Page 2 of Tyton: The Spider and the Dragonfly (Tyton #1)

Sesi thumbed the blade. Traditional ulus were more symmetrical, at least, according to the museum photos she had seen. She didn’t know when her mother’s had been made, but it had a sturdy resin handle that attached to the blade with a finger grip in the middle.

Sesi started taking it with her when she ran the trap lines. It was useful for skinning, trimming, and pretty much anything she could think of. If she could do it with her ulu, she did.

At first Qimmiq and Siku would tease her whenever she cut food at the table with it. Teasing turned into exchanged glances. Eventually, they stopped altogether. It was a part of her now.

Sesi put it back reverently and closed the drawer. After she did this, what would it be to her? Who would she be? Would her mother finally rest? Or would she be disappointed?

Sesi breathed a small laugh at all the things her mother had to be disappointed in her about. Her hair. Her lack of kids. Her inability to keep a girlfriend. Or that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t move on until this was done.

December 21 2267

“Fuck.”

Her face hurt from frowning. Even after her shower. The shower she had to take because she found herself overcome by need. For her ex. Again. Of course, it was pure fantasy. Sesi would never be hers again.

They had both known it was not going to work out for a while before it had happened.

Not from the arguments about life or money – they were perfectly compatible in that regard.

It was in private. In the bedroom. Sesi couldn’t be what she needed and she couldn’t be what Sesi needed. They parted amicably .

Which is how breakups were supposed to go, weren’t they? Mature adults coming to a mutual understanding? But that led to situations like this. Situations where fingers were coated. Where sheets needed changing. Showers needed to be taken. Alone. And she hated it. There was no catharsis in it.

She wanted her body to crave something else. She wanted to throw things. Start bar fights. Release the rage she felt at a betrayal or something, anything tangible. But, instead of a car crash, she got a medically assisted death. Measured and peaceful. That was no way to go.

She reasoned that she could create the seething hate she needed if she just focused hard enough.

For months, she’d been collecting tiny grievances in the hopes that it would add up to something she could fixate on.

Then she could cause some damage. Hate fuck someone.

Something to give the relationship an honourable death.

Yesterday, she thought she’d had her chance.

She’d learned they had caught the goon that Sesi had been chasing for years.

The one that she had spent countless nights dreaming about taking down for her.

She would have found him. His eyes, bloodshot and exhausted from running.

The pupils would dilate when the epinephrine hit his system just a touch too late.

He would catch a flash of her bright red hair just before he turned to run, and she would let him.

She could disable him from her Opti. A few lines of code, injected into his SA LFC port.

But that would be no fun. Her knives had a taste for blood.

She wouldn’t take it all, though. Just enough to savour.

Sesi would never forgive her otherwise. The blade would fly, slicing through the air.

Quietly. Discreet. Not like the IntelArms pistols with their SmartCartridge guided bullets.

That would attract too much attention – despite her love for attention.

The barest nick along the Achilles tendon would send him careening to the pavement.

And then she would drag the quisling fleshbag back with her to deposit at Sesi’s feet.

She would be praised. And then later, Sesi would allow her to demonstrate exactly how she envisioned taking him apart.

The night would end when she decided it would.

But Sesi didn’t do that anymore. Sesi was too much like her. They both relished control. They both needed to be the arbiters of punishments. They both wanted to be the ones who meted out violence.

And so, it ended.

And yet, she still wanted to bring him down. And she wanted to add that slight to her ball of grievances. But it was Siku who ordered the hit. Siku who sent complete unknowns after him.

That was the point , he said.

Your mask only protects you from the Natalists.

Everyone else in Hyperion knows who you are .

Sesi is putting us all in danger by insisting on going after him in the first place.

And finally,

When this is done, things should go back to normal.

Siku may have been her brother, but she knew her better. Nothing would go back to normal. She knew Sesi had another plan. One she had spoken of in the early morning hours. Based on a theory. One that terrified her. And it made her feel strong to be the one to comfort her.

But that was over.

Talia hung up her towel and pulled her knife sharpening kit out from under the bed.

She could distract herself with that, perhaps.

Talia unfastened the buckle and pulled out the printed synleather knife roll.

Her worn Tarot cards tucked in the back also came spilling out, the three of cups landing face up.

Talia huffed, staring at the holograph of three women, dancing with raised goblets.

“Fuck you, Georg,” she muttered. He was right though. She knew it.

She sighed and remade her bed. What she really needed to do was to go out. Find someone else and move on.