When I was fourteen years old, and had been training with blades for less than a year, my father caught me one night playing with some of his own prized weapons. I’d snuck down to his office in the small hours before the rest of the house was awake because my curiosity had long since driven me mad, the standing rule about none of us being allowed in there not scaring me off for a moment. There were various mementos displayed throughout our expansive mansion that we were only allowed to touch while supervised, but he’d long since ruled that I was not allowed to do so until my sword-master had told him I was ready. After more than six months of consistently beating three out of my four larger and supposedly more talented brothers in the circle, I was getting immensely frustrated that, as far as either of them were concerned, I still had work to do before I’d proven myself. So if I was going to break the rules, I might as well go all the way.

So I picked the lock, which I’d learned to do entirely on my own just out of my own curiosity a few months before, and snuck in there quiet as I could around three in the morning, when I was reasonably confident I wouldn’t see anyone else for a few hours yet. I remember spending a fair bit of time to begin with just snooping round the room once I’d lit a solitary candle in the corner, since I’d never actually been in here before and it was quite the novelty. I couldn’t make head nor tail of anything on the desk, the various scattered papers made no sense to someone who had so little real experience of the outside world as I did back then. But then the siren song of the various swords, knives and other blades hanging in his glass-fronted cabinet became too strong, and I tried a little more lock picking. This one was a bit more of a challenge, but ultimately only took me a minute or so longer than the last. And then I was in.

Most of what he had hanging in the rest of the house were just prizes of his various adventures in his youth, when he was a great knight in the service of Rundao, before he took his wounds and couldn’t fight anymore. It made him damn bitter much of the time, I know, he’d never talk about his adventures unless he was deep in his cups, and by the end of a heavy bout it would usually make him seethe enough to turn violent, so I’d usually duck out before it got too far. I was never that sure how much of it I really believed anyway.

The weapons he had in his office, though, were his own, either carried by him in battle or passed down from his own illustrious ancestors, or at least those that weren’t taken to the grave with them. It was all pretty fancy stuff, but it was his bastard sword that he prized highest, his pride and joy, the sword he was determined to take to have buried with him. Elven steel, but crafted to a more regimented martial design than normal blades of their type, which in a way made it all the more unique and exotic. It caught my eye quicker than any other that day, and I think I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.

Needless to say this was what I was wielding when he walked in on me, roused early for an emergency business meeting and come to collect some important file. And I was swinging it around with what he immediately took to be immense disrespect, even though I’m sure my form was as smooth and precise at it ever was in the circle.

He beat me bad enough I couldn’t leave my room for a week, I had to piss in my bedpan every time and wait for the chambermaid to remove it for me. I never got to touch any of the weapons on display in the house after that, even the ones out in the pen. Long after I’d proven I actually was the very best of his brood he still stuck to that punishment with increasingly petty bitterness, which is why when I left I took the sword with me instead of plumbing for one of the captured prizes like I’d always thought in the past.

I didn’t even bother picking the lock to get into the office that time. I just booted the door clean out of its frame and then broke the cabinet wide open. So he’d know how much of a point I was making about it.

Every time I tend to and clean this blade, there are a few moments when I just to smile a little over how much it tickles me that I took this away from that cruel old bastard. I was tempted to belch a whole lungful of fire into room before I left, just to let him know I’d finally mastered that little ability too, but I held short at it. I didn’t want to burn the whole place down, not with my siblings still in it. I only hate him, even now the rest of them just earn a varying range of dull dislike to relative indifference. Except maybe my big sister Kildrac. There’s times I still find myself missing her a little …

Setting aside the whetstone at last, I take a few moments to test the edges on last time, cautious as ever when my thumb as I go knowing how fiercely keen the elven crafting tends to keep it anyway. No need for more than gentlest passes here and there with the stone much of the time, just to keep the blade to a razor’s fineness at times like this, after a big fight like the one I had with that big woman. I check it over once more, just to make sure I haven’t missed any particularly fine nicks or dents while honing out the larger damage from that dwarven forged monster she was wielding.

