{Gait}

Pehton needed to see their faces. Even if it wasn’t really them. Even if Razor tampered with her memory. She woke night after night terrified at the vacancies. No faces to kiss. No hands to hold.

The Executive Warden stopped on the steps to the Emporium. Clutched her chest and held her breath. Two and a half million years. And she still couldn’t let it go. Maybe Korac was right. Maybe they were all dead. Even in that case, she still needed to know.

Because then Pehton would shatter every nacre on Gait to stop Inanis. She looked to the sky, to the satellites that waited. Yes. Every nacre.

Gait’s Executive Warden stepped into the Vast Collective’s most infamous vice factory and came to a complete stop.

“I accept.”

Razor stalked around the short blond Seamswalker like a sable tiger from Earth. Hungry, enticed, and in command.

Pehton didn’t know what Sagan just agreed to, but the little Progeny girl couldn’t possibly fathom his intentions. Protective, the Lyrik chimed in, “How pleasant to see you here, Seamswalker. Pain Curator.”

When she nodded to him, Razor’s cognac eyes hardened into glass. He didn’t like anyone encroaching on his territory. And the Lyrik knew better than to test him.

Sagan peered between the two. After a second in tense silence, the Seamswalker frowned prettily and offered softly, “I think I’ll go find Matt. You two talk or whatever.”

“Please, give us five minutes.” He smiled at Sagan in a way Pehton never saw until today. Warm. Friendly. Almost kind.

It disgusted the Executive Warden. After the girl poofed away, Pehton fought every impulse to sing for him.

A requiem.

But Elden, dammit. They couldn’t afford her throwing down a turf war. Not in the middle of this investigation that relied so heavily on him. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, Razor stood inches from her.

After her initial recoil, his lips spread into a grin. “Peh Peh, I think I like you better feisty.” He brushed the back of his knuckles down her flared gliders. “Tell me, how close are you to the Chorus?”

How. Did. He. Know?

His laughter fell around her like broken glass. “Don’t underestimate me, dear Pehton. Now, tell me something. Why was Sagan in my Emporium not but days ago wearing Korac’s clothes? His scent? Asking to allow that contaminant thug into my respectable establishment?” Razor posed the questions and turned his back on her, stepping away. Never ground his teeth. His voice never rose. If anything, it hardened to match his eyes. He hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. With his back to her, he reminded, “We had an arrangement.”

“I can’t stop her movements. I am working to distract Korac, but so much of it relies—”

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He cut his hand in the air. “She’s returning. Remember. You brought this on yourself.”

Sagan returned to the warehouse proper before Pehton asked him to clarify. “Are you two good now?” She indicated them both with a wag of her finger.

Pehton shrugged innocently. “We’re fine. I didn’t cover my balance the last time I was here. Razor was nice enough to lend me a session for free.”

Sagan broke into a beautiful smile and directed some of it at the Pain Curator who didn’t miss a beat. “That’s right. It was a small misunderstanding.” He shot a knowing glance at Pehton.

She congratulated herself on assuaging some of his ire without hurting the Seamswalker. To which, she asked, “I have to know about the coat. It’s beautiful.”

“Yea? Triss and Oleen crafted it for me.” The adorable young woman even spun around for her to see.

Razor observed, “Perhaps the Wardens could fund raise with such amazing talents. I’m hosting the Prisonborne orphanage benefit this year. Pehton, what do you think?”

Sagan glanced at Razor as if he surprised her.

Pehton almost retched. Yea, he hosted it every year, all right. And sure, the orphanage received all the proceeds. But the only people invited benefited as much from the mingling of business with pleasure. And in which case, why didn’t they raise funds year round—

She spiraled, and she needed to get back on Razor’s good side. “I’ll check with them back at the prison. It’s another great idea, Razor.”

He smirked at her, practically digging his dirty claws into the impressionable young woman beside him. Something must have shown on Pehton’s face because he tilted his head with an intrigued gleam.

Feisty. He said he liked her feisty. Anything he liked was bad.

Calm. Down.

“Not to be nosy, but I am the planet’s Executive Warden. What did I walk in on?”

Sagan blushed and ducked her eyes before answering, “I agreed to a nacre port…”

Agreed, but she sounded unsure still. Pehton met Razor’s eyes. The hardness. The cold. This was the Lyrik’s punishment. He nodded as if he sensed the realization.

Swallow. Suck it up. Do the job. What counts.

“I had one.”

Sagan’s eyes widened into bright amethyst shards. “You did? Did it hurt? You don’t have one anymore?”

Pehton shook her head. “It’s completely reversible with no scarring. See?” Her armor retreated enough to expose her chest, including the tops of her breasts to further appease Razor.

His brown eyes shone with approval and appreciation.

“It didn’t hurt. I slept for a day after. That’s the only discomfort I recall,” Pehton elaborated. Razor let her sleep it off in an infirmary reserved for employees. A long, long time ago. “Your human friend who works here should look after you while you recover.”

A warning.

Sagan nodded firmly. Resolved. “Okay. I’m not needed anywhere for a few days, so now’s the best time. Thanks, Pehton.”

No. No, sweetie, never let Razor know you aren’t expected somewhere…

Razor led Sagan to the spiral staircase. She stopped and looked back at Pehton. “Could you please let Korac know? I don’t want him to worry.”

The Pain Curator smiled warmly, giving the illusion of understanding. Silkenly, he assured, “I’m sure the Executive Warden can oblige. Matt?”

The redheaded human with the freaky dark eyes crossed the Emporium. “Boss?”

Razor’s smile shifted into something more knowing for the boy, too. Elden, it terrified Pehton to watch him manipulate all these people she came to value.

“Join us. Would you like that, Seamswalker?”

She ducked her eyes. “It helps.” When the redhead approached them, the blond girl pulled a long chain overhead and endowed Matt with it.

He tugged on it. “I’ll give it back once you’re done.”

Razor nodded approvingly at the pair. “All settled then? Let’s go. Remember, you can change your mind whenever you want. Pehton showed you. We can remove it after the gala if you like. But I think you should try it with at least one experience…” His soothing voice trailed off as they disappeared over the mezzanine. The smile in it one of mirth and comfort. Dressed incidentally flattering to his features.

Yes. The Pain Curator spun his web carefully. With even finer silk than he used for the wardens. Because Triss and Oleen weren’t at the prison. They were here. Like the others. All of Gait’s wardens served their master.

All but Pehton.