ASnowFern

Past, present, and future were sometimes indistinguishable from each other. Layered, and occurring simultaneously. While her physical body was mired to the present, her senses were wayward and drifted wherever they deemed most necessary. It had taken a long time for Elain to recognize when she grew disconnected from the present, longer to master how to tether herself back.

On the day she woke to thousands of names clinging to her like cobwebs, she wondered if the present was something she wanted to be tied to at all. What she wouldn't give to return to the simple days of sneaking off to the forest, when war was so far on the horizon that the only futures she saw where flashes of giggling on Graysen's arm.

How could she walk down the hall and smile at the servants as if she hadn't seen the temple razed to the ground? She could go to the High Priestess, explain to her that she saw the temple's wall collapse. That there only a handful of sunrises before the temple was captured by force, after which Beron Vanserra's army would systemically pillage each of their rooms. He would demand they turn over the seer, and the temple would face his wrath if the High Priestess refused.

Every conversation Elain had tried to broker with the High Priestess had fallen on deaf ears. Even with the severity of what Elain had seen, she knew another conversation would end no differently. The High Priestess would insist their army was thriving, that these were only bad dreams, not prophecies.

But what was the point in all this effort to protect Elain if she was to burn alongside the temple anyway?

Elain knew she was standing on a precipice. There were many paths forward, even ones she had not yet Seen. But the path she chose was one of comfort. Familiarity. It involved feigning sickness for the day and climbing out her bedroom window.

This was a path she walked a thousand times before. And for that reason, she would never walk it alone. There were a thousand other versions of Elain walking beside her, some of them young, some of them older. All of them were greeting the forest with a smile and an open heart. Their presence steadied her, reassured her that this was the right path.

The forest had never steered her wrong before.

Even if… even if she was a little nervous to see him again. Assuming he decided to follow her trail, assuming he even saw it, this would be their third time meeting in the forest. But on this occasion, there was no injury forcing his hand. He would need to come to her simply because he was curious enough to do so.

She was unarmed. The thought occurred to her on her third hour of waiting, perched comfortably on a branch near the bluebell carpet where they first met. There was nothing stopping him from assembling a team of men to follow the path she laid, to try to attack her while her guard was down.

Elain indulged the thought for all of a double-heartbeat before she giggled to herself at the absurdity. The future was always a bit murky when she thought of Lucien Vanserra, like a churning sea protecting the secrets within its depths. Even so, she knew there wasn't a single outcome in which Lucien betrayed her location.

He was a Vanserra. He was involved in this conflict to a degree of which she did not yet know. But his heart beat in her chest, and the rot of Autumn had not penetrated it. Its sound was pure. Its presence was warm. There was kindness in him. Softness that perhaps was unsafe to let his court see.

In the forest, it would thrive.

Did he feel the call, too? When the mist parted way, did it feel like coming home at last? Elain didn't know if anyone else could feel as settled as she did in a place so mercurial, but she wanted to ask him. She held on to that question, not wanting to forget it, but by the fifth hour of waiting, she was beginning to lose hope.

Until a branch cracked on the threshold of the treeline. Her heart stilled, but the other kept beating.

He's here, the forest said. He's coming.

His footsteps were quiet, but she heard each one, a steady tap beneath her ribs. Closer and closer. Red hair dipped as he swung beneath a low hanging branch. Uninjured, he was no longer a fox in coloring alone. He moved like one, swift and graceful. Primrose flowers brimmed from his close fist. Those clever eyes swept the forest in search of the next, and she kept to her hiding spot as she watched him pluck another from the trail.

Lucien paused when he reached the base of the tree. Seeing that there were no more flowers, he cast his ensnaring eyes upward, pinning her to the spot with a devilish smile.

"I didn't know these trees fruited such divine flowers," he said in greeting.

For having done nothing but lounge for hours, she was alarmingly breathless.

"Primrose doesn't grow from trees," she couldn't help but correct.

His smile broadened. "I wasn't speaking of the primrose."

"You're very charming for a man who's preparing to raze my home."

Lucien's smile fell, and he turned away before she could mourn its loss. "So you know. My father's lost his patience. He's given the High Priestess time to turn over the seer, but now he feels he must take matters into his own hands. Even if that means taking your temple apart in search of her."

"Can you do anything to stop him?"

"I've tried, in what ways I can. All my brothers have. We didn't want to wage this battle against the temple, but my father, he is…" He trailed off, and Elain wondered if his mind was drifting to another time as hers so often did. Whatever memory he saw, he shook it away and continued, "He will not stop until he finds her, Elain."

"What makes him think we have a seer?"

Lucien turned back to her. She'd thought this might be her opportunity to at last admire his handsome face without seeing it pinched in agony, but it was still there. And this time, there were no poultices to pack in his wound. This conflict was being inflicted on her people, but one would not think so from the grief in his expression.

"I told him," he confessed. "When I was just a boy. He wanted to know how I found my way back from the forest, and I admitted a girl laid a path for me. I didn't understand the implications, but my father explained to me that only a seer can navigate these woods. He's been obsessed with finding you ever since."

Elain's eyes burned. She knew it was the truth because she could still feel their bargain cording around her ribs. He could not lie to her, even if he wanted to.

"Why haven't you told your father who I am?"

"Because I fear what will happen to you." He reached upward for her hand, and she let him take it, breath held as his satin touch swept across her knuckles. "Twice now, you've saved my life. I am honor-bound to repay the favor."

Warm. His touch was so very warm. Like laying in a spot of sun on a bright summer day. Elain stared at their hands, the way her much smaller one was completely enveloped in his, and wondered what it would be like to fall into that heat. Would her mind still be split in three directions, or would she finally be anchored to the present?

"And what will you do when he breeches the temple's walls?" She asked.

Lucien's gaze was caught on their hands, too. But his expression did not convey the same honey-drenched thoughts Elain had been occupying. His brow was drawn, as though troubled. She supposed they were discussing a troubling subject, after all, and it was rather girlish of her to be diverting attention to something as trivial as holding hands with a boy.

A forest away, men were stabbing each other with swords. Ash of the dead was being scattered on the breeze.

It didn't seem such a trivial thing, in the face of it all, to reach for something soft. To hold it as long as she could.

"I'll meet you in these woods," he proposed. "While my father searches for you in the temple, I can help you sneak into the Autumn Court. You can establish a life in a nearby village, live under his nose. I'll make sure you're kept safe."

As he spoke, the timbre of his voice strummed upon the bargain's thread, an indolent musician plucking a string simply for the desire of being heard. Truth, it sang. Then another pluck, more agitated. Hear me.

"And my sisters?" She pressed. "The temple?"

Lucien winced. "If my father doesn't find the seer, he'll destroy the temple. But you can get your sisters out before that happens. Hide them in these woods."

"My sisters won't abandon the other priestesses. Archerons are not known to flee from a fight, even in the face of slaughter."

"Then trick them," Lucien suggested. "Make them leave."

Elain would have snapped her hand away no faster than if he'd scalded her. Make them leave? Her lips parted to chide him, but a stuttered beat against her ribs gave her pause. Could she really scold a man for being heartless when it was her own chest that it occupied?

Look, the forest said, and she peered down her lashes at the male still cradling his hand around the space hers had been. His fingers closed around the empty air, as if he might still capture the essence of her. Hold on to it as long as he could.

He is scared. For you.

She did not know if the revelation was the forest's or her own, but it struck her that Lucien would be willing to make any suggestion that spared her from his father. He did not feel he owed anything to her sisters, but he felt he owed a life debt to her.

There was a much simpler solution. One he was refusing to acknowledge—perhaps she had been, too. Elain was not as brave as her sisters, but that was something she could overcome in her love of them.

"If your father is given his seer, will the bloodshed end?"

Lucien's posture grew taut. "Elain, don't even think about it."

"If your father is given his seer," she repeated, "will the bloodshed end?"

He was fighting the answer. A vein strained in his throat. The muscles in his jaw flexed. But the vow he'd made to her in this forest was bound by the might of the earth, and the wind would force the words from his lungs if that was what it required.

"Yes," he gasped, sweat beading on his brow. "If you surrender yourself, our army will retreat."

-

"This is a bad idea, Elain."

It was sure to be if even Feyre—the purveyor of bad ideas—thought so.

Elain darted her eyes between both of her sisters. They wore twin expressions of disapproval, which was another ill-omen. A situation ought to be dire, indeed, to find Feyre and Nesta in agreement with each other.

"Help me convince her," she pleaded. "It's the only thing that will save us."

"Are you out of your mind?" Nesta flung her arm towards the tower window, where they had a perfect vantage of the smoke pluming from the lit funeral pyres below. "The Autumn Court will tear you apart. And the High Priestess would sooner burn this temple herself than give you freely to them."

"It's a temporary solution," Elain stressed. "I'll satisfy Beron's demands long enough for you to safely evacuate the temple. Once you light the signal, I'll escape into the woods and meet you there."

Nesta crossed her arms. "And if they keep you in chains? How will you escape then?"

"Lucien will help me. I know he will."

Both of her sisters scoffed. They would never understand. They didn't see how haunted he looked to admit he'd set this conflict in motion. That his father would never know a seer lived in this kingdom if she hadn't shown him kindness.

"No Vanserra can be trusted," Feyre said gravely. "You have a soft heart, Elain. He's trying to use it against you to fulfill his father's goal."

"If that's the case, then why didn't he just capture me in the woods?"

Her sisters shared a glance. Then Feyre said, with grating gentleness, "You're the only one who can navigate those woods, Elain. He can't take you from them unwillingly."

For the slightest moment, Elain's view of the forest took the altered shape that it did in everyone else's eyes. A place that was eerie, unsafe, dangerous. She pictured a red-haired man in those woods, but his clever eyes held the sinister edge of a blade. His smile was just as wicked, but the thrill it wracked through her was one of terror, not pleasure.

