“I think about that a lot, too.” I feel his eyes on my face, as intimate as a touch. “How it felt like we were… I don’t know, on the verge of something. Something new.”
Something new. There’s a hopefulness in that phrase, an openness, universes unfurling in front of it in a terrifying expanse. It’snot a controlled free fall, like I do when I phase. It’s a leap into the Depths, nothing below you but the unknown, waiting to swallow you up. But maybe that isn’t so bad. Maybe something new isn’t so much dark, scary emptiness.
Maybe instead it’s a miracle—like rain.
He’s looking at me just as intently as I am at him, and he swallows hard as his gaze drops to my mouth. He’s still holding my hands in the cradle of his own. My heart squeezes in a strange and painful way. I know enough about romantic love to recognize that I don’t feel it in quite the same way others seem to. I never got crushes like other kids my age or like Halle did when she got older. I never cared whether someone thought I was attractive or desired me in that particular, heated way.
Except sometimes—just sometimes—I feel something different toward Orion. Not an all-consuming burn or a fiery passion. Just a tug, right behind my heart, like a very strong thread connects us and every now and then it’s pulled taut.
I feel that tug now, stretched tight across the inches of space between us. So tight it might crash us together or snap us apart.
I’m not even sure which one I want.
But I don’t get the chance to find out.
A sharp knock on the door slices right through the tension, and Liren swings it open half a second later. Orion and I spring apart, my face flushing, but Liren just shoots us a shrewd look and doesn’t say anything. Instead they wrestle a couple of rucksacks into the room, plopping one down on the floor and tossing the other onto the covers.
“Not to interrupt or anything,” they say. “I thought you might like your stuff back, Booker’s friend.”
“I do have a name.” It takes me a second to realize the rucksack on the bed is mine—my Butcher kit. That hair of the dog must’ve really messed me up that I lost track of it. I immediately tug it open and start searching through the contents, checking the lining for my hidden cash, my water packets, making sure—
“Everything’s there,” Liren says as they crouch down next to the rucksack on the floor. “We’re not thieves.”
Orion holds up a hand. “Well, technically I am.”
“That’s true. Technically, he is, but the rest of us aren’t.”
I shoot both of them a look, but Liren just grins at me and Orion keeps his eyes pinned on the floor, scratching at the back of his neck in that way he does when he feels awkward. Which makes me feel suddenly awkward again, too, so I put all my focus on laying my kit out on the quilt, checking my blades, my sheaths, my goggles, and my clothes. Letting each familiar piece, each familiar movement calm my heartbeat and help me feel more solid. More real. It’s all there, and it all looks like it’s in significantly better shape than it was before I passed out. The cloth and leather actually look dark and unblemished, instead of smudged and spattered with blood and grime and ash.
I look up at Liren, eyebrows raised. “You cleaned my stuff?”
“Couldn’t really let it sit around smelling like sweat and blood. We try to run a clean place here, Valene Bruinn.” They grin at me again, adding a wink on top of it this time. “See? I know your name.” They swing their gaze over to Orion and jerk their chin over their shoulder. “Place is starting to fill up down there. You might want to go keep an eye out for any favorite friends.”
Orion’s face brightens, and he quickly checks the inner pocketof his vest—the one where he stashed that telegram and the crystal from the prison train—before wrapping a long arm around Liren in a quick hug. “On it. I owe you one, Liren.”
“You owe me lots at this point, Baby Booker.” They reach up and tweak the end of Orion’s nose playfully. “Good thing I’m not really one to keep count.”
Orion tells me he’ll be right back and then ducks out the door, letting it snick softly shut behind him.
“Favorite friends?” I ask Liren.
They run their hand along the shaved hair of their head, scrubbing at the bristles. “Informant might be a better word for it. Orion asked me to get word out to them that he wanted to talk.” They raise their eyebrows at me. “He didn’t tell me about what.”
I side-eye them. “I figured Atlas would’ve already filled you in on everything.”
Liren shrugs and pulls an armful of clothes from the rucksack, dumping them onto the quilt. It looks like mostly discards and hand-me-downs in different sizes, nondescript clothes for the blending-in sorts of people.
“He told me some,” Liren admits. “I guess I’d just like to hear your side of the story. Even the notorious Butcher has a point of view, right?”
I pull on one of my gloves, feeling the stretch of the fabric and the comforting heft of the weighted plates inside. “The less you know, the better. I don’t want to bring you trouble.”
“Trouble?” Liren’s laugh is low and dark, layered with as much bittersweet as joy. “I was in trouble the moment I crossed paths with Atlas Booker. I was doubly in trouble when he toldme he was a rogue preacher and his idiot baby brother was the Skywayman.” They spread their arms wide. “And yet here I stand. Trouble doesn’t scare me.”
I sigh, sifting through the extra clothes so I don’t have to look into their sympathetic eyes. “The truth is, the Butcher has a family. Two sisters. But I fucked up and lost them. And now I have to get them back.”
“Shit…” Liren rubs their hands over their face, looking stressed. I can see all the affection and worry swirling underneath their expression, and guilt seeps into my chest again. I set my teeth against it, bristling.
“Look, I just got the whole lecture from Atlas, okay? And I already decided that as soon as Orion gets me a new lead I can work with, I’ll head out without him. He can stay here—”
