“Yeah,” I agree as I shake my head, “but more for him. Constantly wearing that face that wasn’t his. Sometimes I wonder if I knew him at all.”
“Why?” She lets my clothes settle back into place, waiting with rare patience.
I lift a shoulder in a shrug as I remember how rigid Xeni was in public, compared with the soft, loose way he was when it was just the two of us.
“He was bound and determined to show the world the person he wanted them to see. I always thought he was genuine when he was with me. He used to say I was the only one he’d ever turned it off for…. the only person who knew the real him. It felt like such an honor.”
“You don’t believe it?” she asks.
My mark tingles under my skin as I absently reach down to rub it. “I used to. Now?” I shrug again.
She wraps her fingers around my arm in a touch that’s less playful and more comforting and lays her head on my shoulder, staring up through that mop of blue hair.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she says with an apologetic smile.
I lean my head against hers. “You never make me sad, Ego, and he shouldn’t either. Not after all this time.”
“Why don’t we go cheer you up?”
I lift my head off hers and raise a brow in her direction. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I was going to suggest going out to the bar and getting sloppy drunk, but that’s more my scene than yours.”
“Oh?” I ask, letting her hear my sarcasm. “What’s my scene, then?”
She scoffs and gestures at my equipment, then weaves her arm though mine.
“Come on,” she says, tugging me along. “Let’s get you one of those fancy coffees you like so much, and if you’re a good boy, we can swing by the comic book shop and let you pick something out.”
A reluctant smile spreads over my mouth. “I’m always a good boy.”
She laughs again as we walk towards the door with our arms linked. “You’re sure you don’t like women?”
“Positive, doll.”
“Damn. Was worth another shot.”
“It was a good effort,” I admit, grudgingly letting her lift my spirits as we wander into the sunny streets.
Xeni
Mytemplesthrobwitha dull, insistent ache that pounds inside my skull. Tension from too many sleepless nights has caught up to me, and endless worries only exaggerate the pain. I close my eye for a moment, willing the headache to ease.
The morning sun is warm against my skin as I sit back and watch people pass. I discovered this human cafe by accident, though I’m tempted to make this a daily stop. The velvety bite of my cappuccino is the best thing I’ve tasted in years. On base, they brewed a bitter sludge and called it coffee, but I’m still convinced it was poison.
I take another slow sip, letting the warmth spread through me. It grounds me in this quiet moment amid the bustle of the street. People mingle in a blur of conversation and footsteps, oblivious to the storm in my head, and for once, that feels like a mercy.
Three days of searching have yielded more slammed doors than useful leads. Most humans here seem content enough behind the walls, going about their lives without complaint. Those are the people who ignore me outright, and they’re not who I need.
I’m looking for the angry ones.
Those who tense or sneer when black uniforms pass by, or grit their teeth through forced exchanges with soldiers. The ones with eyes that flick nervously before they slip into alleys or duck behind closed doors, and whose conversations cut off the moment a stranger gets too close.
They guard their secrets fiercely, and I don’t blame them, though I still gamble and dig for information. Those interactions aren’t as civil. Threats come either in low, angry mutters or outright shouts that don’t care who overhears. Too many of the latter means word of my presence is spreading, and the wary glances tracking me serve as confirmation.
It might be time to retreat and formulate a new battle plan.
The barista smiles in my direction as I return my empty mug to the counter. It lights up her freckled face as I glance at the handwritten ‘Eliza’ scrawled on her nametag in looping cursive.