Still a little rattled by how it just sprang back into shape after hitting that magic shield, any regular sword would’ve been a twisted mess after, or just snapped clean through. I have to supress a little shudder now at the thought.

Gods, she really was … but then I don’t know why I’m still surprised by just how deadly she clearly is. Kesla Shoon, the daughter of one of the finest warriors Rundao’s ever seen. His reputation alone makes my own father’s achievements look positively pathetic by comparison. And she clearly inherited every drop of talent from him along with his blood.

Earlier, I flat out asked young Gael Foxtail just how good she really is. I didn’t really expect them to actually answer me, any more than the rest of the questions I put to them, but in the end I think they gave me an honest answer simply to rattle me. She’s the best they’ve ever seen, no swordsman can stand against her. Apparently old Edhril taught her everything he knew, and I know full well he knew pretty much everything there is to know about warfare.

It doesn’t even sound like a lie to me, or exaggeration made by a friend, to make her seem more dangerous than she really is. It didn’t feel like anything else but the gods’ honest truth, simple and matter-of-fact. Like they were almost glad to tell me how fucked I’d be next time we cross swords …

To be honest, I found myself actually getting to like Gael Foxtail after talking to them for a time. They were rightly wary of me, of course, very guarded with their answers, but … they were polite with it too, and it became clear enough to me that it wasn’t just down to them being very careful not to offend me given their imprisonment. I have the feeling they’ve been raised to be civil and respectful no matter who the person they’re talking to is, but also I think it might be second nature to them anyway, just some quirk in their very character. It’s incredibly endearing, actually. In this way they remind me very much of Trouble.

They were certainly much more careful about the information they gave me outside of Kesla herself, but they let a few interesting titbits slip all the same, some I’m sure were intentional enough, meant to make me a little more nervous. They were happy enough to tell me about their golem, certainly … yes, that great complication is every bit as worrying to me as it was when I saw the great hulking thing appear from out of thin air on the Heath. Driver 8, as it’s known, is, according to them, almost uncannily aware of everything going on around it, and completely indestructible too, while also being easily strong enough to kill ogres with its bare hands. I had a little chuckle about that when I said that Suret seemed to do fine against it, although that was perhaps a little bit of an exaggeration on my part, but they just laughed me off in response. Apparently they’ve actually seen it do just that. That gave me genuine chills to hear …

While we were talking, they gave away more little slips which I’m sure were less intentional, just little inflections and clues here and there that I pieced together myself while we were talking, or later when I was going over everything I’d heard, and not heard. Like how the half-orc woman that ran Kuth so ragged, Shay, is new to the group, or that they themselves have a very strong personal connection to the bakaneko that Tham shot. And that he’s a genuine prowler, not just a talented merc. And not the only one in their group right now, too. Which complicates matters even more.

Also there seem to be more mages in their group than we originally expected too. They didn’t let anything slip about the other two spellcasters we fought on the Heath, but the way they were so guarded about that told me enough by its omission. Another particularly strong personal connection to both, it would seem.

Altogether, their core crew are a very tight knit group, but it’s clear enough that they’re bonding closely with the newcomers they’ve picked up in this as well. Gael seemed genuinely upset when they heard that Trouble had potentially killed one of the dwarves, and indeed this effectively ended our conversation because they became particularly upset and as much angry at me as grief-stricken. They slung a few choice admonishments my way before getting themselves under control enough to just stop talking entirely, but the way they were furiously seething when I finally left the room after a clumsy commiseration spoke just as loud to me. They lasted ten whole seconds after I’d closed the door behind me before I heard them through it, starting to openly weep, and it sounded harsh enough to make me feel very dark about my own part in that fight.

We took our leave of Vandryss and the rest directly after, I’d just had enough of that fear-stinking cellar and its oppressive atmosphere as much as her grating, offensive company. So we collected a now particularly hungover Riveck and beat a retreat to our apartments across town, the mood fractious between us the whole way. Once we got back I shut myself away in mine and Kuth’s room, determined to get some time to myself tending to my weapons while he went to get us some food, but mostly just spent the first ten minutes stewing in my own interminable frustration.

