“He mentioned you once,” she said finally. “The ghost boy.”
Something twisted in my chest. A feeling I couldn’t name and didn’t want to examine. He’d remembered. After all those years, all that distance, he’d remembered me.
“I’m looking for something he was protecting,” I said. “Something important.”
Her expression went cold. Shuttered. Whatever openness had flickered there was gone now, locked away behind walls I recognized. I had walls like that.
“There’s nothing here for you. Leave.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I don’t care what you think.” She adjusted her grip on the rifle. Minute movement, barely visible, but I caught it. “You have thirty seconds to get back to your ship before I let Turnip off his leash.”
Turnip. She’d named that nightmare creature Turnip.
I almost smiled. Almost. Torek would have appreciated that kind of humor. Naming something terrifying after a root vegetable.
I could push. Could probably close the distance before she got a shot off. I was faster than she knew. Faster than most people could track. Deal with her, deal with the animal, search the property by force.
But something stopped me.
The way she stood. The grief underneath her anger, held tight but visible if you knew where to look. She’d cared for Torek. Maybe been family to him, in the way that mattered more than blood. She’d buried him here, I realized. Tended this place alone for three years. Protected whatever he’d left behind.
I wouldn’t repay that by treating her like an obstacle.
“I’ll wait,” I said. “In my ship. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there.”
I turned my back on her and walked away. Felt her eyes on me the whole distance. The boar’s too, tracking me with that unnerving intelligence, waiting for permission that hadn’t come.
In theTuretsala, I pulled up my surveillance suite and settled in to watch. To learn. To wait.
The way Torek had taught me.
ANHARA
Ikept the pulse rifle up until the Vinduthi disappeared into his ship. Only then did I let myself breathe.
Turnip pressed against my leg, two hundred kilos of frustrated aggression vibrating through his hide. I dropped one hand to scratch behind his ear.
“I know,” I murmured. “I wanted to let you eat him too.”
But I hadn’t. Because he’d known Torek. Because Torek had mentioned him.
The ghost boy.
I went inside and lowered myself into the chair by the window. Torek’s chair. Three years, and I still thought of it as his. The cushion had molded to his shape, not mine. The headrest was worn smooth where his horns had rubbed the fabric, two grooves I could trace with my fingers. Everything about it was built for someone larger. My feet barely touched the floor when I sat back.
I should have replaced it. I hadn’t.
Turnip squeezed through the doorway and settled at my feet, his bulk taking up half the room. His snout rested on my boot, warm and heavy.
“He’s not leaving,” I told him.
A skeptical snort.
“I know. I saw the way he moved.” I stared out the window at the ship sitting in my field. Dark and angular and patient. “Torek trained him. And Torek didn’t train quitters.”
The farmhouse was quiet around me. Same as always. Same as it had been every night since I’d buried Torek in the north field and tried to pretend the universe would leave me alone.
