding his breath for months. He let it out, easy: “Always,” he said—and knew he was finally saying it the right way.

They stayed there a while until night hit the shoreline. They drifted off through the fading gold of the fair.

He bought a paper cup of sour ice cream without asking—Risha never found it, and she’d said earlier that she wanted one; she rolled her eyes and stole the first cold spoonful anyway, straight from his hand.

They walked like people who had learned each other’s rhythm the hard way.

♥︎

The stairwell to the residential floors was cooler. Risha was already at their door when they reached it, shoes in hand, hair damp with salt. “You are late for curfew!”

“For a change,” Elon said, unlocking.

They stepped into the apartment and ate the last candies Elon had bought at one of the stalls from Elaris. Risha talked and talked and talked until he fell asleep on the couch, retelling everything that had happened with dramatic detail and wild exaggerations. Elon plucked the phone from his hand before it slipped and put water to boil. Sukira remained standing, one hand resting lightly on the back of the couch, listening to the apartment breathe, eyes fixed on Risha.

Elon called her over to the kitchen table when the tea was ready.

“Big day,” he said honestly, not intending to overwhelm her.

“Yes.” She took the cup, sipped, looked at him over the rim. Something in her jaw loosened. “I’m… starting to forgive you,” she said, and because she was who she was, it came out raw. “But only because you’re starting to change.”

He absorbed it like weather. “I am,” he said. “I will.”

“Keep it simple,” she warned, but there was no poison in it. “I’m leaving now.”

Elon nodded. Remind him I said he’s not allowed to lose you too.

She set the cup down, touched the small pendant on her ear without meaning to, and then left.

Risha stirred on the couch in his sleep and mumbled nonsense: “Curfew?”

“Yours,” Elon said, kissing his forehead. “Bed.”

“The Commander would let me sleep on the couch.”

“The Commander isn’t here.”

Risha sighed. “No, she’s not…”

He was asleep in five minutes; he made it to his bed by accident.

♥︎

The door to Jeda’s room was half-closed, light leaking from the edges. She knocked anyway. He opened on the first tap, delight bursting across his face like he hadn’t yet decided whether to be smug or surprised.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I can leave the same way I came,” she refuted, though she didn’t mean it.

“Please don’t.” He stepped aside, mock-solemn. “I’m dramatically attached to continue breathing.”

“That doesn’t make sense. You’re always so dramatic.” With an impertinent look and her hands in the pockets of her pants, Sukira slid inside beneath his arm, fitting perfectly between his bicep and the doorframe.

His room was the same ordered chaos as always: maps pinned at military angles; a half-packed bag; three clean shirts hanging off a chair like promises. The captain off-duty: black T-shirt, cotton pants, bare feet, hair still damp from the shower. He smelled of soap and cigarette smoke that never fully left, and the faint scratch of worry he tried to keep even.

“You look beautiful,” he said, giving her a slow look from head to toe without bothering to hide it.

“Why weren’t you at the fair?” She didn’t sit.

“How do you know I wasn’t? Were you looking for me?”

“Yes. And you weren’t.” She saw his mouth tighten and saw his eyes pick a random spot that wasn’t her.

Don’t do this to me. He took a breath as if he’d trained for it. “Because I need you to heal.” His voice stayed low as he took her shoulders in a steady grip. “And you only remember how to be… not softer, no—that’s not the word… You only remember how to be alive when you’re with Risha.” A pause. “And with Elon you let yourself be cared for. I don’t love how much I depend on that, but I do. So today I let you be with them. I didn’t want to split your attention.”

Something in her softened, then shut again. “You’re a terrible doctor, Captain.” She pressed a closed fist to his chest; for a moment Jeda thought it would become an embrace, a stroke—but when he took her hand, she opened the fist and dropped a candy into his palm.

He looked at the blue cellophane-wrapped candy like it was a precious jewel. He didn’t hide the smile. “Medicine for some, poison for others,” he said, trying for humor.

He turned toward the desk beneath the window. Left the candy there. The edges of the map curled and wouldn’t stay flat. He looked at one of the maps—at the red mark running through The Barricade, the thin pencil lines marking where messengers could still breathe. He tapped the table twice. The captain in him took the lead again. “Since you’re here… I need you to hear something ugly.”