Was her naivety covering the truth with a softer lense? Or was it their cynicism churning the image, diluting its water with murky sediment?

Elain's heart knew the truth. Hers and Lucien's beat as one. She'd helped him twice without question or hesitation. He would be driven to do the same. That was the only truth she could make peace with.

Regarding her sisters, so they both could read the depth of her sincerity, Elain told them, "There are two paths forward. You can either help me convince the High Priestess of this plan, or I'll sneak away to surrender myself to Beron's army. I know which choice gives the temple the strongest advantage. Do you?"

She waited patiently as her sisters digested the ultimatum. They studied her, they studied each other. Nesta's eyes even drifted back to the funeral pyres she'd gestured to earlier. There was very little change in her expression, but she did set her lips into a thin line.

"Okay," Nesta said. "I'll help you."

Feyre looked far more stricken, but she nodded. "I will, too."

"Thank you," Elain whispered. She mustered a smile that conveyed far more courage than she felt. "Then, let's go convince the High Priestess to offer my hand to Lucien Vanserra."

 Present Day

The boat swayed with the rise and fall of the sea.

Through the stern window in the captain's quarters, Elain could feel the rhythmic swish of water as it swept against the hull. Again and again, like the sea was trailing its knuckles against the wood, just to remind the crew she was still there. Warning, you are alive because I allow you to be. I can change my mind at any moment.

"You used to say my name sounded like the sea," Lucien mused. He leaned forward on the chair he'd pulled to her bedside, a bowl of seared fish and grain cupped in his palm. "Having heard her song, do you still agree?"

Elain's glare hadn't left her face since the moment she'd woken up in that ox-wagon. Now, she speared it towards the spoon he held toward her lips. It didn't matter that the smell made the back of her mouth water, or that her stomach grumbled loud enough for the both of them to hear. She kept her mouth shut.

With a sigh, Lucien set the spoon back in the bowl. "I won't let you starve yourself, Elain."

"Of course not," she sniped. "Your father won't lift your banishment if you return with an emaciated corpse."

"That's not why I care," he said evenly.

"Isn't it?"

Lucien reached for a waterskin with his other hand. "It isn't." The cork popped with an easy pry of his thumb, and then the opening was pressed to her lips. "At least drink something."

Having no desire to be bound to a bed of soaked sheets, Elain parted her lips. To his credit, Lucien held the waterskin at a steady angle as she drank, ensuring too much water didn't pour at once. A small amount dribbled at the corner of her mouth when he pulled away, but that was fixed with a swipe of his thumb that lingered at the plump of her bottom lip for a beat too long.

Lucien cleared his throat. "I noticed you didn't answer my question."

"About the sea?" He nodded, and Elain decided to answer if only because it would offer a distraction from the heat still tingling through her lip. "Maybe I said that because I was really hearing this moment. Maybe it was a warning me that our fates would be bound, and you would be my captor."

"Captor?" His echo held a sadness that called to her weaker sense, but she refused to give him her pity. Not when she was tied to a bed, trapped in a prison of his making in the middle of the ocean. "I preferred when you called me husband."

"Those words are no different to me. What will I be when you turn me over to your father, wife or captive? You know I'll try to flee at the first opportunity, so what will you do? Keep me chained to our marital bed?"

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You're the seer between us. You tell me."

Futures couldn't be summoned on a whim, not in the way he was suggesting. She was brought visions as the Cauldron willed it, and though she could often pick up vague senses of where a person's immediate path was heading, with Lucien it was always blank. As if his preferred mask of indifference was rooted down to his soul.

She'd never met a person as guarded as him. There were one or two souls she'd come across on her travels who faced the world through a shield of ice, but Elain could still peer through them on occasion. Perhaps because they were not so layered as Lucien's. Where most people maintained a single barrier between themself and the world, Elain suspected Lucien had built several. Wall after wall after wall—so enclosed that perhaps he no longer knew where the surface was.

And yet, through all those layers of stone, she could still hear the slow, steady beating that begged her to listen. I'm still here, it said. Find me.

Elain returned his glare. "I know that right now, you are keeping me restrained. That makes you my captor."

Yanking on the bindings caused the rope to scrape against her raw flesh, but Elain felt the pain was worth if for the remorse that flashed across Lucien's face. She didn't expect him to set the food aside to inspect her wrists. He swore when he saw the angry blisters on her skin.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, hands flying to the knots around the headboard. Elain didn't say anything, too stunned by the way he untied the rope and took both her hands into his own to further examine the wounds. "Elain."

"I didn't think you cared."

Lucien made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, one that fell somewhere between anguish and frustration. She replayed the sound in her mind, trying to puzzle where it landed closer to. Meanwhile, Lucien retrieved his pack from the far side of the cabin and began rifling through it.

It occurred to her that she could have tried to escape during that short moment his back was turned. But they were in the middle of the sea, and if he'd paid off the crew well enough to take residence in the captain's chambers, she could imagine they wouldn't be scrambling to aid her.

"Here," Lucien said, returning to his seat with a tin in hand. "This salve should help."

Elain held out her hand, expecting to take it from him to administer it herself. He surprised her by taking her hand in his, heartbreakingly gentle. With his other hand, he dipped two of his fingers into the salve. Elain hissed when it met her skin. Despite his gentleness, despite knowing it was coming, the pain still prickled through her.

Knowing when pain was coming did not always alleviate it, she found.

"I'm sorry," Lucien said. His voice was solemn. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt."

"Then you should have let me go. You should have never come looking for me."

There it was again, that sadness flicking over his face that preyed on her heart. His voice was strained as he said, "I tried. I told myself I could let you go. But I couldn't. It—you haunted me. I had to set things right again."

As he spoke, something plucked at her. An old string in her chest. If she tugged on it, she had the sinking sensation it would lead to his own. Truth, she thought it said. Elain frowned. Lucien switched to rubbing salve on her other hand. His movements still gentle, the unintended sting still cruel.

"This is your way of making things right?"

"This is a means to an end," he corrected. Then he shook his head. "I would like you to explain it to me, though. Why do you think I no longer care for you? Only one of us was abandoned in those woods, and it wasn't you."

Elain tried very hard to keep her mind anchored to the present. She focused on the pain throbbing through her wrist. The warmth of his hand, cradling hers. His steady heartbeat pleading, listen. Listen. Anything to keep from reliving the moment she last saw him in the forest.

"It was a means to end," she whispered, because it was the only answer she could give him. "I couldn't risk you taking me back to Autumn."

His flattened lip said she was only telling him things he'd already worked out for himself.

"But why do you assume I no longer care for you?"

Because I don't know if you ever did.

"I betrayed you," she answered. "I left you."

"It hurt, but I understood your reasons. How could I not?"

It burned her, that he had the audacity to play ignorant. Like a branch bearing too much weight, the anger in her snapped. If she was capable of deeper anger, her hands would have flown to his cheek. Something in her craved violence, but the most she could bare to strike was the tin of salve in his hands. It clattered to the floor, splattering its contents as it went. Flecks of it decorated Lucien's leg, but that was not nearly so satisfying as the shock on his face.

Shock that morphed into something hot. Anger, and something else. Something that writhed and tangled in her stomach, made her clench her thighs.

Maybe it was because of that heat, because of the fear that rose to meet it, that she snapped, "Don't take me for a fool, Lucien. I am not the same naive girl I used to be."

"No?" Lucien lifted from his chair, surging so fast and so close that Elain instinctively fell back on the bed. He followed, arms braced on either side of her head, lowering himself until she could feel the heat of his body skimming every inch of hers. "I think you're right," he breathed. "The girl I met was no coward, and certainly no oath breaker."

"I broke no oath!"

"You broke the one you made to me!" He snarled. "You left me."

Elain stilled, searching those heated eyes. For just one traitorous second, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She told herself it was because his teeth were bared. A survival instinct, to make sure he wouldn't bite her.

A memory flickered at the cusp of her grasp. If she reached for it, she knew she would feel those teeth sinking into her skin in another time. One framed by the rosy flush of passion. Even without reaching for it, her body recognized its remnants. Her bones sighed in relief, saying, we've been here before. Why fight it?

"You said you understood my reasons." Elain was unable to help the mocking sing-song in her voice. Lucien's eyes flashed, and some inane instinct had Elain craning her neck in response.

He tracked the movement, just as he tracked everything she did.

"That doesn't mean they didn't wound me," he murmured, dipping his head to speak the words against her neck. "Especially when I would have gone with you."

"Liar," she gasped.

Sharp teeth dragged along the column of her throat. She couldn't resist her full-body shudder.

"I've never lied to you, Elain." A nip at her pulse. "You made me swear it."

The hand she slid into his hair was entirely involuntary. She told herself she was only tangling her fingers with the intention to pull him away. But she was his wife, once, in every sense of the word. Memories of it were trailing back to her, slow and syrupy as treacle.

They were telling her things. Secrets buried the bedsheets of Autumn. Like what would happen when she pulled on his hair.

And Elain pulled hard.

Lucien groaned, and the next thing she knew, his teeth were clamped down on her neck. No more teasing. No more gentleness.

She squirmed beneath him, hips bucking until he indulged her silent request by pressing his body in. Pinning her to the bed with a strong thigh wedged between her parted legs, pressing solidly against the place she ached. She was left with no choice but to stay. To feel. To keep herself anchored to this moment of anger and passion and… and something she couldn't bear to name, or it risked shattering her past repair.

Her husband released her when she finally cried out. Not from pain or anguish, but from the sharp, quivering needs she hadn't dared acknowledge since the moment they parted ways.

Lucien's breathing was ragged. "Tell me why you're so angry at me. Tell me why you think I don't care for you anymore."