Taking care of my sword has, like always, helped me to gain some calm and focus again, but less than I’d really like. When I give up testing the edge and instead just hold out the sword at arm’s length, looking down the blade first one side and then the other to inspect it for fresh imperfections one last time, my mind’s still churning some underneath my focus. Not enough to distract me, but … damn it, I’m still restless as I let the sword settle on the folded blanket laid across my lap and give my hands a good shake. Working out the kinks before I move to the next step.

Reaching to the bedside table, I pick the pot of oil up while selecting a fresh rag from the bundle mostly by touch. I’m flicking the stopper free on its tether when the knock at the door comes, and I hold in the curse that wants to come mostly unbidden, even though I’m still instantly stiff from pure irritation at being so effectively interrupted. Even though it was so polite …

Kuth would just walk in, whether the door’s closed or not, so I know it can’t be him. The others know better than to bother me at these times, but if any of them dares to it’s invariably her. So I rein my frustration in and let my breath out in a little sigh as I shake some oil out into the rag after all, clearing my throat as I call out low: “It’s not locked, Trouble. You can just come in.”

A long, loaded moment passes before she turns the knob and pushes the door open, and even then it’s very hesitant. At first she leans in just enough to poke her face through so she can look in at me, checking to make sure I’m not about to jump up and lop her head off in anger, it feels like that the way she looks so reluctant. Gods, she gets so timid sometimes, even after all this time, in spire of all that capability and talent she has.

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Stop it.” I breathe it as gently as I can, not wanting it to sound remotely forceful, and I think it works to sound like a request rather than an order. “Just come in already. You know I don’t mind.”

Frowning deeper, she looks down at the floor as she draws up to a little more of her relatively diminutive height and pushes the rest of the way inside, quickly pushing the door to behind her but not closing it entirely. She stands there for a long beat, still awkward, seeming to be thinking about what to do next, and I let another sigh go as I just fiddle with the now oiled rag somewhat before carefully taking my sword up with my other hand and starting to polish the blade. Going smooth but slow, cautious as always of the edge but also respectful of the steel. Just like my swordmaster taught me.

Finally she steps over and, after a little last hesitation, very carefully settles at the far end of the bed, close as she dares while giving me room to work, I know. She’s not standoffish, of course, we’re good enough friends that she’s comfortable getting close to me, even hugging me when she feels confident enough to do it, but she’s very deferential too. So she carefully hitches herself up on top of the covers and mattress to perch the best she can on the edge, her feet dangling a little now while her slender tail with its shaggy tuft of black hair twitching back and forth between her ankles. The clearest indicator of her mood, of course.

For a few moments I just continue to work away, letting her settle, her own silence letting me know she’s waiting for me to speak first, but I just wait. I’m not looking at her now, concentrating on the job at hand instead, just vaguely watching her tail through the corner of my eye, but I’m sure she must be frowning deeper now. The way I hear her breathing entirely through her nose tells me her lips are set tight, letting me know there’s some greater urgency here I didn’t immediately pick up on before.

So I let another sigh go and carefully set the rag aside before turning the sword over to start on the other side, taking another deep breath before I look her way. “All right … what’s up? Did Riv’s healing not take as well as you’d hoped?”

She looks up now, blinking in surprise. “What? Oh … no, he’s all right … I fixed his arm just fine. He was annoyed again about the way I keep sobering him up, but that’s nothing new …” She looks down and frowns again, letting a heavy breath go through her nose. Thinking again, more decisive now. “No, it’s … Kuth’s back. He got the food, and he’s preparing something, but … he heard something while he was out. I think he may have been listening out for it, actually.”

I have to stop mid-swipe to keep from cutting myself by accident. Damn it, Kuth … I wanted to just ignore that bitch and all the problems she keeps dumping on us for a while, but of course you had to …

Taking another breath, I count down in my head and let it go slowly, grounding myself the best I can, just making sure I’m calm after all before I look up again. “That sounds about right, yeah. I didn’t ask him to do that, but –”

“He’s Kuth.” She nods, sighing again. “He can’t help it.”

