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Niko felt Elliott’s gaze jump to him instantly, and for a brief moment, they both eyed each other. “No,” he started warily. He trusted his brother fully, but knew Elliott didn’t. To leave them alone together would be too cruel. “No, I should be helping—”

“It’s alright.” It was Elliott who spoke, which shocked Niko. Especially at the firm, inarguable line drawn in his tone.

“But—” Niko started.

Elliott only clamped down tighter, more forcefully. “It’s alright.”

“I don’t bite,” Zann said.

“No. Just shoot,” said Elliott.

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

Niko sighed, then after another long, wordless exchange with Elliott, relented. “I’ll get this cleaned up, then, and grab a quick nap. Then I’ll join you guys and we can hit it hard.”

“Sure, Niko,” Zann said, rising from the table. “Nice job on dinner. I missed your cooking.”

Elliott stood too and walked over to Niko, leaning down to plant a brief, chaste kiss on his temple. It was the most affection he’d shown since Zann’s arrival. Niko could feel his brother side-eyeing them, but paid him no mind.

“Are you going to be alright?” Elliott murmured.

“Yeah, babe,” Niko said, reaching up to touch his hand. “Are you?”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll survive this.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Niko gently squeezed his hand.

“After you,” Zann said, gesturing toward the exit.

Niko watched as the two turned and left the cafeteria side by side, Elliott murmuring something about using one of the lounges.

Something raw and painful tugged inside of him at the sight of them together.

He wished things had been different. He wished everything had been.

Maybe this could be the start of a new direction.

In their absence, the cafeteria suddenly took on an entirely different feel now. It seemed somehow stranger—more colossal, each angle sharper, colder. Even the fluorescent light seemed to press down on him. How Elliott had lived here alone for so long, Niko had no idea.

He cleaned up the dishes and kitchen, then went back to their room and laid down for a nap. The bedside clock read 8:13 p.m. He could sleep for just an hour or two, then join them.

If they didn’t erupt into outright open warfare by then.

Elliott lowered himself into one of the cushioned, gray lounge chairs.

He kept his back straight and stiff, every muscle tight with nerves.

He chose a seat between Investigator Delamar and the door, back kept against the wall.

He was more athletic than the lanky Galapol agent, and he trained almost daily.

If it came down to it, he could be out of the room and down the hall in under seven seconds. Let Niko deal with him.

To say Elliott wasn’t thrilled about Delamar’s encroachment into his territory was putting it lightly.

But this was Niko’s family, and there was no way he could deny Niko.

He could no sooner deny the galaxy its bejeweled, hanging stars.

The deep pain in the other man’s soulful eyes when Elliott had tried to reason with him dug deeper, hurt more than any physical blow could ever aspire to.

Besides, Niko’s family was only in this nightmare because the man had chosen to help him. The same creatures who had taken Cleo from him and stained his life with a trauma that would never wash away now had Niko’s father too. He hoped that whoever it was, it wasn’t Taal.

Please don’t let it be him.

Not that any of the other swine were a much better option, but that was too much. Would they—?

Elliott winced at the thought. Niko wasn’t even in the room, but he fought against turning his face downward in shame. How much was Elliott even worth being around, when it came with so many horrific consequences? In how many ways could a person inflict pain on another, while only ever loving them?

It would have been a kindness if Niko had listened to him before, had left the facility—and him—behind.

Delamar cleared his throat, sinking into his own chair and glancing around.

He made himself at home, leaning back and even propping his feet up on a nearby table.

It grated against something hard in Elliott and he fought to swallow a protest against the gesture.

How ridiculous, he chastised himself. To act like this place is precious and needs to be kept pristine.

But it was more than simply insulting the facility itself. The gesture was clearly meant for Elliott. The man had the audacity to actually flex on him.

“So,” Delamar started, eyeing him, then taking in the lounge. “Nice murder fortress you got here. Real homey.”

Elliott didn’t grace him with an answer.

There were plenty of things he could say—wanted to say—but every one of them would somehow wound Niko too.