"You've chased me down to bring me back to him!" She exclaimed, blinking back tears. "Why do you need more explanation than that?"

The bed sighed as Lucien peeled his body away, leaving Elain deprived of his weight. Empty.

"If you think that's why I've been chasing you all these years, then perhaps you truly don't know me at all."

The first letter Elain Archeron ever wrote to her mate occupied scarcely half a page. She regarded it long enough for the tea at her elbow to grow cold.

The words did not improve beneath inspection, she thought with a sigh. If anything, they seemed to grow more unbearable with every passing moment, as though the ink itself had committed some grave offense simply by existing upon the paper.

Her fingers moved toward the silver paper knife resting beside the cup. She turned it once between her fingers, watching the afternoon light catch along its edge, before slipping the blade beneath the fold.

For a moment, she regarded the letter with a faint lift of her brow.

It looked absurdly innocent.

A few lines of ink. A handful of words. It was not the type of letter a woman sent to a man after half a decade of immaculate silence.

Simply sitting down and thinking about what she was about to propose required more courage than any battle she had ever survived. Which was, Elain thought with some irritation, a deeply unreasonable thing for a letter to demand.

She folded the parchment.

Each crease was sharp enough to satisfy something within her.

Only when the page had become a square no larger than her palm did she throw it to the fire. The parchment curled, the edges the first to go.

Elain’s mouth tightened. Destroying a letter, she reflected, demanded considerably less courage than sending one.

The thought had scarcely settled before she felt her mate’s heartbeat once again.

It brushed against her awareness with the same maddening patience it had cultivated over the past several months, so faint she could almost dismiss it, and yet so constant she no longer could.

Once, Elain had been able to ignore it. She had told herself it was merely magic. An inconvenience. A strange circumstance created by forces older and far less sensible than herself.

As more time had passed, Elain felt that the bond insisted upon existing, a quiet pulse beneath her own. It seemed to her, as though somewhere, impossibly far away, another heart continued its measured rhythm with no regard for whether she wished to hear it.

Her fingers curled against the desk, she refused to count the beats.

She refused.

She did not wish to wonder whether he was sitting or standing, smiling or scowling, whether the pulse quickened because he laughed or slowed because he slept.

The refusal itself had become exhausting. With a sigh that carried rather more frustration than the moment deserved, Elain reached for another sheet of parchment.

This time, she didn’t allow herself the luxury of hesitation.

Lucien,

There are matters concerning the bond I believe we ought to discuss.

She stared at the sentence. It possessed all the warmth of a diplomatic summons, she decided. One expected ambassadors and emissaries to receive such letters. Not the man who fate, in one astonishing display of poor judgment, had tethered to her soul.

She laid the quill aside before she could strike through the words, she’d already ripped enough pages.

Outside, the gardens of the townhouse stretched beneath the amber wash of late afternoon. The roses she had planted climbed the pale stone balustrades, heavy with cream blossoms and blush petals that stirred in the breeze. Their fragrance drifted through the open windows, sweet enough to suffocate.

Elain thought she heard Nuala speak. The fountain splashed with cheerful indifference.

The world persisted in believing itself uncomplicated.

How enviable, Elain thought, blowing at an errant curl that fell over her eyes. 

The heartbeat continued, steady and infuriating. 

Some days, the bond gave her nothing but the proof of another existence brushing against hers. Other days, it betrayed little pieces of him.

A bone-deep weariness that disappeared before supper, a phantom ache behind her right eye, a sudden warmth filled her chest while arranging flowers.

Ignoring the bond had once required discipline, which Elain was proud to admit she possessed in spades. Now, it required a daily amount of energy she resented giving.

With a measured breath, she drew another page toward her. This time she did not pause to consider her words any longer.

She wrote.

Lucien,

If you are in Velaris for the Equinox Ball, I ask that you meet me after the first dance.

There is a private drawing room beyond the western ballroom.

I shall be there.

The quill hovered, a single heartbeat answered her own.

She had not offered him an explanation, and she was not going to apologize for her request. 

If Lucien came, she wanted it to be because she had asked, not because some ancient magic tugged at his ribs, and not because everyone else expected him to continue displaying a patience she had neither earned nor requested.

The distinction mattered, perhaps only to her.

She added one final line.

I believe it is time we spoke honestly.

She read the words once. Then folded the letter with meticulous care, smoothing each edge with the side of her thumb until the parchment lay perfectly even beneath her hand.

When the wax softened beneath the candle flame, she lifted the Night Court seal.

The crest pressed into the warm wax, and she felt as her brows drew together.

With a quiet sound of annoyance, Elain slid her thumbnail beneath the cooling seal and removed it.

Instead, she reached up and pulled the small sprig of jasmine woven into her hair and tucked it inside the fold, all the while wondering if she was making a terrible mistake. 

* * * 

The drawing room stood empty, as Elain had hoped it would.

It was smaller than the grand salons that opened onto the ballroom, meant less for entertaining than for escaping it. A pair of tall windows overlooked the river, their panes thrown open to admit the cool breath of the autumn evening. Candlelight gathered softly against dark walls, and somewhere beyond the closed door came the muted swell of music and laughter, as though another world existed only a corridor away.

A chessboard occupied the center table.

Elain crossed to it without thinking, her gloved fingertips lingering over the carved pieces. Someone had abandoned the game halfway through. She regarded the arrangement for a moment before quietly resetting the board, one piece after another returning to its proper place.

The small, orderly task steadied her. She had nearly finished arranging the pawns when she felt unhurried footsteps approaching. 

Her heartbeat betrayed her before the knock came, three courteous taps.

"Yes." She said and cringed at how dreadfully loud her voice sounded. 

The handle turned and Lucien entered with the same composed ease he seemed to carry into every room, closing the door gently behind him before looking up.

For one fleeting, impossible instant, neither of them spoke.

He had dressed for the ball in deep green, the velvet of his coat catching warm gold wherever the candles found it. Brown gloves disappeared beneath neatly fastened cuffs, and a cream cravat sat perfectly tied at his throat. 

Elain had to remind herself that staring was unbecoming. 

He looked well, she told herself, there was no need to be so captivated. 

Then his russet eye found hers. It was astonishing how such a lovely face could seem to hold so many different questions at once.

His gaze lingered only briefly before lowering. "Lady Elain."

The title, spoken with perfect civility, should not have disappointed her.

She inclined her head. "Hello."

Another silence settled. He remained near the door, leaving half the room between them.

Her eyes caught, quite without permission, on the familiar line of the scar crossing the side of his face.

Before she could stop herself, she wondered, not for the first time, what the raised skin might feel like if she pressed her lips to it. 

As though sensing the direction of her gaze, Lucien shifted. Merely enough that the scar disappeared from view, leaving only the clean profile she remembered from countless stolen glances across crowded rooms.

The movement was practiced. Something inside her tightened and she looked away first. "I hope I did not keep you from enjoying the ball." She frowned, remembering that it was being thrown to celebrate Autumn’s newest High Lord. 

His mouth curved. "I have attended enough court functions to know that being summoned to a private drawing room is generally the more interesting prospect." He paused.  "Though I confess I had not anticipated finding a chessboard." His gaze settled upon it.

"I thought..." She removed one glove finger by finger, buying herself a moment. "I thought we might play."

Lucien's brows lifted almost imperceptibly. "Does the game bear some strategic significance?"

"No." She folded the glove carefully beside the board. "I simply think better when my hands are occupied."

For a heartbeat he regarded her. "I generally think worse."

It was delivered so gravely that she almost failed to recognize the joke.

Almost.

The corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Lucien smiled outright.

Elain busied herself with removing the second glove.

The leather was finer than anything she ordinarily wore, dyed to match the dark garnet silk of her gown so precisely that they seemed cut from the same bolt of cloth. She smoothed each finger after drawing it free before placing the pair together beside the board.

An absurd thing to care about, whether he noticed the pretty gloves or the lovely gown.

Whether he noticed anything at all.

His gaze flickered toward her then, lingering not upon the dress but higher. On her hair, she knew.

It had taken her entirely by surprise, how liberating it had felt to cut it. Enough that the curls no longer brushed the middle of her back but sprang lightly against her shoulders whenever she moved.

Lucien said nothing about it, she could hardly expect him to remark upon her appearance while standing alone with her behind a closed door.

He crossed the room then, not directly toward her but to the opposite chair.

"I should warn you," he said, beginning to arrange the black pieces before him, "I play terribly."

"I don't believe you."

One shoulder lifted carelessly. "I was always better at cards."

For reasons she could not have explained, Elain suddenly found the first move infinitely more daunting than writing the letter had ever been. She reached for the king's pawn, advancing it two squares.

Lucien regarded the move with exaggerated solemnity. "A bold beginning."

"I thought it rather conventional." Elain offered. 

His fingers, long and deft, covered by his gloves, settled upon one of his own pawns. There was something unexpectedly elegant in his movements. The piece came to rest opposite hers with a quiet click against the board.

"I confess," he said, "I have spent the better part of this evening attempting to guess why you wished to see me."

"And?"

"I have reached no satisfactory conclusion." His tone remained light, but she noticed the way he did not look at her as he spoke. His attention rested upon the board with suspicious diligence.

Another piece moved.

She studied him across the chessboard. "You don't seem to be very troubled by that."

"I am." His answer came easily. "I simply find worrying over such things an unattractive quality."

Elain held back a truly unladylike snort. She moved her knight. "So."

Lucien mirrored the motion on his side of the board. "So."

"I asked you here because..." The sentence dissolved, the words honey on her tongue.

How ridiculous.

"You needn't hurry," Lucien said at last.

Elain noticed that her discarded gloves lay beside her elbow, perfectly aligned, one atop the other. Without thinking, she straightened them. "I've been reading," she started.

One copper brow lifted. "Should I be alarmed?"

