{Gait}

Four Lyriki guards flanked Pehton as she stepped from the lift into Infernus. The pound of their uniformed boots shook the floor and echoed off the walls. The lithe females with their pitch-black skin and feathers in varying shades of fire brandished nacre rifles with permission to fire on command. The carbon walls drank the perimeter lights, leaving them in near darkness.

Pehton smirked. Good thing Lyriks upgraded to night vision two million years ago. Fire alarms blared as they searched the first hall. The flashing white and red lights alerted the prisoners of their fate. The nacre shields to their cells remained intact. As the name of the floor implied, they could burn.

This block contained twelve cells. Three on each hall. Six inmates. Once triggered, the floors of their cells opened up and swallowed them into pits. Twelve feet deep.

“Check them,” Pehton ordered as she walked over to Korac’s cell. She peered in, expecting to find their tallest prisoner mildly irritated in his metal grave.

Nothing. Empty.

“Wait!” She held up a fist with her orange glider flared.

They stopped before rounding the corner, alert.

Pehton refused to panic. She was the Executive Warden. Slick tricks from one prisoner who promised she’d find him out of his cell couldn’t intimidate her.

“I’ll go first.”

“Remember this conversation. No. Additional. Charges.”

So earnest. So confident. So god damned irritating.

Pehton turned the corner with a fierceness riding in her wake.

There he was. The Icarean General leaned against a wall beneath a smoke detector in the ceiling. The flare of the cigarette as he took a drag illuminated silver eyes set in a distractingly handsome face. He didn’t inhale before blowing a smoke ring at the censor.

The white jeans and black t-shirt complimented the casual hand in one pocket and the flick of the ashes onto the paneled floor. When Korac dared to meet Pehton’s eyes, he smirked.

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“A cell which could not hold me unless I wanted it to.”

Oh, she seethed.

“Now, now, Executive Warden.” He dropped the cigarette and smashed it under a pair of black sneakers. “We had an arrangement.”

Pehton tossed her head at the guards. “Check the other cells. I’ll handle him.”

Korac shook a finger. “I’m sure Sagan won’t appreciate your choice of words.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and fought not to groan. “I don’t know how you got out, or where the hell you got those clothes, but I’m warning you. Don’t get on my bad side.”

“You’re absolutely right. No disrespect meant, Executive Warden.” He snatched the cigarette butt from under his shoe and shoved it in the pack. Then he held out his fist, squeezed at the wrists. “I’ll be good. For now.”

A genuine smile this time. Not a smirk. It suited him.

Right. The cigarette smoke smelled nasty, and Pehton wrinkled her nose as she gripped his bicep. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

Korac let her take him back. He knew it. She knew it. How did he get out?

As the question clawed at her, Pehton noted the state of his room. Sheets and blanket strewn across the floor. Pillows tossed aside. With raised brows, she turned to him, “I figured you more for the neat type.” As soon as Pehton lowered the nacre-resistant shield, Korac glided gracefully inside.

He sat on the bed and shrugged. “You caught me on an off day.” The General looked up then, waiting.

The Icarus expected Pehton to ask about his magic trick. But she knew he’d gain satisfaction from withholding the answer from her. No sense in playing a game she couldn’t win.

She shook her head at him.

And. He. Pouted.

Rolling her eyes, Pehton turned to the stomping of the wardens’ boots. The Lyriki guards assembled down the hall and marched for the lift. “Executive Warden, Infernus block is clear. All six prisoners accounted for.”

“Good job, ladies. Let’s head out.” When she glanced back at Korac’s cell, the man sat utterly dejected on the edge of his bed. The faker. “Korac, stay put if you want your breakfast in the morning.”

“Executive Warden.”

She turned back to him and inclined her head.

“Are you honoring our arrangement?” He looked serious with eyes like snowfall on a winter’s eve. Was he developing trust in her?

This situation confused and infuriated her. Under Celindria’s command, Pehton neutralized and delivered the First Wave Progeny to hands far worse than the man in that cell. A girl barely in her breath of existence lay in a glass box with her blood siphoned from her every hour on the hour. Meanwhile, Razor made a fortune off Rayne’s pain.

Two and a half million years ago, when Pehton fought her way through the ranks before earning Executive Warden status, this wouldn’t phase her. Pehton, herself, committed unspeakable acts worthy of the big cell. But after Inanis—

Pehton turned away. “Good night, General Korac.”

“See you, tomorrow, Executive Warden.”

The Lyrik paused at the lift and wondered what it meant that she actually looked forward to it.