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What would they be like, if they hadn’t had to constantly hide away?

How would Elliott be? There were so many things Niko could do with him.

Places, experiences to show him, indulge him with.

A fancy eatery or a loud pub with greasy fries and sports holograms in the background.

Two tickets to a pop concert—he’d endure the plasticine music just to witness the other man’s enjoyment.

A beach, or a park, or a quiet night together just watching the traffic drift by the windows of Niko’s old apartment.

Movies—did Elliott like horror? Action? Romance?

Did he like movies at all, or was he more of a reader?

What books caught his passion, if so? There were so many things Niko wanted to ask.

It was strangely hard to focus on Cnrys and the mission they were on.

“It’s nice here. I’ve never been,” Elliott murmured back. He sounded detached. “Look. Easternmost window. That’s him.”

“Are we sure?” Niko forced himself to ask.

He knew Elliott was probably peering through the pair of specialized binoculars he’d seen on his person before, but it was far more difficult to see without his own helmet visor to enhance and magnify the view.

He’d taken the time to text the black market suit technician, Noori—the deaf woman hated trying to discuss business through phone calls and generally ignored them—and she’d promised to get a replacement helmet for him, the bill sent Lady Death’s way.

But for now, he was simply left to squint at the distant windows, the faintest movement of ruddy bronze on the other side of the glass giving credence to Elliott’s assessment.

“Yes. And lucky us, it looks like he’s home alone. You’d think he would at least have security stationed. Idiot.”

“Lucky us,” Niko muttered. “Let’s get this over with, I guess.”

He didn’t have to see Elliott to feel the other man’s gaze turn in his direction. “Is everything alright, Niko?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you really that upset that I don’t want to put this all on hiatus?”

“No,” Niko said. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

I just wish that I could give you something more than… all of this, Niko wanted to say. Instead, he said, “When this is all over, we should come back here.”

He felt the pause in Elliott, a beat of silence before he finally spoke again.

Niko couldn’t help but feel with a tinge of bitterness that some part of Elliott still somehow didn’t accept that there would ever be an after .

Elliott’s voice emerged softer now, though, something cracked open and personal rather than the business end of a gun.

“I would… really like that, Niko. That would be nice.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Elliott crouched and drew his sniper rifle.

Niko could barely make out what was happening; it was oddly easier to see him from the corner of his gaze than if he tried looking directly at the stealthed man.

The faint outline of Repartee’s long barrel distorted the air as Elliott set up his shot.

He drew quiet and inward. Even his breathing shifted to something more conscious, controlled, and slow.

Niko found himself subconsciously timing his breaths to flow with Elliott’s.

He briefly wondered if this was a meditative experience for him—to slow everything, to focus all his concentration and awareness to a single, masterful point.

Niko had never encountered a marksman with Elliott’s efficiency in all his hunting days.

He watched a bronze limb—it was impossible from his vantage point to tell if it was an arm or a leg; Xermotl were always somewhat funny-shaped—shift in the distant window.

Everything about this would be quick and quiet, an entirely different arena than Elliott’s former insistence on crowded public events.

Niko was all but useless here. There was nothing to protect Elliott from, no one to get in their way.

It had been a good idea to switch it up.

Elliott seemed to have the same thought. “It’s almost too easy like this,” he murmured softly, letting another long, slow breath flow out.

Niko winced. “Don’t jinx it. Please. The last thing we need is something coming in and fucking it up at the last second.

” He found himself casting a paranoid glance around, as though speaking the words would summon every Galapol agent to have ever enlisted and as many hungry bounty hunters as there were stars in the galaxy.

But everything remained the same—the private beach and its mansion were tranquil, quiet. Empty, save for its sole resident.

And soon, even he would be gone, too, leaving only the two of them here.

Niko frowned, that realization giving him an odd and absolutely outlandish idea.

“What’s the matter, Niko? You don’t want to have a little bit of challenge in your life? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve had enough challenge for now. I’ll take this instead.”

Elliott fell quiet. The air itself between them seemed to still, as though the fabric of the world were holding its breath too.

Several long seconds later, a single gunshot tore through the silence.