She fought the urge to scowl. "I fail to see why my reading habits would concern you."

"They generally wouldn't." His priestess glided forward. "But one rarely summons a male to announce them."

Despite herself Elain breathed a small laugh. 

Lucien looked absurdly pleased with himself in response.

The music changed. The orchestra had begun a waltz, the strings drifting faintly through the walls like distant birdsong.

Lucien turned his attention back to the board, shifting his body forward. The movement revealed the familiar scar, pale beneath the candlelight, running from brow to jaw. His mechanical eye caught the flame for the briefest instant, throwing back a glimmer of molten gold.

"I've been reading," she repeated more quietly, "about mating bonds."

Something imperceptible changed in his expression. He leaned back almost lazily, one arm resting against the chair, but his russet eye remained fixed upon her with a concentration that made her pulse flutter. "I see."

"I found remarkably little." Elain admitted.

"I'm not surprised." His golden eye whirred softly, filling the silence. "What did the books say?"

Elain looked down at the board. She reached for her queen, then stopped before touching it.

"When the bond..." she began, shaking her head. "When the bond snapped between us... I thought refusing to acknowledge it would eventually weaken it."

"It was a reasonable guess." Lucien responded with a frown.

"I don't believe it has." Elain said softly. 

"No."

"You feel it as well." It wasn't quite a question.

Lucien was silent for several moments. When he answered, his voice was very calm. "I do."

She lifted her eyes. "To what extent?"

He considered that. "It varies." His thumb absently traced the smooth edge of one of his captured pawns.

"Can you feel it tonight?"

Lucien hesitated. His mismatched gaze held hers. "Tonight," he said softly, "I know you're terrified."

Elain felt her breath catch.

She had hidden it from everyone else so successfully that she'd almost managed to hide it from herself.

For several moments, only the crackle of the candles disturbed the quiet. Elain looked down at the board, though she could not have said what position the pieces occupied.

Terrified.

The word ought to have embarrassed her.

Curiously, it did not. Only because he'd said it without satisfaction at having guessed correctly, she thought. Simply as though he had observed clouds gathering over the Sidra and remarked that she might wish to bring an umbrella on her walk.

"You don’t need to look quite so alarmed," Lucien said after a moment, rescuing his knight from what she belatedly realized had been an excellent trap. "I assure you, I won’t make a habit of announcing your emotions."

Elain traced the edge of one of her priestesses with the tip of her finger. The ivory was warm. "I've often wondered," she admitted, "whether I imagined it."

"The bond?"

She nodded. "The heartbeat. The... impressions." She tucked a curl behind her pointed ear. "I told myself they were coincidences."

Lucien smiled faintly. "I did much the same."

"You did?"

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "For nearly a year I convinced myself I was inexplicably developing a fondness for gardening."

She blinked. The ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.

"So when I spent three consecutive afternoons wondering whether daffodils preferred morning sun..."

"You knew." Elain concluded.

"I suspected." His eye met hers. "It seemed considerably more likely that someone else cared about daffodils than that I had developed a passionate interest overnight."

She laughed before she could stop herself. It escaped her in a bright, surprised sound.

Lucien's expression changed, the tight lines around his mouth smoothened. His shoulders, always so carefully held, loosened by a fraction.

Elain advanced her queen.

Lucien regarded the move. 

"What?" Elain muttered.

"I fear you're attempting to distract me."

"I assure you, I possess no such strategy."

"I've just lost a rook."

"I fail to see how that concerns me."

"It confirms my suspicion." He said lightly. 

"Which is?"

"Behind your lovely disposition, there's a ruthless streak."

She tilted her head. "You've only just discovered it?"

The music beyond the walls swelled, then faded again beneath the low murmur of voices in the ballroom. Somewhere in the corridor, footsteps passed without pausing.

The drawing room remained undisturbed.

Elain became aware that her index finger began to catch along the skin of her thumbnail beneath the table. A nervous habit from her human life.

She stilled it immediately.

Lucien studied the board with remarkable concentration, ignoring her remark entirely.

She found herself unexpectedly grateful. "I have another question."

"You may ask as many as you like."

She hesitated. "Has it..." Her voice faltered. She tried again. "Has the bond become stronger?"

Lucien did not answer at once. His fingers rested lightly against his knee, though he made no move. "I don't know."

"You don't?" Elain asked, hearing a bit of desperation in her tone. 

"I know that I have become more accustomed to hearing it." He chose his words carefully. "Eris once compared it to the way one might notice the ticking of a clock until it suddenly stops."

Elain frowned. "That sounds dreadful."

"It isn't." He looked at her then, with that infuriating steadiness that always made her feel as though he saw one thought further than she intended to reveal. "It's simply..." He searched briefly, "...part of the architecture now."

Elain turned the phrase over silently.

Part of the architecture.

She wondered whether that was healthier than her own method of pretending that the bond did not exist. Perhaps that explained why she was so exhausted.

"You said you've been reading." His voice was quiet, almost indifferent as he continued. "You never told me what you were looking for."

Elain looked down at the board. Lucien had her in check, she hadn't even seen it happen.

"I was looking," she said slowly, "for an ending."

His hand, halfway toward his king, became still. His careful expression did not change, but she felt the way his heart skipped a beat. 

Elain finally lifted her gaze to meet his. "There was one thing," she said, "upon which every account agreed."

Neither of them reached for the board. The game remained exactly as it was, the pieces suspended in quiet expectation.

Elain found herself looking instead at Lucien's hands. His gloves still concealed them. She had not noticed until now.

"You've kept your gloves on." The observation escaped before she could consider her words.

He glanced down, as though surprised to find them there. "So I have," he murmured.

He tugged first at one finger, then another, drawing the leather free with unhurried precision. His hands emerged broad and lightly tanned, the backs crossed by faint white lines. 

He laid the gloves neatly beside the board, parallel to her own. She noticed the orderliness of it, the small, unconscious symmetry.

It reminded her, absurdly, of arranging seedlings in the gardens before they ever flowered.

"You've been observing me all evening."

Elain looked up too quickly. "Me?"

Lucien’s tone remained perfectly pleasant. "So either I'm considerably more interesting than I believed," he raised his shoulders elegantly, "or you're delaying."

She felt as heat climbed delicately into her cheeks. "I am not delaying."

Lucien inclined his head. "I stand corrected."

He did not sound remotely corrected. 

She resisted the impulse to frown. "You are very provoking."

"I've been accused."

"I can well imagine."

"I doubt it." The answer came so softly that she almost missed it.

She looked at him, her eyes squinting in accusation. "What do you mean?"

His gaze wandered briefly toward the open window. Beyond it, orange lanterns floated upon the Sidra, each reflection breaking and reforming upon the current. "I don't think you've imagined me at all." The words were spoken without resentment. "I think you've spent five years," he continued quietly, "being exceedingly careful not to."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

She had known facts, had carefully collected them whenever she heard his name being mentioned. She could admit that she had never allowed herself to wonder what occupied his thoughts, never allowed herself to imagine what he might be doing.

Lucien simply existed, and she only acknowledged his presence when he addressed her directly. The realization was suddenly uncomfortable. "I was trying to be kind." It sounded feeble even to her own ears.

Lucien drew a sharp breath. "I know."

"I thought..."

"I know what you thought." His fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the chessboard. "You thought distance would be easier."

She nodded once.

"For you as much as for me."

"Mm."

“Elain,” hearing her name fall from his full lips sent the most extraordinary flutter through her chest. Lucien leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against his knees. "You said the books agreed upon one thing."

Elain looked down at the board. Her king remained in check. "It appears," she murmured, "that mating bonds are rather... inelegant."

His brow lifted. "I wasn't aware anyone had ever accused them of being elegant."

"They're surprisingly practical."

"I see."

"They describe..." She searched for a word that sounded less shocking than the truth, "...a completion."

Lucien did not move. She wondered whether he had stopped breathing.

"The bond is said to..." She exhaled softly, "...become quieter." His gaze never left her face. "After intimacy."

The word itself seemed almost disappointingly ordinary.

Lucien's hand closed slowly around one of the captured pieces. He rolled it once between his fingers. "You've chosen an interesting place to have this conversation."

"The ballroom seemed inappropriate." Elain mumbled, certain that her face and chest had turned the same shade as her dress. She folded her hands together in her lap to stop herself from twisting the ring she wore. "I have a proposal."

"I had begun to suspect." Lucien said, an amused tilt to his head. 

"It is not..." She paused. Suddenly she cared very much how he heard her words. "It is not born of affection." The moment the statement left her mouth, she wished to gather it back. Lucien did not flinch, his golden eye clicked. "It is born," she continued carefully, "of curiosity and practicality."

A flicker of emotion crossed his face.

She pressed on before courage deserted her entirely. "I am tired, Lucien." She met his eye. "I am tired of wondering whether this bond governs more of my life than I permit myself to admit."

"I understand,” Lucien answered simply.

"I would like to know." She drew a careful breath. "If it asks only this."

The silence that followed was so complete she could hear the river beyond the open window. Lucien looked at her for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't think," he said, "that it would be right of me to share my thoughts before you ask the one question you truly brought me here to ask."

Elain realized, with equal parts horror and exasperation, that he was going to make her say it aloud. For one extraordinary moment, she considered leaving. She did not imagine flinging open the door or inventing some transparent excuse about the lateness of the hour.

She simply imagined standing, walking quietly from the room, and pretending none of it had happened. It was a temptation she recognized with uncomfortable familiarity, that retreat had always come naturally to her.

Lucien, infuriatingly, appeared to recognize it as well. 

"You needn't look so pleased." Elain huffed. She looked down at her hands. Without realizing it, she had gathered the fingers of one glove into her palm, the soft kid leather creased beneath her grip.

She smoothed it carefully.