“Can I shower first?” She raised an eyebrow, and he took it as an invitation.

She wore one of Jeda’s old cotton shirts like a dress—taken without permission; a kind of comfort they’d earned over the last months. Bare legs; damp hair; the clean, unadorned look of a weapon sheathed. He looked at her like an idiot—she noticed, and punished him with a look.

“Enough of that,” she said. “You look like a teenager about to lose his virginity. Come.” She patted the bed. “I’m ready to hear something ugly.”

He joined her, carrying the kind of energy that runs out fast. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, fingers brushing the lip-scar she’d given him the day they met—an amulet now.

“I placed one of ours inside the Prowar lines. Right in The Barricade. She’s washing dishes now. If the rotation goes how my contact swears it will, she’ll be near a munitions corridor… soon.”

“And your contact is…?”

“Scared.” He looked at her. “And so am I.” He didn’t pretend fear; he stated it. She liked that about him, against her better judgment.

“I took the chance,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Or maybe I should have, and I hate that it’s the same sentence. We need eyes. We need a body that can walk through a door and feel the heat coming off it. But I don’t want to spend her. If I pull her out now, we go blind. If I don’t, I might end up writing a condolence letter with my own name on the knife. She’s half-human. We know how Prowar treats her type. I hate this chair, I hate making these choices.” His knuckles went pale as his pulse kicked harder. “I saw the opportunity in you and took it too. Look what it did to you…”

“You’re choosing between bad and worse,” she said. “That’s the job.”

“I thought I was good at being Captain until the shit got too real.” His mouth twisted.

“You’re good at this,” she said. “That’s why it hurts. If it didn’t hurt, that’s when I’d worry.”

“What happens when people start dying on my watch, Suki? What happens if it’s not if but when? What happens if it’s one of your kids and my signature is under the order? These aren’t crates anymore. They’re people. Damn it, they’re kids. Some of them have never seen the world or been kissed and honestly, that—”

She cut him off immediately. She rolled her eyes, because only he would compare life and death to being kissed—and mean it. Her answer wasn’t gentle; it was honest:

“If that ever happens… you carry it. You take the consequences. Not as an excuse—as weight. You put it into words. You say it out loud. You cry and complain and ask to be comforted, as many times as it takes. And you stop when it stops hurting.” She stroked his damp hair. “If it ever stops hurting, if the job becomes easy, I will pin you to a wall and tell you to hand in your tie. That’s where your humanity sits: in carrying all our lives, in navigating duty and fear, Captain. You’re perfect for the job because you actually feel it.”

Something in his shoulders unhooked, then tightened again.

“If I let her stay in there, I need teeth in her back. I need to know that if it goes bad, I can say a word and…”

“I’ll go,” she said.

He blinked. “Suki…” Jeda’s rough hands came to her shoulders—not gentle, but the fear of losing her again ran through him like a live wire and he couldn’t hide it.

“I’ll go get her, on command. I’ll cut a corridor through a wall if I have to. You know I can. Stop pretending you don’t.”

He let his head drop between his shoulders for a moment. When he raised it, relief and fear lived together in his eyes, perfectly at home.

“I hate needing you for this.”

“That’s not true,” she said, smiling. “You love needing me almost as much as you love me needing you. Don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you and I can smell it.”

He reached for humor like a man reaching for a handrail in the dark. Rested his head in his hand, elbow on his knee. “Are we… together?”

The moment he said it, he silently cursed Elon and that stupid question he’d planted in his head one cold night on the roof. It wasn’t humorous at all. 

“What’s with you today?” She looked at him as if he’d placed a toy on a war table. “That’s a question teenagers ask,” she said without harshness. “We’re not something that fits in a single word.”

He should’ve made a joke. He didn’t. “Then what are we?”

“Tired soldiers,” she said, slightly violent… then softer: “and aligned.”

She slid closer, swung a knee over his thigh, drew him toward her. She felt his pulse under her palm and the impulse—stupid, human—to breathe in sync.

When they remembered to breathe again, he asked, “Will you stay over tonight?” He asked carefully. Jealousy had teeth, but he kept them sheathed.

