Page 54

Chapter eighteen

Another Buyer

They still had work to do. Enva’ruu, the Dvaab business mogul.

Niko was up dutifully to his phone alarm, waking with at first confusion and then dread, as the memory of what had transpired returned gracelessly to him.

He'd barely managed to sleep at all and his sore and sluggish body felt every repercussion of that now, an electric fire crawling through his legs from how hard he’d pushed himself back on Haneen.

This time, Elliott wasn’t beside him to massage them.

He was scared to leave his room, but knew he had to.

When he reached the bathroom, he pointedly ignored looking at his own reflection after glancing at the dark and passionate bruise Elliott’s mouth had left on his neck.

He took a long shower, buying himself an extra few moments before making his way out to the cafeteria.

The scent of freshly cooked eggs, bacon, pancakes, and coffee filled the expansive room.

The empty and eerie quiet of RM-9832642G was slowly eroding away now. Zann stood leaning against the serving counter to the kitchen, engaged in conversation with Loolae. Smooth lounge jazz played over the intercom system, clearly Zann's pick. Elliott had finally permitted him to use it, it seemed.

In the kitchen, visible through its slim serving window, were Oliver and Loolae, both working together to make breakfast for everyone. Loolae laughed at something Zann said. Niko was grateful they could still laugh, that they seemed to be recovering well enough from what they'd been put through.

Seated at one of the tables was Elliott, a scattering of holographic maps and blueprints of Enva’ruu’s home before him, a mug of steaming black coffee on the table.

Niko froze when he saw him. Elliott undoubtedly felt his gaze and paused from his research, looking up too. Their eyes met for a brief moment—until Elliott's brow furrowed into a subtle, displeased frown, and he looked back to his blueprints as though Niko were nothing of note.

Elliott may as well have shot him. The sting of it stole his breath away. Niko glanced away from him too, and wheeled his way over toward Zann instead.

“Hey.”

“Niko. Morning.”

“Smells good in here.”

“Yeah. Kind of reminds me of Ch'ua's breakfast platter special. I could go for one of those right now.”

Niko salivated at the memory. The loss of Ch'ua's Chicken was perhaps the most profound of all his severed ties to society. Both brothers were feeling it, it seemed. “Shit. Me too.”

“Oh, hush,” Loolae chimed in. “That food was greasy trash. It had no nutritional benefits whatsoever.”

“Besides, a home cooked meal is far superior, in my opinion,” Oliver quietly added.

“Fair point,” Zann relented. “And I'm pretty sure they were adding jhiinrax spice to it. Which is highly addictive. And illegal on Kaapra-19.”

“Explains a lot if so,” Niko muttered.

“So.” Zann turned to look at him now. He eyed Niko up and down. “Heard you guys are already going back out.”

“Yeah, uh.” He glanced vaguely in Elliott's direction, but willed himself not to look at him. “Elliott wants to hit Enva’ruu next. The Dvaab—”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Zann cut him off. “Seems kind of soon, don't you think? Everybody only just got back from Khaathra, and all.”

“Well, the longer we wait at this point in the game, the harder it's all going to be. People are going to start disappearing, going into hiding. Strike while the iron's hot and all that, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Besides, we were, uh, kind of taking a hiatus to focus on finding Dad and Loolae, and everything. Didn't want to stir the pot any more than we already had.”

“Speaking of ‘the pot,’” Oliver said, “breakfast is ready.” He chuckled at his own joke.

They filled their plates, and everyone sat down together to eat at the same table Elliott had sat at. Then they dug in, not talking much for a while, too busy concentrating on the indulgent home-cooked meal provided.

“This is great, Dad. Loolae.” Niko swallowed an entire mouthful of bacon. “Thanks.”

Oliver smiled. “I’m glad you enjoy it. It was nice cooking with Loolae.” He glanced at her.

Loolae’s patterns turned a pleased magenta. “It was mostly you, Oliver. I still struggle knowing how to prepare human meals, sometimes. One of the most bewildering things I encountered when I first moved from Valaevanas was that food needed to be cooked.”

“You guys eat everything raw down there?” Zann asked.

“Most of it, yes. Try cooking underwater.”

“This is especially excellent, then,” Elliott said. “Thank you for making it.”

“My pleasure,” Loolae said. She blinked curiously at him. “Elliott, can I ask? How did you acquire food supplies after you’d started your… work?”