"I invited you here," she said, more to the glove than to him, "because I wished to propose..." The word caught and Lucien said nothing, "...an arrangement."

He inclined his head once. "What sort of arrangement?"

She looked up sharply. "You know perfectly well."

"I have a suspicion."

"A suspicion?" She repeated, somewhat exasperated.

"My suspicions have been wrong before." His tone was mild. "I'd rather not presume."

She narrowed her eyes. "I believe you're doing this on purpose."

"I absolutely am." He said it so candidly that she almost laughed.

Instead, she found herself staring. "You are remarkably irritating."

"I've heard others say the same thing on countless occasions."

"You seem rather proud of it." Elain bit back. 

His smile broadened. "It does amuse me."

The warmth of it caught her off guard. She had seen Lucien smile countless times across crowded rooms. At Feyre, and Cassian, and Eris. At little Nyx, who seemed convinced Lucien existed solely for the purpose of being climbed upon.

Never, she realized with a start, like the one he flashed her just a moment before. 

The thought made her strangely breathless.

She straightened unconsciously. Her curls slipped forward, brushing the line of her jaw before bouncing back against her shoulders.

Lucien's gaze followed the movement, only for an instant, then it returned politely to her face.

She wondered, ridiculously, whether he preferred it longer.

"I like it." Lucien said.

She blinked. "What?"

"Your hair." 

She had not realized if she'd spoken aloud, or if the thought had made its way along their shared bond. Colour rose into her cheeks with alarming speed. "I wasn't—"

He spared her the embarrassment of finishing. "It suits you." His voice remained wonderfully matter-of-fact.

She stared. One morning she'd looked in the mirror and felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired of carrying the weight of her curls. "Thank you," she murmured.

Lucien inclined his head. "Well," he said softly. She met his eye. "I believe you were proposing something."

Elain folded her hands together. Then unfolded them again.

"I should like..." she began. Her voice disappeared, she closed her eyes for the briefest moment. When she opened them, Lucien was watching her with such steady attention that there was nowhere left to hide. "I should like us," she said slowly, "to become lovers."

Not mates, not husband and wife, not anything so grand and permanent.

Lovers.

The word lingered between them.

Lucien did not react, at least, not outwardly. She felt the quick beat of his heart in perfect time with her own. The ivory pawn he'd been holding ceased its lazy rotation between his fingers. "I see."

"I thought..." She forced herself onward. "If the bond settles after physical intimacy..."

"Yes."

She stared at his throat, watched him as he swallowed, "...then perhaps we might..." She searched helplessly, "...determine whether that is true."

He was silent.

"I am aware," she continued, "that this proposal is unconventional."

He raised his brows. "I confess, that aspect has not escaped me."

She smiled, only briefly. "I am serious, Lucien, I do not mean to make light of it."

"I believe you." He laid the pawn gently upon the table. The tiny click sounded terribly loud. Then he leaned back, studying her with an expression she could not decipher. "When you wrote that we ought to speak honestly..." His voice was almost thoughtful. "Elain," he said softly, "do you truly imagine the difficult part of this conversation is persuading me to say yes?" 

"I thought you might require some persuading." Elain scowled. 

"The difficult part is making certain you understand what you're asking of me."

And suddenly the chess game felt very far away indeed.

Elain held his gaze. "I understand perfectly well."

"I don't believe you do."

"I assure you—"

"I know what you believe you're asking." His voice remained gentle enough that it only sharpened her irritation. "I should like to know," he said, "whether you've imagined this conversation ending differently."

She frowned. "I don’t understand?"

"Did you expect me to bargain?"

"No." She stammered.

"Negotiate terms?"

"No." She said more confidently.

"Attempt to seduce you?"

Her cheeks warmed. "Perhaps a little."

A flicker of amusement touched his expression. "I was fairly certain that would have sent you directly back to the ballroom."

"It probably would have." She looked at him for a long moment. "Then what is it you imagine I have misunderstood?"

Lucien was quiet. The silence stretched long enough that she wondered whether he meant to answer at all. When he did, it was with remarkable care. "I think you've spent a very long time convincing yourself that because I have never asked anything of you..." His thumb brushed once across his opposite knuckle. "I never wanted anything."

The words seemed to settle over the room like dust disturbed from an old bookshelf.

Elain blinked. "I never thought that."

"You've never wondered why I've gone away when staying would have pleased me more?" His tone was conversational.

She had wondered. "I assumed you were being considerate."

"I was."

"And patient."

Lucien smiled, though there was something undeniably tired about it. Her eyes dropped briefly to the board. The game remained abandoned.

Black had her king in check. Neither of them seemed inclined to finish it.

"I don't want to hurt you." The words escaped so quietly that she scarcely recognized her own voice.

Lucien looked at her. Something softened in his face. "I know."

"I can separate affection from desire." She said it because she believed it.

Lucien regarded her steadily, his russet eye suddenly dark. "I can as well."

The answer surprised her. She had expected some sort of disagreement.

His gaze drifted to her hands. She realized she had begun smoothing invisible creases from her skirt.

Lucien reached toward the chessboard at last, for a moment she hoped he was going to reach for her hand. He grabbed her ivory queen, turning it once between his fingers. "You've proposed an arrangement."

"One you’ve not agreed to," Elain replied.

"I intend to." Her pulse quickened. "But before I do,” he set the queen back exactly where he'd found it, "I need to ask you something."

She nodded.

"If, after one night, nothing changes,” his eye lifted to hers, the golden one clicking into place as well. "If the bond remains exactly as it is and you discover you dislike me just as thoroughly the following morning..." His mouth twitched, taking some of the sting from the words, "...what then?"

Elain opened her mouth. No answer came. She had thought about the bond, about the books, about practicality and her own curiosity.

She had not once imagined the morning after.

Lucien seemed to notice as the realization dawned on her.

Elain looked at the chessboard. The white queen stood exactly where Lucien had returned it, not one square altered.

It struck her how careful he was with things that did not belong to him. She wondered if he knew he did such a thing.

She licked her lower lip, and caught the way Lucien’s eye tracked the movement. "I have spent five years imagining every possible consequence of ignoring the bond." She met his gaze. "I should like, for once, to concern myself with the consequences of acknowledging it."

Something flickered across his face. She could not tell whether it was positive or negative.

"I dislike uncertainty." His expression softened almost imperceptibly, but Elain continued to speak. "I do not like that there are parts of my own life I cannot explain." She gave a quiet huff of breath. “My visions, this bond, the magic in Prythian.” She shook her head. "I seem to have accumulated rather a great many inexplicable things."

"I like that you're less afraid of saying exactly what you think." Lucien offered simply in response. 

Elain considered his observation. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps she'd finally grown tired of swallowing every inconvenient thought. “It makes me feel rather unintelligent, being uncertain.” 

“I don’t think your intelligence should be in question.” 

She looked down. His king was exposed. Her fingertips brushed the carved ivory queen. "You've been letting me win."

Lucien had the decency to look sheepish. "I wouldn't say letting."

"I would." Elain nearly snarled the words. She folded her arms. "You've sacrificed two pieces unnecessarily."

"They were perfectly respectable sacrifices." Lucien winced. 

"They were dreadful."

"They served their purpose."

"And what purpose was that?"

He regarded her for a heartbeat. "Keeping you here." The room became very still. A faint flush climbed the line of his neck. "You asked for honesty, Elain."

She could not seem to look away. "You wanted the conversation to last."

"I usually want conversations with pretty ladies to last.” 

Elain lowered her gaze because it had suddenly become difficult to breathe.

She could feel his desire down the bond, the unspoken words behind his comment, that he wished to speak with her despite the years of silence. She had assumed that all his patience had been effortless. That giving her space had cost him very little because it was simply the sort of man he was. She had never considered that restraint itself might require considerable effort.

The bond hummed quietly beneath her ribs. It occurred to Elain that this was the longest they had ever spoken alone.

"So," Lucien said at last. "You've told me what you hope this arrangement will achieve."

"I believe I have." Elain nodded absently. "I trust you, I suppose."

Lucien's entire expression changed. His eye searched hers with an intensity that made the room seem to narrow around them.

She realized, a heartbeat too late, that trust for a man who had been betrayed by nearly everyone he'd ever loved, was perhaps the most intimate word she could have chosen.

He didn't speak immediately. When he finally did, his voice was lower than before. "Elain, if I agree, there will be one condition."

She felt her heart give a single, hard beat. "What condition?"

He looked at her for a very long time. "You may end this arrangement whenever you wish." He held her gaze steadily, “I only ask we stop pretending amongst ourselves.” 

"Lucien,” the bond pulsed, a quiet reminder. "You really would agree?" The question came softer than she intended.

His answer came without hesitation. "Yes."

Her breath caught. "Why?"

He leaned closer. "Because you asked."

She stared at him, mirroring him so that their hands were nearly touching. "That is all?"

"For now."

"You make it sound very simple."

"It is simple." He breathed. The words were so quiet she almost wondered if she had imagined them.

Her heartbeat stumbled. "I like your condition." He went very still as she searched for the right words. "I don’t want us to continue behaving as though we are strangers afterward."

Something almost like surprise crossed his face. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

The music beyond the door continued, the chessboard remained between them, their game unfinished.

Elain looked down at the pieces. "I should return to the celebrations before anyone begins wondering." She rose and the movement made Lucien straighten immediately.

A faint amusement crossed his face. "I imagine several people already are."

She sighed rather dramatically. "That is likely true."

Lucien stood as well. For a moment they were separated only by the chessboard and the space propriety demanded.

It was strange. She had just suggested something that would have scandalized every lady who had ever instructed her in manners, yet the smallest distance between them felt infinitely more significant.

Lucien reached for his gloves, and Elain found herself wishing he’d leave them off. 

