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“Unlike most Marisian species, sky eels don’t possess gas bladders,” she explained. “They take flight when the miasma is at its densest, but during low tides, they’re forced to settle down in whatever shelter they can find before they enter stasis.” She removed a glove and stroked the creature’s side. “The scales are smooth and hard as quartz flecks, just as Xathar described them.”

A faint chuckle echoed off the cavern walls. Vela glanced up to see Fyn hovering beside her. His smile, though crooked as ever, was soft as silk. “It’s a rare pleasure to observe someone truly in their element.”

“Hunting is my element,” Vela hissed, surprised by her own terse tone. Fyn’s observation had warmed her, yet her response was frigid. She breathed deeply and tried again. “This is simply an interest. Some people are interested in baking. Some are interested in rock collecting. I’m interested in any resilient creature that thrives in seemingly unlivable circumstances.”

“Feel a kinship, do you?”

Vela hadn’t thought of it that way. Her interest in xenozoology far predated the events that nudged her toward a nomadic existence, though it had certainly piqued in the decades since.

But none of that was Fyn’s business.

“Let’s get going.” Vela stood, dusting soil from her knees. “If the eels found this place, we can’t be far from the surface.”

They tiptoed carefully through the nest and into a tunnel on the opposite side, where the air smelled fresher and roots wove through the walls. A pit yawned open in Vela’s stomach at the sight of so much loose soil, doubling in depth when a light appeared ahead of them, strong and bright as neon.

“We must be near a ranger’s station!” Fyn exclaimed, breaking into a sprint.

Against her every instinct, Vela gave chase. She caught up with Fyn right as he slipped between the widespread jaws of an anglerbeast. A wet tongue squelched beneath his heel, startling him still. Vela grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to safety just before the creature’s fangs crashed inward.

The anglerbeast bellowed, pelting them with spittle and spoiled-shrimp breath. Its bioluminescent lure bobbed wildly, reflected in its massive, milky eyes, as it struggled forward on limbs too squat to lift its belly from the ground. Vela and Fyn sprinted back toward the eel nest as it lurched along behind them with astounding speed. A fang snagged on Vela’s jumpsuit, barely grazing her leg. The seam tore from ankle to knee when Fyn pulled her into a fissure, but she lost no skin to the bite.

A luminous lure dangled inches from Vela’s nose as the anglerbeast clawed at the stoney crevice. Fyn tugged her deeper into darkness, dimming his radiant hair to dull mauve. Bedrock scraped their shoulders for several meters before the gap widened only to end in a wall of sheer limestone. At least there was space enough for two to settle side-by-side, which is exactly what they’d be doing until the creature lost interest.

“We’re going to be here a while.” Fyn didn’t sound disappointed. “There’s one sure way to pass the time.”

Vela went rigid. The Wanderling’s charms were undeniably appealing, but she would not allow him to manipulate her. “You’d better not be implying what I think you’re implying…”

“I was only suggesting we pick our game up where we left it.” He elbowed her side. “I believe it’s my turn to ask something.”

“You’re serious?” She shook her head only to realize it was bursting with questions she desperately wanted answers to. “We’ve got nothing to drink, so you’d better be honest.”

“Of the two of us, do you really think I’m the guarded one?”

“Is that your official question?”

“Far from it.” Fyn’s smile hiked up one cheek. “Mere interest or not, you looked far happier studying those sky eels than you have throughout this entire hunt, and don’t get me started on the encyclopedia. Why in the galaxies would you waste time as a bounty hound when you have such a palpable passion for nature?”

Vela didn’t haveto answer. Her stun gun wasn’t quite strong enough to faze a thousand-pound anglerbeast, but it would easily knock Fyn out for a while. Then again, she’d agreed to the terms, and playing along hurt nothing, and a foolish part of herwantedto tell him. Or someone, at any rate.

“I can’t remember a time I didn’t love animals—the stranger, the better.” She fixed her gaze on the now-distant glow of one such creature. “My mom made a name for herself as a naturalist back on Phaunos. She was always more interested in fundraising than field work, but I devoured every textbook in her study. It was my greatest dream to explore the deserts of Haset. Most researchers flee the harsh conditions after a few weeks, but a Phaunid could weather the sandstorms with relative ease. Can you even imagine the undiscovered species skittering through those dunes?” A smile found her lips only to wither away. “Mom said it would be a waste of time. Apparently, donors care little for sand fleas and scavenger rats.”

“Strange opinion for a scientist to hold. I don’t suppose she ever took you into the field…”

“Her colleagues did.” Vela warmed at the memory of Marcas helping her sift trilodile eggs from estuarine silt. “Mom had far too many hands to shake to bother holding mine, claimed it was her wit and winning smile that kept the cupboards stocked. That was probably the only truth she ever told me.” She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, feeling suddenly small. “Turns out, she tricked her way into the Naturalist’s Society with a fake degree and some plagiarized papers. After securing twenty million in research grants, she vanished without a trace. No less than three species of river snail went extinct as a result.”

“She left you behind?” The cocky smile fell right off Fyn’s face. “Just like that?”

Vela shrugged half-heartedly. “It wasn’t like she was really there before.”

Fyn took a moment to gather his words, but they spilled out in a jumble. “That’s awful, really, but I fail to see what it has to do with your career. Your mother faked an interest in xenozoology, but yours is obviously real. You shouldn’t cast aside your passion for?—”

“I didn’t cast anything aside,” Vela snapped. “I simply got a new passion: hunting down self-absorbed reprobates who see fit to take what doesn’t belong to them.”

“So, thanks to one woman’s actions, you think all outlaws are slime mold?”

“Let me guess: you consider yourself an outlier.” Vela laughed coldly, though she was beginning to suspect the same. “Since it’s my turn, I might as well pluck the obvious fruit. You mentioned the stolen zenna wasn’t yours to spend. Care to elaborate?”

Fyn grinned like he’d been anticipating that very question. Which was probably the case. “How much do you know about Seriville Senior Services?”