For a moment I consider just setting the sword aside and heading out to ask him direct what he’s learned, but instead I stay put, not wanting to get worked up over it. So I loosen my fingers again, mindful I’ve made my hand particularly slick the way I’ve been squeezing the grease out of the rag, and work it round for a moment before continuing with what’s left of my cleaning. Clearing my throat before I speak again. “So what is it, then? Clearly he’s already told the rest of you, or you wouldn’t be so worked up. More than you’ve already been.”

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She almost doesn’t meet my eye at that, I can see it, but she manages to look for a moment before looking down and gritting her teeth. “Yeah, well … it’s really not good. Apparently Vandryss … it’s like you thought, out there. She did something ... awful. How she even did it I don’t … but it’s bad.”

Fuck. Fucking Vandryss … the way she peeled off after getting that information from Darion Foxtail, after dragging his child around more in front of him, yanking their hair, putting a knife to their throat at one point, just to ram it home for him, I hoped, but even then … it gives me chills to think on it, but more the glee she had in her face when she left the room, that made me feel sick to see it. She’d viciously cajoled a whole list of names out of him, and it worried me enough how many of them I actually recognised. I remember thinking at the time that there was no way that she’d actually go through with what I thought she might be planning on doing, Hontiresk would never stand for it, but …

Damn it. He’s changed since you saw him last, Dram. He’s still the same nasty, cold-blooded piece of work as before, but … no, the way she’s got her claws in him now, however subtly … she did it, clearly.

It takes me a few moments to get myself under control enough that the first word out of my mouth isn’t a particularly loud curse, but by then I’m already tossing the rag aside for the last time and lifting the sword from my lap again. Gripping the hilt a good deal tighter than I’d like as I pick up the scabbard and work hard at keeping my hands from shaking long enough to guide the blade home into it. Finally I just breath the word out anyway, but most of the worst venom’s eased off, at least … “Fuck … how many are dead?”

Trouble looks up at me, her eyes about as sad as I’ve ever seen them, as bad as they were yesterday when she was so cut up about the dwarf she’s likely killed. She opens her mouth to answer, but can’t seem to find the words. She’s got her fingers laced together now, fidgeting awkwardly as she frets over this, and she’s gnawing hard on her lip too, there’s a chance she might bite right through it soon if she gets any more worked up. “It’s … My Lady … oh shit, Dram, it’s a lot. There are … at least ten very important nobles, they’ve been … it was ugly, Kuth says. The folk he talked to said the townsguard didn’t know what to make of it, it’s nothing natural, something horrible happened to them all. And not just the nobles themselves, but … their families are dead too, and more besides. Most of them were in their homes at the time, and it sounds like …” Her breath hitches, not starting to weep but still catching badly as her voice fails her. As her words fail.

“So this … whatever it was that’s been doing it, it just killed everyone that was there? That’s what they’re saying?”

When her eyes track down to look at my hands, I realise that I’m still gripping my sword tight, the right on the hilt while the left is squeezing the scabbard hard enough to make the leather creak. It’s all I can do to pry them loose again, careful to let the weapon settle on my lap again as I take another deep breath to ground myself.

“Um … I’m sorry, but … yes.” She licks her lips, further betraying her nerves. “Perhaps indirectly, I mean … there’s no real way for anyone to be sure that it’s really her work, since this was clearly some kind of fell supernatural … thing, but …” She trails off, again unable to keep eye contact.

Snapping the sword home in its sheath, I toss it roughly behind me and look down at my hands, still visibly shaking as they threaten to turn into real claws. When I speak I have to do it through tightly clenched teeth. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Do you?”

Letting a heavy sigh go, she slumps entirely, her shoulders drooping as badly as her head as she continues to wring her hands. “No … of course not.”

“The people who are dying, or at least the most obvious targets among these great … piles of dead this … whatever it is has been leaving behind, they’re all nobles, yes? High-ranking ones? And among the more … upstanding citizens among the city’s highborn, I’d imagine.” I give up fighting now and just let my fingers curl into fists after all, keeping them balled close in my lap. “More than a few of them would have been veterans of the Wars, wouldn’t they?”