He stepped around the chess table. When he reached her, he stopped, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

"May I?" The question was so quiet.

She looked at him. Then, slowly, offered her hand. Lucien’s fingers closed around hers. He lowered his head and his perfect mouth brushed the back of her ungloved knuckles.

A gentleman's kiss, an old-fashioned gesture she’d seen on the other side of the wall. Elain felt the absurd flutter of it all the way to her ribs.

When he straightened, his expression remained composed. "Tomorrow evening?" 

She considered him for another moment. "Not tomorrow."

His expression shifted. “As you wish, Elain.” 

"I will send word,” she nodded, more to herself than to him.

"Of course."

"And Lucien?" She held his gaze. "I expect you to come to me."

Lucien seemed for the moment to be caught completely off guard. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He inclined his head, the shadow of a bow. “Of course.” He stepped back, and Elain felt the absence of his warmth. "I shall await your message, then."

Elain nodded. "Good."

He reached the door, and she found herself staring at his broad back. He paused, looking over his shoulder.

She wondered if he would say something clever. Instead, he simply said, "Goodnight, Elain."

"Goodnight, Lucien." The door closed softly behind him. 

It was the third time that week, unusual by the standards of the Station. Pulling a pillow over her face, Elain tried to slip back into the dream she’d been having, but the noise was only muffled.

Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah.

Rhythmic and unyielding, a warning to remain in her cabin for the time being. Elain sighed, tossing the pillow to the cold, metal floor. She blinked against the offensive red lighting up the otherwise peaceful dark of her space until she didn’t have to blink against the light. What was going on?

It was tempting to ask her sister Feyre, who seemed to know all the gossip albeit unwillingly. Feyre lurked in the maintenance halls, hiding from her responsibilities and so she could focus on the one thing that gave her real purpose and joy—art.

There was no room for art on The Station. 

Elain sat up, legs dangling off the raised platform her bed rested on. Reaching toward the metal plated wall, she pressed a button to lift the shade from the porthole just above her window. It was the only one she had, a view into the vastness of space. Below, Elain could see the ruined husk of the planet Earth, abandoned centuries earlier for space travel—at least at first.

No one knew if it was space travel or simple biological evolution that brought about the beginning of the end for humanity. Had someone contracted a disease on some far-flung planet? Or had a planet, filled to the bursting with a population that seemed like it couldn’t die, finally brought about its own destruction? Everyone seemed to agree it was technology taken too far, but the disease had spread too quickly and had killed so effectively that by the time anyone realized they had a full-blown pandemic on their hands, all that was truly left was evacuation. 

Elain peered closer against the tempered glass. To her, Earth was something mythological. A pristine blue and green sphere, the mother of her species—home. As a girl, she and her sisters had run about The Station pretending they were living in those lush jungles and swimming in the salted oceans they so often read about. 

Humans weren’t meant to live in space, of that she was certain. Some had certainly adapted. Nesta, for example, seemed to have been built for the cold, dark expanse of space. Most people agreed. Nesta was powerful, overseeing secretive missions deep into space as humanity pushed ever forward, looking for another planet they could call home. They were, after all, the only species in the known universe that did not have a planet to call their own.

Humans were everywhere, living in the most populous cities and the most remote outposts. It was said humans could adapt to anything, often with a sneer of disgust. The other races loathes humanity for the way they’d kicked open the galactic door at gun point, demanding equal trade access, the right to settle colonies and worlds, and the right to defend themselves with force. It took other races centuries to accomplish what humanity managed in fifty years.

The galaxy was afraid of humanity. That’s what Nesta said, anyway. Better to let them be, Nesta would add, brow arched and arms crossed, as she reflected on their status in the universe. Nesta was so close to a council position—the first ever for humanity—though Elain secretly hoped she didn’t get it.

That was more selfish than anything. Nesta wielding one of the most powerful position in the galaxy was a major coup, and it would mean she and Elain would never have another meaningful conversation again. Nesta didn’t know how to switch between gears—she was either Nesta, the woman only Elain truly knew, or she was Ambassador Nesta, a woman even the most feared races in the galaxy didn’t dare cross. While other ambassadors were often lambasted on the net, everyone tiptoed around their critiques of Nesta.

She was ruthless, and her hands were stained with blood. Everyone knew it. 

Elain turned from her window and her musings as the blaring ceased and darkness flooded through the room again. Her ears rang with the echoing wah’s even when she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. The clock on the nearby stand read four twenty two am—local donjon time. The whole galaxy was centralized around the founding galactic civilization and their stronghold—donjon. Their language was the standard, common language, their year was the standard year, their time the standard time. 

Humanity called their city The Donjon based on its appearance—it seemed to look like the protective keep of a medieval fortress, nevermind that it sounded nearly identical when spoken in their native tongue. The name had stuck over the years since, and now most colloquially referred to the city as Donjon, much to the irritation of the people living there previously. Humanity is so disrespectful! Net pundits would scream, eyes purpling around the sockets. But all these centuries later, the name was still around and so was humanity.

Deciding it was better to just start her day early, Elain let her bare feet  the cold metal sheeting of the floor. Having been cleaned the day before, she could see her distorted reflection peering back up her, just as she could everywhere else she went. There was no privacy aboard The Station—not even from herself. 

There was also very little water. Water had to be imported, and not every world needed water or relied on it the same way humanity did. Often, a world would have drinkable water for them, but absolutely polluted to humans. In the early days, Elain knew it had been a major source for concern—how did you establish colonies both on planets and in space without access to a constant source of water?

The answer had been synthetic, like so many other things. H2More, they called it. It was like water. Good enough to satisfy the human body, and easy to replicate in factories to be bottled and sold all over the galaxy at reasonable costs. People who’d tasted real water reported H2More tasted wrong, though they could never quite articulate how. No one could even describe the taste of water to begin with, so how could something reportedly made of the same compounds—along with several extras to compensate for living in space—taste wrong?

Elain had never had actual water, so she couldn’t say one way or the other. Most of her life had been spent on The Station—known as Tuscon, the former city on Earth—or on Donjon on occasion. Elain didn’t care for space travel, which often left her feeling sick to her stomach due to the high rate of speed they had to move to get from one planet to the next. 

It was good enough to brush her teeth and wash her hair with, and she didn’t have to ration it like she’d heard they’d done back in those yearly years, and that was good enough for her. Life was small on The Station, but it was simple and navigable. The larger galaxy was chaotic, loud, and confusing, which worked for someone who could establish order, like Nesta. But for Elain, her little life felt like enough.

She parted her hair into two waist length plaits, slid a little chapstick over her lips to help with how dry the air was, and slid into the white belted jumpsuit everyone wore on The Station. Her name was embroidered just above her heart: Elain Archeron, Astrobotanist, and she wore it with pride. Her vegetables, fruits, and herbs might be grown with synthetic sunlight and synthetic water, but what came through was real. 

It was more science than anything. Elain wasn’t expected to feed The Station, which imported the majority of its goods from other worlds, but to find the right conditions in which once extinct produce could return to the wider galaxy. She’d been working on bananas for the better part of a year. No one in living memory had eaten a real banana, though every human had tasted banana flavoring.

Whether that was the truth of a banana or merely someone's memory, no one truly knew. Elain wanted to be the first to find out, though growing bananas in a lab in space was proving to be quite more difficult than she’d first imagined when she’d applied for the research grant. She’d had good luck growing tropic fruits—she’d managed little mangoes, one teeny papaya, and one half-sized pineapple that had been so acidic, the fruit had ripped apart Elain’s mouth as she’d eaten it.

Though, that hardly stopped her. Elain would have eaten it even if it made her mouth bleed. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet, so…so…alive. She could recreate the humid conditions, the heat, the volume of light, and yet…her trees resisted. It was as if they knew she was attempting to trick them into giving up something they otherwise wouldn’t.

As if this continued pursuit to see what she could grow regardless of if she should, was offensive to the plants themselves. Bananas, a fruit so ubiquitous on earth that they were mentioned in passing in so many written documents, almost as an afterthought, seemed determined to thwart her.

Not for you, stargirl.

How did Elain explain that she had roots in her fingers tethering her to the planet below her? That if there were a chance to return, Elain would have taken it without a backward glance at the stars above? She wanted to feel the sun warming her skin the way humans were meant to—her sun, on her soil, on her planet. No red suns, twin suns, blue suns, or any other type of suns that existed and provided light and warmth to other species. Her sun. 

Shaking her head, Elain laced up her boots, grabbed her keycard so she could access the other parts of the ship, and left her gun behind. Technically, all personnel aboard the ship were required to carry a standard issue firearm everywhere they went but Elain rarely did. Soldiers patrolled the corridors and that was enough for her. 

She wasn’t the only one up. A light murmuring down the bright, sanitized halls betrayed the cafeteria, which was busier than usual despite the early hour. There weren’t lines yet which was lucky, but if she’d waited Elain knew they’d have cleared out all the tofubacon before she got a chance to get any. Elain added toast with a packet of jam, a scoop of eggs, some sour ro fruit along with a packet of salt to cut through the tartness, and a little carbonated water. She scanned the crowd, found a familiar head of golden blonde hair, and plunked her tray at the same rounded table.

“Alarms got you up, too?” Arina grumbled, pushing the same neon yellow eggs around her tray without enthusiasm.

Arina Novak, Archivist. 

“I was dreaming about forests again,” Elain admitted, resting her elbows on the metal surface as she ripped apart her bacon absently. 

Arina ran both hands over her bare face. Like Elain, she’d pulled her hair back, though she used a series of small ponytails to create two large bubble braids that hung down either side of her back. It was a popular style on the net, and it looked rather pretty on Arina. Arina, in Elain’s opinion, reminded her of the sun, or what the sun ought to be. Maybe that had been why Elain had been so drawn to her as a little girl.

