{Gait}

It took every ounce of Sagan’s self-control not to eat all the stronghold’s rations. For one thing, it would be rude. For another, nothing appealed to her. Despite her starvation. Not when she knew a guy with access to delicious and exotic food from all over the Vast Collective. But now it was a matter of asking him without revealing her developing dependency.

Daytime in the Emporium shone sunlight beautifully through the stained glass panels. Varying shades of gold and amber squares mosaic-ed across the wood flooring. Like twilight in a bottle. It took her breath away.

“Hey, Sagan!” Matt called to her from the museum where he unloaded a crate.

She Seamswalked to him and took the heavy cargo in one hand. “Where to?”

He grinned. It looked cute with his ginger freckles. “Right here.”

She helped him place it in storage beneath the displays. “New exhibit piece?”

“New conquest.”

Sagan whirled to find Razor leaning in the doorway. Did the man not own casual clothes? Black slacks. Black silk button up. Undone vest that matched a missing blazer, no doubt. He let his five o’clock shadow grow in to a fine red stubble against his tan skin. The rugged look suited him.

Matt nodded to his employer.

Razor smiled at his employee. Then the man said the only two words she’d find agreeable in that moment, “It’s lunchtime.”

Sagan feigned sheepishness. “I guess I’m one more mouth to feed?” She Seamswalked to the other side of the museum. “I can head out and come back at a more convenient time?”

The Pain Curator glanced at Matt before smirking at Sagan. “Nonsense. I look forward to you trying Reipon bore. Barbecued.”

Was her stomach as loud as she thought? When Matt cut over to her with a veiled smile, Sagan blushed. Yes. It was that loud. Remaining cool, she held up her chin. “I suppose I could donate my presence to your company.”

There it was. Razor’s rich chuckle. Like a double-edged sword, it sounded pleasant, but with a cost. With every laugh, did he lose a year off his life? Or did she lose one off hers?

Within seconds, yummy smelling exotic dishes crowded the buffet near the kitchens. She sat on it with her legs dangling off cause fuck manners. Licking the barbecue sauce from her fingers, she admitted the bore tasted excellent. The Luk pickled vegetables, superb. Fish cakes from Pil, delicious. Only after she sated her hunger did Sagan realize Matt disappeared.

Razor shook his head in astonishment. “You are quite impressive, Seamswalker. Your appreciation for food might even count as its own experience—”

“Stop right there.” Sagan held up a hand to stave him. “I take my love of food even more seriously than my love of pain. It’s quite private—”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A growl from her stomach cut her off. Her blood sugar plummeted despite the meal. Sugar crash, maybe? Too much desert. Not enough protein.

“It’s fortunate you dropped by.”

Sagan forgot her stomach and looked across the way where Razor leaned in a doorway. Arms folded, he put more effort into his fitness than she first assumed. It garnered a little respect. Easy to let oneself go with a nacre.

Back on topic. She asked, “How’s that?”

Razor frowned and pushed away from the wall to approach her. Arms still folded. Safe. “Well, I encountered a hiccup in our plans for the gala. I’m disappointed to say that I’ll need to retract my invitation.”

She frowned and almost cried out with disappointment. “Why?” Dampening her initial impulse to accuse him of bait and switch.

The Pain Curator stopped in front of her and turned only his head to face her. A little close. The green and orange in his irises spun like pinwheels. Dizzying her. The roughness of his voice complemented the rugged look of him, “I can’t fathom a single thing I want more in the Vast Collective than to take you.”

Genuine. His words felt genuine. They smothered her anger.

Observing her carefully, he pressed onward, “After the Eminents announced their attendance, off-list guest entry requires a nacre port which you don’t have. And I thought it better to assume you couldn’t attend than to suggest you accept one.”

Beyond, in the addition, Matt entered Sagan’s peripheral vision. He froze mid-carry with more crates to the museum. The stillness unnerved her. The redhead and his blond bombshell partner were renowned for never breaking character.

But now, the perfect infiltrator frowned in concern before returning to his task.

Sagan shivered in her Lyriki coat.

Razor silently committed the response to memory.

Proceed with caution. She pushed her hair behind her ears. “What does the implant entail?”

“Incision site here.” He traced from the dip of his clavicle, stopping just between his pecs.

Her eyes followed. Before she realized, Sagan peered at Razor’s chest through his open shirt. Flicking back to his face, he observed her with no reaction. Only the alien pinwheel eyes.

“No scarring.” Razor mercifully carried on as if he didn’t catch her ogling him. “The implant creates a port to directly access your nacre during experiences.”

Playing with her chain nervously, she wet her lips before asking, “What are the benefits?”

“Your nacre regulates your brain chemistry and hormones. This port temporarily suspends the regulation, allowing for increased endorphins and adrenaline.” Razor took two steps back, giving her space. He looked beyond to the kitchens.

A man in a chef’s toque waved for him.

“Excuse me.” He left, holding up one finger.

Sagan wasted no time Seamswalking to Matt. “Hey.”

He opened a crate and set up the next exhibit. Quietly, he returned the greeting, “Hey.”

“You never seem surprised to see me?” She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Why is that?”

The redhead laughed, a pleasant, happy sound. No weirdness with Matt. “I suppose I don’t care who’s around me. As long as you don’t snatch me away from my car again.”

Rolling her eyes, she nudged him a bit. The gravity of her visit weighed on her, and she suddenly felt tired.

“Are you okay?” He paused with some super heavy nacre glass fountain basin in hand.

“I’m fine. I’m not sure how far I should go for this mission.” Remembering who she confided in, she pressed, “Did you or Lucy ever go too far? Did you feel it beforehand? Like a warning…”

“No. And I get what you mean by a feeling. But no. We never forgot why it mattered. Forgiveness came later if needed.” He stacked the basin onto a stand and kept at his work. After a second, he seized up. “Sagan?”

She gave him her full attention.

“It was never needed.” The boy’s smile was cute. Lucy was a lucky girl.

“You don’t know where she is, do you?”

He winced and looked away. “She’ll let me know when it’s time.”

“I know she will.” Sagan squeezed his shoulder before Seamswalking back to the open floor of the Emporium proper. She walked into one of those beams of whiskey light and gave into the moment. Soaked in the rays.

She decided.

As if he read her mind, Razor stepped languidly around the corner. Unassuming. Nonthreatening. No pressure. Because he already knew the answer.

“I accept.”