Papers rustle and draw my attention forward again. The worker’s ice-blue eyes flick up over the edge of the sheet, indifferent behind the deep navy of her skin.
“Give me a few minutes to work on these,” she says as she pushes her chair back.
“Sure thing—”
“I can grab them, Zephne,” the Ramves offers, already standing, “if you don’t mind holding the counter. I need to pull a couple of things for myself anyway.”
“Thanks!” She’s brighter now that she doesn’t have to do the legwork, and hands him the request.
We’re asking for the full list of schedules, deciding it’s better to look overly thorough than suspiciously specific. There are a dozen or more deliveries, which is annoying for them, but safer for me.
“This’ll take a few minutes,” he says as he takes the paper without meeting my eyes, then nods toward the row of chairs in the lobby. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them out.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply, forcing another easy smile as I step back from the counter.
I don’t sit.
Nerves coil too tight in my gut to let me settle. Instead, I pace a slow circuit, pretending to read the faded informational posters on the walls, flipping through a stack of brochures by the door… anything to look like I belong while I wait. I count seconds and watch the clock out of the corner of my eye, my uneasiness swelling.
My gaze drifts back to the counter. There’s only one other customer here, tapping his foot impatiently while Zephne handles him, and still no sign of the Ramves through the back door.
I’m seconds from bolting, plan be damned, when the door finally swings open. He steps out carrying a thin stack of papers, spots me waiting, and ambles over like he has all the time in the world.
“Sorry for the wait. I wanted to make sure I copied everything and double-checked the list.”
“No worries,” I answer, reaching for the papers.
He doesn’t hand them over right away. Instead, he flips a couple of pages deeper into the stack.
“I put them in chronological order,” he explains. “Figured that’d help with whatever mess you’re sorting up at the gate.”
“Appreciate it.” I reach for the stack again, trying to signal I’m on a clock, but he turns another page.
“This day here shows three separate arrivals,” he goes on, tapping the sheet. “But it’s really just one big convoy split across lanes. Place burns through supplies fast.”
“Yeah, it does,” I say, a little tighter than I mean to.
He pauses, then glances up. “In a rush?”
I school my face before the irritation surfaces and flash an apologetic half-grimace. “Sorry. Lunch rotations are kicking off, and things fall apart quick when I’m not there to herd the fresh blood.”
“I imagine they do,” he says with a smile, and finally slides the papers toward me.
My fingers close around them and pull, but he doesn’t let go.
Our eyes lock, and his smile shifts. Something colder settles in as he leans in just enough to keep his voice low.
“One more thing…Mikhail.”
My heart slams hard against my ribs. He didn’t see my ID. Iknowhe didn’t. The gate guard barely looked, and it’s been in my pocket since.
“Yeah?” I manage, steady as I can.
“You’re a face that’s hard to forget,” he says, voice laced with venom, “especially when you’re flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me.”
“Boyfriend?” I echo, shaking my head, but his derisive snort cuts me off.
“At the gate a few days ago. Ankir. You were practically draped all over him.”