It wasn’t just her gold hair that caught even under the harshest, most artificial light. It was her grassy green eyes and her brown skin, the same as the soft soil Elain often sifted through her fingertips. Arina seemed the living embodiment of a planet Elain was homesick from, as though she’d been crafted from the missing parts.

Though, Elain looked for Earth in everyone she met. The iron blue of Nesta’s eyes were a stormy sea, the freckles that dotted Feyre’s nose little pebbles for skipping across a lake. Earth was everywhere as a reminder, and never so clearly than it was in the beautiful Arina. 

Arina, who spent her days preserving what she could of humanity. The work of her colleagues was to digitize what they could, while others preserved what existed in the here and now. But Arina took the oldest records and carefully preserved them, either by copying them exactly onto new paper, or restoring the documents so they could live on. The majority of these artifacts, once restored, sat in museums on planets that did not belong to humanity and could only be seen if a person had the resources to travel to wherever they were.

Where else would they be housed? Humanity had no home, which meant no place to keep their cultural heritage. Arina often complained about this to Elain, who privately wondered what the benefit was, overall. Did it make other cultures appreciate them more? Make their case for a new planet to colonize greater? Elain could have asked Nesta these questions if she’d wanted to, but never did.

“I wish I was dreaming about forests,” Arina grumbled, finally forking some food into her mouth. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see fire.”

Elain sighed, chewing thoughtfully. “Afraid of losing your work?”

Arina didn’t answer. “What if we got out of here for a while? Took a break, saw a…I don’t know, a beach? Someplace new? What if we spent six months in Noctus Prime—”

“Why?” Elain interrupted, brow wrinkling. “You want to leave?” Arina turned toward the large, open windows at the far end of the cafeteria. All Elain saw was the emptiness of dark space, peppered with the occasional star here and there. 

“We’re rotting out here, Elain,” Arina said with an urgency she hadn’t heard from her friend in the two decades they’d been friends. “Nothing changes on this station and nothing ever will. Don’t you want more than all this?”

Elain looked down at her half-eaten tray. Not really. Once, maybe, she’d dreamed of seeing more of the universe back when she’d been a little girl, but now…

“Doesn’t it suck seeing Gray every day?”

Elain recoiled as though Arina had struck her.

“Why would you say that?” Elain asked, willing her bottom lip not to tremble. “I barely see him at all.”

That was true enough. After Graysen had ended their engagement, he spent more time off The Station than on, traveling between worlds as a diplomat, same as his father. That had been eight months ago, and Elain was doing better. She didn’t cry herself to sleep at night, though if she were honest, she did spend a lot of time trying to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t obsess over the what-might-have-been. 

“You used to want more than banana’s, Elain,” Arina tried, her tone just a little too sharp. Elain scowled, eyes narrowing.

“If you want to travel off world, you don’t need me for that,” she snapped, petulantly.

Arina’s hand shot across the table, fingers encircling her wrists. “I want you to come with me. There’s whole worlds out there to grow bananas on. Worlds that Gray wouldn’t dare step foot on.”

That was, partly, what Elain was afraid of. Neither of them needed to vocalize that outloud, given they were both well aware of Elain’s unspoken fears. Even if Gray came back crawling, could she ever trust him again? It had been nothing personal, he’d said, as if their engagement was merely a business transaction that had run its course. He simply needed to put his career first. Maybe someday, blah blah blah, Elain had stopped listening by that point. Empty platitudes meant to make him feel like he wasn’t the bad guy for letting things get this far.

Pretty lies to obscure the fact he’d broken her heart. 

“What about a weekend on Noctus Prime? On the Gold Coast?” Arina cajoled, betraying her hand. Elain’s eyes narrowed again.

“You’ve already purchased a flight, haven’t you?”

“Two days from now,” Arina admitted without an ounce of shame. “We can extend it, if we want, but come for a couple days and relax. Get away.”

“Fine,” Elain conceded, ignoring the soft fissure of pleasure she felt at Arina’s obvious joy. It was nice to have a friend who loved her like Arina did. 

Arina beamed and Elain basked in the warmth, a moth drawn to the soft glow of her smile. 

They parted ways not long after, shifting topics to The Station and all the gossip Arina had. Unlike Feyre, who happened to know things because she was often in the room where things happened, Arina had a trustworthy face. People just told her things because they trusted her, and Arina often immediately told those things to Elain, knowing Elain would never betray her secrets.

The lights in the halls began to warm, mimicking a sunrise on a faraway planet. As Elain walked down the halls, boots smacking softly against metal, she wondered what time it was on Earth. Was the sun rising somewhere below, too? 

It was a question she wondered every morning as she walked the halls to her own station—a massive space divided into multiple smaller rooms that were supposed to mimic the biome they wanted to grow in. Elain took one last breath of dry, filtered air, before scanning her key and stepping into her own little lab. 

The warmth was a kick to the stomach, the humidity physically weighing on her as though it were its own form of gravity. Elain would never be used to it, though some part of her relished it. This was what the world might have felt like, at least somewhere. 

She spent the morning doing her checks, working from a tablet to input data like she did each day. The amount of water needed to be measured, along with soil density, depth, and acidity. Each day Elain measured the length and width of her trees and each banana leaf coming from each branch. She charted the different colors as she observed them, any little spots, any trimming she did, and everything in between.

It took her all morning to complete. Elain wanted to be through so her research could be replicated someday, once she succeeded. The whole galaxy could eat bananas for all Elain cared—that would make them easier to obtain. 

She was about to start mixing her feed for the soil to encourage a little more growth when the station seemed to shudder. Elain paused, looking toward the door, but nothing happened. No sirens began wailing, no lights flickered. It was as if something merely knocked into The Station and kept going. 

Elain shrugged and continued about her lab, supposing it was likely a piece of floating rock, or junk, merely bonking into them as it continued onward in its neverending journey through space. Elain barely looked up when the station rocked again, though the lurch caused her to dump some of her fertilizer onto her shoes. 

“What is going on—”

Another crash, this time violent enough to send Elain careening against the far wall as though she’d been thrown by an invisible hand. Groaning, Elain attempted to rise to her feet, but another lurch kept her pinned to the floor. 

The lights overhead shut off with a loud, whining click. A moment later, the sirens began blaring. Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah—

Louder than they’d been that morning, a full-blown warning that something was wrong. Outside the lab, Elain could hear loud voices. Someone was shouting as Elain made her way to the door of her lab.

Someone was firing plasma shots, too, she realized. “What’s happening?” she demanded, as if someone was going to materialize and tell her. 

“Get back inside!” A soldier from the hall barked, hitting the red button on the wall to manually shut the doors to the lab from the inside. Elain didn’t move from the little window, feet rooted in place. It seemed unreal. Smoke curled down the hall, obscuring her view. The soldiers in the hall were pushed back as bright red bolts of molten plasma screamed toward them. Some fell, and Elain watched that, too. 

This wasn’t a meteor or debris. This was an invasion.

Why? 

Who?

The second part of that question was answered almost immediately. Emerging from the fog was a sight Elain had only ever seen on the net—a male Teryx, tall and imposing, his brown skin glistening even in the otherwise dark and adorned with blue, whorling inked tattoos over his shoulders and biceps. They were said to be marks of conquest, given their race was prized warriors above all else. 

He paused in the middle of the hall, rolling his shoulders to reveal two massive, leathery wings on either side of his body. Elain ducked, but not quick enough—those vivid yellow green eyes saw her.

The locked door crunched beneath the male's power, his long, strong fingers prying the two sides open with ease. Elain remained where she was, taking note that he seemed almost human with that shock of dark hair, his square jaw and strong, curving nose. The Teryx came from somewhere within The Cosmic Web, their homeworld unknown and uncharted. How they managed space travel was its own mystery, theorized endlessly by pundits on the net. 

The Teryx didn’t join politics, they had no interest in being part of any Galactic Alliance, and if they were concerned about their image, they never attempted to correct it. It had been a good century since anyone had seen one of them in the wider space, though on occasion someone might find a Teryx male in some far-flung outpost, taking work as a bounty hunter or otherwise doing something that concerned only them.

Elain had never seen a Teryx female, though she knew the rumors—that the males kept them enslaved in caves, forced them to breed, and cut the wings of every young girl so she couldn’t escape. Though, until that moment, she’d never seen a Teryx male either.

He was terrifying. Pointing his weapon directly at her—a strange mixture of a gun and a knife—he said, “Out. Now.”

Elain shook her head back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she whispered.

The male’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a firm line. He held the gun a little firmer in his hand. “Now,” he said again, his soft voice a lethal threat. 

Elain had a split second to make a decision. Who knew what would happen if she went with him. There was a booming black market trade for slaves in which humans were valued rather highly—nevermind females. For all she knew, he intended to round them all up and sell them for as much as he could manage.

And that was the kindest future she could imagine. Every other alternative was far, far worse. There was a stack of ceramic pots on the table just behind her. With speed Elain didn’t know she possessed, she reached for one and smashed it against the male's face before darting around him.

The roar of anger he emitted scared Elain to the bone, urging her legs on faster. Delving into the smoke and chaos, Elain relied on her emergency training.

Everyone living on The Station went through it four times a standard year. Given how long she’d been there, Elain had gone through it a bazillion times—enough to know the path blindfolded in the dark. That was lucky, given the lack of light, save for the flashing red overhead, was the only illumination in the smoky dark. The floors lit up the path to the shuttles was all but useless given Elain couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

She choked, coughing against the smoke, as she made her way through the twisting turns. The closer she got, the louder the screaming, the shouting, and the sounds of gunfire. Were they firing bullets or plasma rounds, she wondered? And would they strike her? 

