“No problem, Naomi Sato.”
He keeps saying my name that way, with the first and last name together at the same time, as if that’s how I should always be addressed. Before I can correct him, someone shouts to Saxon.
“Hook,” a deep-voiced, masked Xylan, dressed in a beastly costume, greets and slaps Saxon on the shoulder. “That was easy. I’d recognize those deadly fists anywhere.”
I’ve already learned that all the Timbur employees call Leah’s husband “Hook” because he’s notorious for his Mean Right Hook—his ability to slam an opponent to the ground with one massive blow of his colossal fist.
“Godsdammit,” Saxon yells back, snatching his mask off his face and snarling with frustration. “I barely stepped in the front door and the game is already over for me.”
“Come over here and join our crew,” the other Xylan laughs. “And you’ll also have a chance to guess my identity if you like.”
Saxon looks down at Leah for confirmation.
“Go,” she laughs. “Go. I’ll find you later. You’ll be doing me a favor, giving Naomi and I some time alone together.”
Saxon grins at his Bride. “I’ll be back,” he tells us both. Then he gives Leah a quick kiss and he’s gone.
Bloodletting?I mouth.Beheading?
Leah bursts out laughing.
“Your husband is scary. They’re all scary.”
She laughs again. “You’re so funny. Don’t worry, Naomi. I’ve lived and worked here on Timbur for two years now. It’s safe. The Xylan look intimidating, and yes sometimes they arearrogant, even the Margol Xylan, but they are kind and treat me well. And they like humans and think we’re charming.”
I push my mask up further on my nose, trying to keep it more firmly in place. “Charming?” I snort. “I’ve never been described that way in my life. My entire family considers me annoying. I mean, they’ve even banished me.”
“That’s because your father and brother are jerks and can’t see your value. But I do.”
Leah’s words hit harder than she probably intended.
Banished.I used the word like a joke, but it’s not really funny, is it?
I glance around the crowded cavern, watching all these Xylan laugh and mingle with their coworkers and friends. They belong here and have a place. Meanwhile, I’m a tourist with a one-month visa and nowhere to go when it expires.
Six months ago, I had a career path. A family business. A future.
Sato Marketing was supposed to be mine someday. My father built it from nothing. A tiny advertising agency on New Earth that grew into one of the most respected branding firms in the sector. I started working there as a teenager, learning the business from the ground up. My creative work and exhibitions won awards. I brought in new clients. I was being groomed to take over.
And my stepbrother, Kenji, hated every second of it.
He’s three years older than me but half as talented, and he knows it. He’d smile to my face at family dinners while quietly undermining me at every opportunity, suggesting to our father that I was “too emotional” to handle big accounts. He said I lacked the business instincts needed for leadership and my artistic temperament made me unreliable.
I ignored it. Kept my head down and did good work. I thought the results would speak for themselves.
Then Venko Industries came calling.
Venko is one of the largest manufacturing corporations in the four sectors. Landing their account would have been huge for us, the kind of prestige that puts a small agency on the map permanently. My father was practically salivating. Kenji was already calculating his bonus.
But I did my research.
Venko’s factories on the outer colonies operate on a system that’stechnicallylegal but morally bankrupt. Workers sign contracts they don’t fully understand, then find themselves trapped for years, working off “debts” that never seem to shrink. The conditions are brutal. The pay is a joke and anyone who complains gets their contract extended.
This is barely a step removed from what the Hurlians did to humans before the Xylan freed us.
When I brought my concerns to my father, he waved me off. “That’s not our problem, Naomi. We’re not responsible for how they run their business. We just make the ads.”
“We’d be helping them recruit more workers,” I argued. “We’d becomplicit.”