She looks up again, and doesn’t seem anywhere near as surprised as she should have been in the face of this supposition. She’s still just sad, but with an edge now. Something sharper. It feels almost like guilt. “Yes … the majority of them, in fact. And the rest … according to Kuth, the rest would certainly have been sympathetic to the veterans.”

“Which is exactly what I gathered from the list of names Vandryss pulled out of Foxtail when she used his child as leverage.” I pry my teeth apart now, having to really work at it, but I need to work my mouth now, the urge to spit’s so strong it feels like I’m chewing on something genuinely vile now. “That fucking psychopath …”

Pushing myself up, I start for the door, then stop myself short of it, halting on the spot for a long beat as I go over things in my head. My head’s racing with a thousand thoughts at the moment and I’m fighting hard to get some focus into it, but right now …

When I turn back I see Trouble’s watching me very carefully, and maybe there’s a little nervous worry in her expression again this time. Like she’s extremely wary of saying the wrong thing in case she shakes a particularly bad reaction loose. It hurts me seeing it, I’ve never wanted her to have any reason to be afraid of me, despite what she knows about my past, what I’ve done, what I’m capable of. The reasons Ixen still defers so readily to me in spite of his own strong alpha male tendencies …

Forcing my fingers to loosen, I wave her down the best I can, but it feels as half-hearted as it must look, I just can’t muster enough will to be convincing right now, shook as I am by this development. I am angry, that’s the problem, I’m fucking furious, I’m ready to fucking kill and I’m itching for a target, and I know exactly who I want that to be, but right now it makes me extremely dangerous to be around, and Trouble’s instincts are too strong for her to miss it. No wonder she’s so skittish around me now.

“No … no, that’s … it’s all right, Trouble. I’m not …” I let the breath I really don’t want to be holding go and it comes out in a sharp hiss, and I can feel how hot the air is, the way it steams as I spit it out. It’s a bad enough sign on its own, that … “Shit.”

She doesn’t answer me, simply looking down instead, visibly demurring so she can appear good and passive to me now, and I feel a sharp stab of shame through me that kills some of the fury in me dead on the spot. Not enough to cool me down, but … well, at least it’s enough to take the edge off, perhaps let me get a grip on my temper again and force myself to just chill.

So I pull in another deep breath, feeling the air in my chest blazing hot as it builds, and again I take a moment to count down good and slow in my head before finally moving again. Even so, when I step towards the bed again, even though I’m not approaching her Trouble still shies from me as I come. I almost freeze seeing that, but instead it just makes my step falter, and I have to skip a little bit to avoid tripping as I keep moving.

First I pluck up one of the cleaner cloths from the stack I’ve laid out with the rest of my kit and shake it out, breathing a little less ragged now as I work on getting my air under control and a good deal cooler than it is inside the furnace my chest’s becoming. I really don’t need to start spitting flames by accident right now. Once I’ve got the cloth loose I do my best to wipe the oil off my fingers and palms, concentrating as much on this simple task as I can in the hope it might calm me down further. Even so, I become aware of Trouble settling on the bed again, likely deciding now I’m not any real danger to her after all. Meanwhile I try to convince myself of the same thing.

“Um … yeah, I’m sorry about that, Trouble. I really am all right. I promise.” There’s not so much growl in my voice now, nowhere near the threat there was before, and my breath feels cooler now, no more smoke or steam pushing out as I speak. “Listen, I have to go out for a little bit. I think …” I pause, shaking one hand out while I ball the cloth up in the other, taking another breath. “Um … yes, I think that would …” My words falter, and I just turn to her instead, hoping I don’t look fierce any more either. “I think you should come with me. Are you all right with that?”