As it turned out, no. Soldiers wearing masks yanked her through a chokepoint, not bothering to see where she fell as she came through. It didn’t matter—Elain could hear Nesta’s voice cutting through the hysteria.

“Elain? Where is Elain?”

Elain scrambled to her feet and flung herself at Nesta, colliding into her chest with relief. “We need to get out of here—”

“We need to take them out while they’re distracted,” Nesta interrupted, eyes steely. 

“Nes—”

“One of them has Feyre,” Nesta said again, teeth clenched. “They took Feyre, and we have to get her back.”

Elain looked over her shoulder, catching sight of vivid gold in a sea of gray. She reached out for Arina, yanking her hard to keep them together. 

“You’re sure?” Elain asked as Arina gasped for air, hands braced on her knees. They were lined up for evacuation but it was going slowly. People were panicked, screaming for children, for lovers, for friends and the orderliness had broken down. If they didn’t hurry, not everyone would make it out before they were breached and more prisoners taken. 

“There were two Teryx,” Nesta said, pulling Elain deeper into the hall and further from where the evacuation ships were. “They were…are…huge. One of them lunged for me and she appeared out of nowhere with a knife. Stabbed the bigger one right in the stomach, which should have sent them running.”

“What happened?” Elain whispered, so easily able to imagine what had happened.

“The other one,” Nesta’s eyes clouded over with burning hatred, “he laughed. Said, ‘There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you,’ like it was a joke, and then…”

Nesta shook her head, the crown of braids atop coming slightly loose. “He swallowed her up in a cloud of smoke. Like magic.”

Elain’s steps stuttered for a minute. “Magic?”

“Some kind of tech, probably,” Arina interjected, having finally caught her breath. “There’s no such thing as magic. And if you blow up their ship, you’re going to blow your sister up, too.”

Nesta didn’t seem to be listening, two pistols in either hand as she made her way toward a fleet of fighters. Most were gone, encircling the terrifying, onyx ship in the distance. Had a bevy of lasers not been firing from its canons, the ship might have looked like a dark void. It seemed to absorb all the light around it like some kind of terribly devourer from legend. 

“Are you listening?” Arina pressed, her own gun strapped to her thigh. “If you blow them up–”

“I just need to board,” Nesta interrupted, turning to face Arina down. Elain didn’t know how Arina withstood that look, and after a moment it seemed Arina couldn’t either. She backed down, palms held upward in surrender. 

Another body boarded the small fighter. She was a familiar figure to Elain and Arina, though for different reasons. Another archivist, and Nesta’s only friend Gwyn stepped aboard, pushing a gun into Elain’s chest without a word.

“You pilot,” Gwyn said, plopping into the co-pilot’s seat. “You two—buckle in.”

Arina moaned softly, eyes closed as she took a jump seat across from Elain. The two snapped in the harnesses as Nesta jerked away from The Station. She shouldn’t have watched—Nesta took off like a bat out of hell, yanking Elain forward by her navel before pressing her back against her seat.

“I’m going to be sick,” Elain whispered.

“There!” Nesta shouted, tilting the aircraft sickeningly on its side. The cannons from Gwyn’s guns recoiled, causing their own little fighter to lurch from the energy. Not that it stopped Nesta, laser focused on her prey. They whipped around enemy fighters flying ships that melded with the space around them, appearing just in time to send another fighter ship crashing into the void.

That was going to be them if Nesta wasn’t careful.

Elain wondered who’d taught Nesta to fly like she did. She was a natural, maneuvering through the sky and debris like she had some sixth sense—like she’d been born for it. Nesta had always been good at everything she tried, and even better when she put effort behind it. 

And that wasn’t enough to stop what was coming for them, all the same. The dark ship at the center of the invasion seemed to have its own wings, unfurling like a terrible dragon. Nesta attempted to move further afield, but gravity was dragging them toward that gaping maw.

Alarms inside the fighter began to ring.

“What now?!” Elain demanded as Nesta and Gwyn flipped switches and pushed flashing buttons to no avail.

“I’m not letting them take Feyre!” Nesta swore. “We’ll never see her again.”

“This is a suicide mission!” Arina argued, unstrapping herself as they yanked forward. “We need to bail—now.”

Gwyn looked at Nesta. “You’re right,” she said before Nesta could argue. “Nes, it’s over. C’mon.”

Nesta only had seconds to decide. Looking up at Gwyn, she finally nodded. “To the pods. Now.”

There were two pods, big enough to sustain life for seventy hours for two individuals. Arina went in first, Elain second. As Elain sat, knee to knee with her friend, Nesta looked into the pod.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nes—” Elain scrambled, but Nesta slammed the hissing door shut and began the countdown launch for the pod.

“Sit down, Elain!” Arina tried, but Elain was banging on the small window. 

“Nesta!” She screamed, palm aching from the force. “Nesta, they’ll kill you! Nes—”

The pod launched into space and once again, Elain was slammed against a hard, unyielding surface. Arina groaned, too, having taken an elbow, or perhaps a knee, to the gut. 

“Elain, you—”

Something smashed into the side of the pod, sending it careening wildly out of control. Elain smacked her head against the unyielding metal wall once, twice.

And then one final time before the stars all winked out. 

–

“Another day in paradise,” Jurian commented as Lucien rolled his eyes. That’s not what he would call their current circumstances. He’d come to the resistance a good five years earlier with a friend, and while many others had abandoned the cause, Lucien had remained. 

Even in the sticky, muggy weather in the ruined suburbs of Chicago. He supposed he ought to be grateful the ground wasn’t radioactive like so many other cities that had once existed. It had merely been torn apart and left to rot until nature took it over.

And now he lived there, even in the dead of summer, the middle of winter. The weather was decent for about four months out of the year, and he lived for those times. Looking upward at the towering oak trees swaying beneath the moonlight, he wondered what life might be like among the heavens. It was the dream of little boys, not men. There was nothing in their universe besides Earth—how long had they searched, only to find nothing? There were rumors, of course, of aliens appearing in this place or that. Someone claimed a whole group had crashed in Ft. Lauterdale. What a horrible place to be introduced to humanity. 

No, this was all their was. Lucien sighed, thinking of his father, the governor of the entire territory. It was a huge swath of land that had once been different states within a United States—a place Lucien only read about in textbooks. Now it was simply The Middle, and had become the most prosperous region in the massive empire that now was The Imperium of the Americas. 

Lucien sighed, pulling his shirt from his sticky skin and tossing it over his shoulder. Beron might have declared the resistance dead, but it seemed lively enough to Lucien. People were working, as they always did, in the camp Jurian had taken over from a previous group. It wouldn’t be hard to find them, even as they dug far below the ground to create shelters that could protect them from radiation, and the vast array of new weaponry that seemed to come from the stars every other month. 

He glanced upward again just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. He wasn’t the only one watching. Everyone, it seemed, had craned their neck to take a look. He heard a child announce they ought to make a wish, and for some reason, Lucien decided to do it.

Send us something that can help, he breathed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Anything. Anyone.

“Lucien,” Jurian’s voice interrupted. “That’s metal.”

The star should have arced along the curve of the planet, not…continued plummeting. “Meteor?” Lucien heard himself say, ignoring everything Jurian had just told him. 

Jurian shook his head no. “Could be junk.” They’d found a lot of debris that had fallen from their gravitational orbit, leftovers of a space age that was long gone. Unfunded by a government more concerned with immediate profit and stripping the remaining minerals from the planet than they did about learning anything new. Lucien often wondered what would happen once there was nothing left to take. When the earth had given up all her secret spoils and humanity was left wretched and abandoned. 

Why?

“Could be good for salvage,” Lucien offered, well aware he wouldn’t be getting sleep that night.

“We need to move fast,” Jurian replied, wiping sweat from beneath a mop of brown curls. 

“Let’s go now.”

–

Eris was interrupted by his father.

“The Tuscon was attacked.”

“The research station?” Eris questioned, setting his tablet down on the side table. “For what purpose?”

“It’s unclear. They had a lot of projects, and the station is rubble.”

“Who?”

“Teryx,” Beron replied. “Debris is raining down just outside the city. Go out there, clean it up, and ensure no one else finds anything.”

Of course Beron had come to deliver instructions. Beron cared as little for space as Eris did. Their home was on Earth and had been since the dawn of time. Eris had little interest in traveling off world like his father so often did. He’d heard there were grand civilizations out there and he simply did not think anything could be better than what humanity had already constructed.

Even if humanity was a fractured species at the moment. What did the aliens make of that, he wondered? 

Eris nodded his head curtly. It was a direct order, and Eris always obeyed. He’d cleaned debris up before. No one was to know the full scope of what was happening in the galaxy, mostly to keep the interests of the wealthy, well…wealthy. Humanity still needed food, still needed weapons, and those things were best found on Earth.

Beron turned and left Eris’ townhouse, leaving Eris to send a flurry of messages as quickly as his fingers could type. This was a problem for the morning. Eris was tracking his youngest brother, who was back somewhere nearby, living like a filthy caveman if he knew Lucien. And he did. Lucien would be scrounging, and Eris didn’t want to have to drag him back home.

Again.

It had simply become an embarrassment for them all. Lucien, brother by his mothers blood only, had always been difficult and unafraid of Beron. He’d left for the resistance as a teenager and only returned when Eris found him, often knocking him unconscious and dragging him home.

Only for Lucien to vanish just as soon as someone took their eyes off him. 

Eris sighed, crossing his legs. A ruined space station, the Teryx coming out of deep space, and now debris was raining from the heavens.

Eris had warned his father this secret wouldn’t last, and when the populace on Earth realized they’d been lied to and essentially enslaved, there would be no need for Lucien’s rebellion. The people would revolt all on their own.

He doubted they’d care much about Eris’ own forced participation when they were lining him up for the guillotine. It was simply too much work to try and control everyone’s perception. Beron still cared.