Selk can be such a little shit.
If we were back at the bond house, I’d tell him so to his face, maybe put him to work so he learns how best to behave. But I can only be a cold mask in public like this. Knowing that, he enjoys pissing me off even more during these field missions. Doing the council’s bidding has always been an annoyance for Ryverin and me, something to keep stability, but my real loyalties lie in the Truceguard and the Wardogs. Just as Ryverin’s lie with the Lightblades and Curine. If these middlings had any idea of the threats we face to keep them safe… though, I suppose council politics keep them adequately under our thumb and unaware.
At least one of us is having a good time.
Selk raises a brow in the middling’s direction when she hums. Emer, for his part, looks stable, though he hasn’t stopped moving since we hit the stairs. Something about the smell of Lithe keeps him on edge. I’d be concerned if not for the pale, pinkened beauty in the corner who has somehow pulled a reverb from his chest— a fact Selk will tease him for the second we leave.
Who am I kidding? We’ll all be teasing him for singing so sweetly for a little nobody in questionable clothes.
If they weren’t my prospective bonds, I wouldn’t have a single Unsettled on my force. It’s too unpredictable to have temperamental Thur on delicate missions. Sure, they can train for it, and these two train very hard, but for field activity? If we weren’t all but formed into a bond, there’s no way I’d let them interfere with a council mission. I know how it appears to the middlings, but it’s not immaturity. It’s simply how our blood reacts to a foreign invasion.
Emer’s gemstones glow brighter, and I flick back to the mouse hiding in the corner. She’s not shaking at the signs of unstable Nanaria—or magic, as they wrongfully call it. Let them think of us as gods if it keeps them docile. My father has always been clear that even one cog out of place in this damned machine, and the whole thing breaks. It’s the entire reason he and the other council heads allowed New Eden to exist when the last middling city on this half of the planet fell.
Keep the cogs running smoothly, and the machine can perform its function. That function happens to be furthering our species and getting the portals to reopen.
Still, her kind usually shakes in our presence, so she’s either too stupid to notice or too terrified to react. Magic is an oversimplified term describing a complicated merging of biology and technology. Emer’s feeling the effects. He has always stayed on task without fail, but tonight, a wildness in him throws me off.
Maybe it’s been too long since we’ve taken the edge off.
That is the whole point of entertainment districts like this one. If middlings think they are the only cogs in the machine, they are sorely mistaken. All of us are. I inspect my power reserves, wondering if a bit of recharge is precisely what I need to fix my mood. This club already smells like sweat, sex, and iron. The latter, though subtle, is pleasant enough, but it doesn’t make up for the discomfort of the other two. Or maybe I need to find this club’s weasly owner and pin him by the throat until he tells me exactly where he gets his Lithe supply. That way, we could wrap this up sooner and call one of our usuals to help recharge us. Settled Thur like Ryverin and I don’t need to frequent the public clubs for sex and relaxation. We can have them brought to us.
I hate wasting our time and considerable power doing menial missions like this. Hopping from club to club as we try to pin down this illegal distribution syndicate. All signs point to Mid being the source. Every other club has either had a watered-down version not nearly as potent, or they’ve offered us some dried herbs that do nothing more than stimulate Thur libido. As if any of us need help with that.
Emer’s eyes cut to the far corner again as he kneels to inspect the table for cameras. I glance at Ryverin beside me, who hasn’t said a word since we left the hoverscor idling at the curb. He’s guarded more than usual. We’re here to play a role in fulfilling our duty. We can handle a few nights of being our least authentic selves, can’t we? After all, this one should be the last in Upper Tres City.
And there are no reports of high enough concentration in the other cities. Whoever is distributing it lives in UTC.
Ryverin’s golden hair is almost ash-colored in the dark, and with his dark clothing, it’s hard to see his heritage clearly. For the Lightfleck, a traditional suit consists of four pieces, each more pretentious than the last, though they vary in color. And judging by how he subtly tugs at the pair of extra softened black pants that taper to the shoe, he’s not \*_uncomfortable\*_ at all. An unwilling smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. As my oldest friend, one would think I’d get tired of seeing Ryverin uncomfortable, but I don’t.
_\*Fuck you, Nox._\* His thought buzzes through our tetherlink. This facet of the tech is still in testing, but so far, it’s been able to broadcast our thoughts perfectly into one another’s ears. After another month or so of testing, Selk will have a new patent to sell. Fuck if I know how he manages it in his free time. \*_You’re wearing onyx so far up your ass. I bet it itches.\*_
I let out a soundless snort. He bulges his eyes at my attire as if I have no room to speak. Focusing back on Emer and Selk, I admit the long-sleeved leather dress shirt is pinching uncomfortably at my elbows and pits. Thankfully, we don’t sweat like middlings, but my neck is chafing. My shirttail is covered in Onyx, so it’s likely shredding the couch beneath us. I redouble my efforts not to move.
_\*Any plans on speaking tonight?\*_ I redirect, wondering if we will all be playing our parts as we have at the last few clubs. But Ryverin says nothing. _\*What’s your issue tonight? Do you need a recharge?\*_
_\*It’s not that. I’m just at risk of compromising us tonight. There are familiar faces here, and I don’t want to be remembered.\*_
_\*What the hell does that mean?\*_ Years of training have taught me to keep a level head in all things. _\*Do we need to extract quickly? Who recognizes you?\*_
_\*It’s not a big deal; I’ll fill you in later. I can’t account for every unexpected interaction that happens during these missions. Tonight, I simply need to stay silent, and you need to keep me obscured.\*_
“Emerald?” Selk asks, bringing me back to their conversation about the cameras. The council ruled filming in private areas illegal, so for this alone, I should hunt down the sweaty fool that let us in here.
“Onyx,” I reply instinctually, fixating on the three onyx signatures in the room. As my affinity gem, I can manipulate it at all times. It takes only a few thoughts to dissolve my shirttail into microscopic shards that hurtle toward each illegal camera.
And half a second too late, I remember we have a set of pretty middling eyes watching us.