This time she just frowns, seeming as surprised as she is perturbed, as if she doesn’t quite understand what I’ve just asked. “Are sure … wouldn’t Kuth be better to watch you back? He’s your second, and besides –”

“No, I don’t think that would work. I need someone I can trust to keep a level head no matter what. I could pick Ix, but …”

“Oh no, he wouldn’t do at all.” She shakes her head, the hints of a smile touching her lips now, and weak and rueful as it might be it’s good to see it. “No, he’s just … Ix can keep a level head just fine and he’ll still murder someone without any provocation at all. No, you’re right. I suppose it should be me.” She starts to push herself up too, then slumps once more, her face falling again. “I mean … I should be the right choice, but …”

“Hey!” I step right to her now, and at least this time she doesn’t cringe away like I might have expected after her previous reaction, so I can put my hand on her shoulder and give it the softest, most hesitant squeeze while I try to keep my voice gentle. “Hey, come on … no, I won’t have that. You’re the toughest person I know, and you have the most level head by far out of all of us. You’re right, you are the right choice for this. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want anyone else backing me up right now.”

Tucking a couple of fingers under her chin, I lift and turn her face toward me again, instantly seeing how nervous she is again, but in a different way now. “I mean it, that’s enough of that shit. You took a knock before, but you’re tough as hell. Don’t worry about this thing, I’m not going out looking for a fight right now. I promise.”

For a long beat she just watches me, wary still, but finally her face hardens and she gives a cool nod. “All right. Yes. I’m good.”

While she makes a far more successful attempt to stand up this time, plucking her sword up from where she left it leaning against the table, I retrieve my own and start unravelling the belt again, taking time with it so I can focus on the task and make sure I do it right. I’m mostly done strapping it on when I finally look up and find her frowning at me as she watches what I’m doing.

“I thought … you just said we weren’t going looking for –”

“We’re not. Trust me.”

Once I’ve got the sword cinched and let it hang in its best spot at my hip, I turn back to look the rest of my gear over for a moment, thoughtful again. Mindful of what I’m about, I consider the rest of my blades with a more critical eye. I know I said I’m not looking for a fight, but … that being said, I’d be a moron not to plan for eventualities all the same.

So I retrieve the two stilettos and slip them into their concealed holsters under my bracers, then instead of wasting more time shrugging back into the rest of my leather armour I simply duck over to the chair and pick through my pack. Finding my shortest, most lightweight jacket, I shake it out and then drag it on, taking a final moment to check the slits in both sleeves are still open, ready in case I need to get at the stilettos fast. Then I come back to the bed and grab one of my medium knives, slipping it into the corresponding slot in the inside lining on the right side of my jacket.

Trouble’s still giving me a complicated look, like she’s genuinely questioning if I really meant what I just said to her, but I just shrug as I reach up and shake my hair out from under the collar. I can’t be bothered binding the plait back up into its bun again, so I just let it hang down my back, taking a beat the brush my bangs to either side of my face.

“Come on, then. I have a bone to pick, however carefully I might plan on doing it.”

I can feel Trouble wanting to speak up at that but holding her tongue instead as I step past her out of the room, and just carry on into the corridor, trusting her to follow. There are the usual sounds of conversation from the lounge, immediately letting me know most of the group are in there, but I keep going past it instead, instead heading towards the front of the apartment. Approaching the door, and the turnoff into the kitchen.

For a beat I consider just stepping straight out without saying a word, but instead I slow my steps at the last and instead take the turn down the short passage next to the main door, into the kitchen. I can hear the clatter of crockery within, so I just take a breath and step through, just in time for Kuth to stop in his tracks the moment he turns round with a full platter of food in his hands, surprised to see me.

“Oh! I thought …” He frowns, clearing his throat, and steps forward after all. “I was –”

“Never mind.” I hold my hand up, feeling a little sheepish now but hiding it well enough as I just try to keep my voice cool and gentle. “I’m sorry, I know you’re making an effort. But we’re going out after all, so –”

He looks down at the food in front of him for a beat as he listens to me, and his frown deepens. He’s not exactly a spectacular cook, but he knows how to pull off the basics, so he’s stuck to his few strengths, clearly having gone out for food that he doesn’t have to put too much thought into. So the platter’s heaped with sandwiches, fresh sliced bread rolls filled with thick slices of salt pork or beef, some with scraps of lettuce and tomato, but others without, likely very much in deference to Ixen’s far more carnivorous preference. This food’s for the whole group, but at the end of the day I know full well he’s gone to all this effort mostly just for me.