He expected the usual: her at the edge of the bed like a fox ready to bolt; him, clingy while pretending he wasn’t. But that didn’t happen. She slipped under his arm, pulled him to her chest, and held him like she meant it. He went very still.

“This is me comforting you after a hard day,” she said over his hair, dry as a wound.

“But why?”

“Put the pieces together. You’re good at that.”

Her clothes discarded in a corner still carried the smell of the fair: salt, fried sugar, that metallic edge of almost-violence packed back into its box. He could smell it too. His voice dropped lower.

“I can’t pretend it doesn’t burn, the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” she said. “What you do have to do is behave. Know your place.” Her mouth brushed his scar—not a kiss, more a reminder. “Elon isn’t your rival for my duty. And you’re not his rival for my heart. I don’t fit inside those parameters, Jeda. Neither do you. Neither does he.”

Jeda let out something like a laugh—ugly, grateful. “Then put me in my place.”

“I just did.”

They let silence settle. The city hummed under the window; a pipe clanged somewhere; a child shouted and someone told them to be quiet. He breathed into the hollow beneath her collarbone and found his anchor there.

“Protocol,” he said, practical again but softer. “If we commit, I pull her out. If I panic, you decide. If she needs support—”

“I go,” she finished. “You say the word, and I move.”

He nodded against her, undone. “We need a word.”

She thought for half a second. “Mercy,” she said, baring all her teeth in a huge grin, like it was a private joke.

“Mercy? No, wait—this is a scam. A cruel one. I’ve been dreaming of talking about this for years and— Fuck, safe-words are for trying crazy stuff in the bedroom, not for this.” He joked because he hated imagining the situation becoming real—and because he sometimes couldn’t stop himself.

“It’s a clear word,” she said. She laughed at his impertinent comment but let it pass.

“Yeah, very clear.” He raised his eyebrows theatrically.

She nudged him with her shoulder, amused but firm. “Focus. If you say ‘mercy,’ I don’t argue. I request a flight, kick down The Barricade’s door, and bring her back breathing.”

“Oh, I am making a heroic effort to focus, trust me.” Jeda sighed like life was playing a personal joke on him. “Mercy,” he repeated, testing the word. He swallowed. “Alright. Though let the record show I still feel like I missed a historic opportunity.”

She smiled again—sharper this time. “When we’re not planning how to avoid a tragedy, we can discuss your historic opportunities. Ready?”

“Yes, yes.” He raised his hands with a look of dramatic suffering. “Rescue op first, sex later. Got it. I understand the order.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She shifted just enough to see his face. Darkness had fallen fully on him now; it fit him like a tie—too tight but necessary. The job demanded that. 

“You’re jealous,” she added, because she didn’t like ghosts in the room. “You can handle it. I’ll remind you, as many times as needed, where the line is.”

He held her gaze. Didn’t flinch. “I don’t need you to be mine,” he said, surprising himself, and meaning it.

“Good boy,” she said.

He looked down at the faint red cut on her knuckle, a souvenir of some blade from some day he didn’t ask about. He took her hand and pressed his mouth to it, sealing something like a document.

“And if I fail?” he asked at last—the question that had been trying to leave him. “What if someone dies because I thought I could handle this?”

“Then we’ll have another one of these feelings-talks you love so much,” she answered. “And you’ll listen, like you always do.”

“And if it’s you?”

“Then you’ll have to deal with Elon.” Her mouth twitched. “Good luck with that.”

“Ugh.” He smiled without light. “This plan is shit.”

She pulled him down. He settled against her like a large animal that had finally found a little shade. The map on the desk didn’t move. The pins stayed red. The corridor remained a pencil line. But for a while, duty had no teeth.

“Stay,” he repeated, smaller.

She slid under his arm and pulled him to her chest and held him like she meant it. “Jeda, stop it. I am literally wearing your clothes, half-naked, in your bed,” she added, heavy and playful this time. “I’m here. I can’t be more present than this. Stop complaining.”

When his breathing evened out, she stretched her arm over him, pulled up a blanket, and looked once toward the desk where the map lay.

Mercy, she thought, and filed the word in the same place she kept the knives she could reach without looking. Two monsters, she corrected herself, and neither of us pretending otherwise.

She rested her chin on his head and let the city stand watch with her until the clock pushed them toward morning.

♥︎