It was grim work, but always rather fascinating to Niko to see how incredible Elliott was at it. His aim was faultless.

The window was broken now, its glass spider-webbing in cracks around a central point. Cnrys’s indigo blood spattered across it.

“Well,” Elliott said. Niko heard him pull himself to his feet. “We should—”

“Check to make sure,” Niko insisted. “Just in case.”

They descended the wall and made their way toward the mansion, Niko doing his best to keep up with Elliott’s swift pace. He could see the other man’s footprints as they dug craters in the sand ahead of him.

It was hard walking on the beach. Its golden sands were uneven and unpredictable, and without any sense of feeling, Niko was losing his footing. When a particularly loose patch sent him crashing hard to his knees, Elliott paused, then deactivated his ORA.

“Elliott, we shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” Elliott said. He held his hand out. “Give me your hand.”

I can do it. Niko bit down on the thought hard, pushing it away. Elliott was trying to help, trying to show him kindness. Niko hated that he needed help at all. He deactivated his own stealth, then clasped Elliott’s hand and let the other man pull him up, then steady him.

It proved much easier to stand with Elliott’s help than the struggle to regain his footing on his own would have undoubtedly been.

“Sorry,” Niko muttered.

“Don’t apologize,” Elliott said. “But be careful, Niko.” He had a quiet warmth to his tone.

Niko glanced away from him. They made their way—more slowly, to Niko’s embarrassment—toward Cnrys’s mansion, not bothering with stealth anymore.

If someone were around to see them, they’d already have been long since noticed.

Up close, the white plaster of the mansion’s exterior walls had small seashells and sea glass inlaid into it. The double entry doors were carved from oak and sported beveled, stained glass designer windows, their patterns forming an azure and purple landscape of oceanic creatures.

Elliott reached out and tried both knobs, but the doors were locked. “Hold on, I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Niko said. “Get back.” Once Elliott was out of the way, Niko took a few steps back, then ran full force at the doors, slamming them hard with his armored shoulder.

They splintered around the lock and gave way, a rainbow of beveled glass shattering into crystalline rain around him. Elliott blinked at him.

“Sometimes I think you just like breaking things.” He eyed Niko up and down. “Including yourself.”

Niko grunted and rolled his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

They stepped inside, guns raised warily, glass crunching beneath their feet.

The house was empty and still. Elliott had been right—Cnrys would have been wise to employ some kind of protection—whether traditional security or mercenary.

In the end, it didn’t matter anyway. Elliott would have found a way through and around them, Niko knew.

The double doors led into an entry hall flanked with distinctly human decor—gilded mirrors, a marbled side table topped with a vase which sported some leafy thing Niko thought was probably called sage or eucalyptus.

The hall opened up into a large, open kitchen dining room combo, with a big table for entertaining and glass doors facing the sea.

A single framed and matted black and white photograph of Cnrys performing magic before several enthused human children hung in the dining room.

Niko walked over to it and pulled it down, staring at the abomination, before tossing it aside like a frisbee.

Its glass shattered as it hit the floor.

“So much for being quiet,” Elliott murmured.

“I’m pretty sure your thundering gunshot gave away our presence, babe.”

Just beyond the kitchen was a small, enclosed sunroom, which the tangled remains of Cnrys lay sprawled in, indigo blood painting a majority of the windows.

They stared down at the body, boneless, rubbery limbs flopped across the floor. The memory of the grotesque violations those floppy limbs had enacted on people made Niko shudder. Elliott stared down at Cnrys blandly, then nudged him with his boot.

“Well. He’s dead,” Niko declared.

Cnrys couldn’t magic himself out of this one, it seemed.

“Good. Then let’s get—” Elliott started.

“Actually,” Niko cut him off. He glanced out at the kitchen behind them, the thought from earlier clawing its way back up now, urgent and insistent.

It was a wild idea, and a stupid one. But he needed to do it.

Niko’s heart leapt into his throat at the realization that he was about to actually go through with this.

“I want you to do a sweep of the perimeter.”

Elliott’s features drew into a confused, nervous frown. “What? Why?”