I slide over one of the benches facing each other, the leather material cool and slick beneath me. The other recruit settles into the opposite bench, clasping his hands as he peers through the small window. We sit in silence, not looking at each other or speaking. I’m grateful for this small mercy. I’m not ready for casual conversation; not confident in my ability to deepen my voice convincingly.
A moment later the front doors open with a pop, and two Enforcers enter the transport. Neither regards us as they prepare themselves. There’s a series of mechanical sounds before the vehicle hums to life beneath us. The sensation is unexpected—a gentle vibration that travels through the floor, up my boots, into my bones. When the transport begins to move, I fail to contain a small squeak of surprise at the sudden forward momentum.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What kind of reaction is that from a grown man?
My cheeks heat, and I face the window regardless that no one can see my cheeks burn, hoping neither the Enforcers nor my fellow recruit noticed my response. Outside, the buildings slide past as we accelerate, beams of light shining across different angles as the city wakes to therising sun.
“Looks like it’s just us,” the man across from me says, his voice low but friendly. “Haven’t been in a vehicle before?”
I glance at him, surprised by the leisurely tone. After the terse exchange with the captain, I expected a stoic silence for the journey. His voice is pleasant, though—a light baritone with a hint of an accent I can’t place. He did mention he was from the eastern quarter, but that means nothing to me in terms of his home place.
“No,” I reply, keeping my words clipped and my voice as low as I can manage without cracking or sounding unnatural. “First time.”
He hums, seemingly unconcerned by my lack of experience. “They’re uncommon outside official capacity. I don’t ride in them often myself.”
I nod, unsure if he expects a response. How do men talk to each other? My only reference is my father and brother, but their conversations are colored by familiarity and the comfortability of family. This is different—we’re strangers, evaluating each other, establishing some strange hierarchical relationship.
The recruit seems content with the silence for a while, gazing out at the city as it gives way to the more industrial outskirts of Pyrem. Factories and warehouses replace sleek buildings, their utilitarian designs a strange contrast to the polished city center. Clearly this part of the city is not as cared for.
Eventually, he speaks again. “What’s your name?”
The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. That’s a normal thing to ask, especially since we’ll be training together. I open my mouth and Cassia is almost the first sound to emerge before I catch myself.
“Lachlan.” The name is strange on my tongue when applied to myself. “Ashford,” I include after a moment. Lachusually refers to his work peers by their last names, so I’m not certain if he was asking for that.
I adjust my hips to address him properly for the first time. He’s watching me with curious eyes, the only part of his face visible—forest green, intelligent, observant. He nods, satisfied with my answer.
“Elias,” he responds, though I idiotically didn’t return the courtesy of asking, and my pulse jumps. Was that rude of me? Perhaps, though he doesn’t sound offended.
One thing I’ve not gleaned from books and experience is the emotional weight of conversing with others. Talking with my family is natural, because that’s all I’ve known, and I thought I was prepared to speak to others in the same manner, but it’s clear expectations between men are something wholly different than I’m used to.
“You’re very quiet,” he notes, head tilting slightly. “That’s not a bad thing. Most people talk too much when they’re nervous.”
My teeth gnaw along my bottom lip, no response gracing the front of my mind. Does he think I’m nervous? Can he tell I’m not what I appear to be?
I pause. Oh—oh.Is he an Empath as well? Has he been noting the volatile shift of emotions I’ve experienced since we stood together in front of the hall?
I should be doing the same…using my power to know how he’s feeling about me?—
“What did you do before this?” His tone is conversational, but I open my awareness toward him a little, not wanting to be blasted with the emotions of everyone in the car, and I’m immediately swallowed by curiosity. Not suspiciously so, but I get the sense I intrigue him. “Based on your reaction to the transport, I’m guessing not Syndicate work?”
I shake my head, keeping my gestures brisk and masculine. “No. Private sector.”
He hums. Something sweet drifts around me, the taste of his amusement. What did I say that was funny?
“What part of the private sector?”
I contemplate my words, forming each carefully. “Messenger services, primarily. Some administration.” It’s close enough to what Lachlan does that I can speak about it with some confidence if pressed. Though I’m cursing myself for all those times I tuned out his stories of travel; I could have learned much more about his position.
Elias settles further into his seat, squeaking the tight leather as his arms cross. “And what brought you to the Enforcers? This new group, particularly?”
I consider the safest answer, swallowing around the thickness in my throat. It was close to drowning me a mere hour ago, but it’s dry as a desert now. “Change. Purpose.” I shrug, the movement feeling unnatural but necessary. “Opportunity to see more of Dascenia.”
It’s not a lie, though it’s far from the complete truth.
But that’s how I need to play my role. As close to the truth as I can be without giving myself away. The more lies I spin, the harder it will be to keep up with my story.
“Fair enough,” Elias remarks, and to my relief, he doesn’t press for more details. Instead, he offers some information about himself, though it’s vague enough that I can’t piece together much about him.