Sometimes it was better to keep quiet. Instead, he began to sift through what infuriatingly labyrinthine research he’d amassed so far, gesturing one hologram after another into the air between them with several flicks of the wrist.

Behind the transparent haze of blue, Delamar’s eyebrows rose. “Straight to work then, huh? Not even going to go around the room and say three interesting facts about ourselves first?”

“I suggest we don’t waste time,” Elliott said curtly. He was unable to help the dig that came from his mouth next—though he wasn’t sure if it was aimed at Delamar, or himself more. “So your father doesn’t have to spend another moment suffering.”

If Delamar isn’t in on it all too. He’d worked so closely with Galapol before.

He had been the only one to conveniently be out while any of this had happened.

Niko seemed to accept it all just fine, but the man often had a blinding belief in others.

He trusted, he gave his heart too easily.

Elliott wanted to protect him, to melt around him like a second, stronger, more durable armor and shield him from every opportunist bastard.

But the smirk or quip that Elliott braced for didn’t come. Instead, Delamar’s face shifted to what appeared to be genuine discomfort. In that moment, the wince of his dark eyes could have been a mirror of Niko’s. Elliott tried to push that thought away.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Just like that, the other man sobered up, playtime over. He pulled his feet from the table and hunched over it instead, beginning to bring up his own holographic research and notes.

They were both here for a common reason, and though neither trusted the other (which was quite clear by the way Delamar constantly kept Elliott in his visual periphery, and had since he’d stepped aboard Niko’s ship, eyes sharp and wary), for Niko, they would both behave and work together.

After all the pain and problems he’d wrought for Niko and his family, it was the very least that Elliott could do.

He wouldn’t screw this up too. Even if it meant swallowing both his pride and paranoia.

“I’ve managed to rule out a few of them,” Elliott said as a tentative peace offering.

“And I have a list of potential suspects, but it’s…

long.” He hated how lost that last word sounded.

He hadn’t made the progress he’d been hoping for.

It had been all he could do to focus on the task at hand the last few days and not turn against himself in an angry frenzy.

He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t doing enough for Niko.

Not that the beautiful man would ever think to accuse him of that. In a way, it only made Elliott’s disdain towards his own incompetence burn even hotter.

“Yeah?” Delamar said, glancing his way. He was buried behind his own wall of case files, criminal records, and notes now. All likely gifted from Galapol—or stolen, if the man could actually be believed. “Send them my way. I’ll send whatever we had on these fuckfaces, too.”

We. The word reverberated energetically through Elliott’s mind.

It danced. He still says ‘we.’ Either the man was slipping up miserably, or he was sincere.

A skilled actor would be sure to put clear distance between himself and Galapol.

A masterful one would instead muddy the waters, appear sentimental, married to habit.

“Do that.” After a moment, Elliott added on a, “Please.”

Once each man had exchanged his files, the two of them got to work. What information Delamar and Galapol possessed matched up quite well with Elliott’s own research and files, mixed with a few surprises—most of them unpleasant.

As the hours wore on, Elliott found himself relenting more and more, opening up, and inviting Niko’s brother into his research—murmuring questions and insights both, and providing explanations when the investigator puzzled over his notes.

Fatigue began worming its way into his mind after several late-night hours of endless research. If this was a trap, he wasn’t certain which direction to step to evade it anymore.

His thoughts had long since begun to slow, until they were straight-up sluggish.

The realization made him nervous; more than any physical skill, Elliott’s mind was his truly greatest weapon.

And it had been intensely dulled by another sleepless night.

He glanced at the time. It read 2:03 in the morning.

Niko had never come back.

Paranoia reared its head again, hazy thoughts churning through him now.

Perhaps Delamar had drugged his own brother at dinner to get Elliott alone.

No, that didn’t make any sense. Niko had been the one to prepare the meal and serve the drinks.

And Elliott and Delamar had been working together now for hours, making what felt like genuine progress. He forced down a sharp sigh.