“Moft of defe are from Lady D,” Niko mumbled out around a mouthful of fluffy egg.

“She meant before you saw Lady D, dumbass,” Zann said.

Niko glanced at Elliott, who was quiet for a moment, obviously choosing his words carefully.

“I pre-planned how much I would need for a mission this long, and added in two surplus months just in case anything went wrong or was delayed. I already had everything I needed, before I ever started taking them down.”

“So, what about after?” Zann said, staring at Elliott. Niko shifted uneasily, but didn’t jump in to help him. He didn’t think Elliott would appreciate it right now.

Elliott took a long drink of coffee, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed several times.

It was the old trick Niko knew well by now.

He was buying himself a moment to think, to navigate with care.

He set the mug back down. It clinked softly against the scuffed, gray tabletop.

“I hadn’t thought that far out, honestly. I was too focused on doing this.”

It was a lie, and Niko knew it. Elliott never overlooked details as big as that. The lack of life-supporting supplies after his work concluded wasn’t an oversight; it was the intent. His mood soured a little. Breakfast suddenly didn’t taste so good.

“So, you didn’t think you were going to survive til the end?

” Zann asked. Niko cast him a wary glance, but Zann’s attention was honed in only on Elliott now.

This wasn’t really a conversation to be had over pancakes, but Zann had been an excellent investigator and sometimes, even in their personal lives, struggled to switch it back off.

Elliott started to reach for his mug again, but stopped himself. “I don’t know, actually. Part of me did, and part of me didn’t. It’s why I’m saving Uru Taal for last. It’s been my primary motivation for survival.”

To Niko’s surprise, Zann actually grimaced.

He leaned back in his chair, the pressure suddenly dissipating from Elliott now as he turned his gaze upward toward the fluorescent overhead lights instead.

“Shit. That’s some real restraint. I’d have fucked him up, first thing. I don’t know how you couldn’t.”

Elliott impaled a piece of pancake with his fork, then dragged it slowly through a puddle of golden syrup. It glistened beneath the lights. “I’m savoring it.”

“Zann,” Oliver chided gently. “Maybe this isn’t the best conversational topic over breakfast.”

Zann grunted. He seemed mildly cowed though, casting a guilt-ridden glance around. When he met Niko’s gaze briefly, Niko only shook his head at him. Zann shrugged back, then hunched over his own plate and helped himself to it.

The remainder of breakfast went, to Niko’s relief, relatively peacefully—ignoring the fact that he and Elliott had barely even exchanged glances all morning.

When they were finished eating, Niko helped his father clean up the dishes, before getting ready to head out on their next strikethrough of Honeybliss’s roster.

Aboard the Sonadora , he and Elliott sat together in the pilot and co-pilot’s chairs, Niko clad in the suit.

He ached. He wanted nothing more than to push away what had happened, and go back to his usual banter with Elliott.

To reach out and touch his hand or hair or face.

But he also knew trying to do so would be an even deeper blunder.

It would be doing Elliott a graver disservice than he’d already inflicted.

Niko knew he’d harmed him with his words, but didn’t know yet how to face it, how to apologize.

Apologizing meant having to give recognition to what sat uncomfortable inside him. And it wasn’t ready to come out yet.

So, instead, they stayed quiet, a cavernous distance between their two seats.

“Here,” Elliott said. He sent Enva’ruu’s coordinates to the ship console and a moment later, Niko had it programmed in, the course set.

“ETA, three and a half hours,” Niko murmured.

Elliott only nodded. He didn’t even look in his direction.

He pulled up his phone hologram and began going through the newsfeed, then paused on a video.

Niko couldn’t help but be nosy, his gaze sliding over toward it as two unfortunately familiar faces filled the screen. He realized it was a live broadcast.

Elliott played it.

Mary and Johann Kestrel practically glowed, their faces seeming to have somehow de-aged by a good several years in a matter of months since their initial interrogation at Station Twelve.

Johann wore a beige suit and Mary had a deep blue, asymmetric dress on.

She had trimmed her brown hair into a short pixie cut.

She’d apparently gotten her eyebrows and nails done, too.

They stood surrounded by ravenous reporters, up behind a podium which bore the municipal government seal of Althiss City, Delevia.

“—and do not condone the actions of our son, Elliott James,” Mary said. “Regardless of the reasoning or context behind his chosen targets, murder is never something that should be excused, nor accepted in civilized society.”