“But I thought …” He shuffles his feet for a moment, awkward now, as he looks back up. Not quite pouting, but he’s put out all the same, and I start to regret the decision a little. “Right now? You ain’t had anything to eat since –”

“Yes, I know. But this needs to be addressed, what’s happening …” I let out a particularly heavy sigh this time. “I have to deal with this shit that she’s doing. It’s a problem, and –”

“All right, well gimme a minute and I’ll –” He starts to move forward again, likely planning on inching past me so he can deliver the food, but I just step into his path, holding up my hand now.

“No, I’m going with Trouble. I’m not going to see Vandryss, I’m going to see Hontiresk.”

Cocking his head, he just considers me for a moment. “That’s not … I don’t see why that would make any difference, though. I though he was thick as thieves with her. Why would it make any difference?”

“Because he wanted us to do this quietly, that was supposed to be, like the whole point. Instead, from the sound of it she’ just went and murdered half of the Hill since yesterday. With … whatever fucked up dark shit she’s got her fingers stuck in. That is pretty bloody loud, if you ask me. He can’t be all right with that.”

“Well, I still think I should be the one –”

“No, please, I’d rather you sat out on this one. Get some rest and some food, along with the others. There shouldn’t be any danger out there.”

He just keeps frowning at me. “I dunno, after what happened the other night …”

“How the hell are they ever going to find us? They have no way to even start.” This doesn’t seem to perk him up any more than anything else I’ve said, so instead I simply duck in around the platter and give him a kiss on the cheek. I seem to take him a little by surprise, but instead of stiffening, as I pull back he instead lunges in and plants a fuller one right on my lips. It takes me so unguarded that I don’t even think about responding, so he presses it tight and holds it for a long beat, lips parting now, and this finally spurs me into my own action.

I don’t kiss him too deep, with the tray still in his hands it’s an awkward position, but I open my lips and turn my head all the same, letting his tongue slip into my mouth and responding in kind. It’s quick and a bit stiff and clumsy, but I still have to fight hard just to pull myself away from him. He has to take a breath when I break away, but I just give my lips a firm little brush with my tongue, definitely wishing I could do more than that now, and I’m sure he’s feeling much the same as he adjusts his stance a good deal more self-consciously now. I just step back, but then hold for a beat, considering, before coming back and grabbing two of the sandwiches from the pile.

“I’ll be back soon.” Stepping back past Trouble as she frowns up at me before heading over to grab a roll for herself too, I skip back out of the kitchen before he can reply, heading straight for the exit. Trusting her to catch up, I just keep going as I slip the locks, bolts and chain, pulling the door open and ducking out without a pause, not slowing until I’m out in the corridor beyond.

Now I start taking stock of my surroundings. It’s still morning, late enough at least that most of the city’s already left for work or whatever long since, but there are voices around the worn, ratty interior of the building all the same. Mostly coming from below, the sound of children mostly, I think, but when I listen out I can pick up at least one low muffled conversation through the wall to my right. Nothing that sounds any different from what I might have expected stepping out of the door at this time of day. Certainly no threat.

When Trouble comes through and closes the door behind me, taking a moment to turn some of the locks again before pocketing her own key and turning my way, I’ve already moved off towards the stairs, taking my time now as I tear a hungry bite from one of my own rolls. Pork, with lettuce and a particularly juicy slice of tomato, and the bread’s soft and fresh, but with a rewarding crunch to the crust. It’s all I can do to savour it instead of just wolfing the rest down in one go, now I’ve remembered my appetite.

“You’re really sure about this?” she asks now as she catches up, falling into step as I swallow the mouthful and take the turn to start stepping down the stairs. “He’s right, I mean … after what happened, what we just did …”

“No. I’m not. Not really.” I fight the urge to sigh again, instead just biting off another mouthful and plunging on, watching my step now so I don’t take a tumble and choke myself to death like an idiot. “Of course I’m thinking about that too. But I have to try. You do see that, don’t you?”

For a few moments she doesn’t answer, instead seeming to mull it over as she keeps pace as we continue our descent. Not frowning so much now, but still so serious …

Finally she just lifts her own sandwich and takes a similarly heaty bite, looking pretty dogged and relentless now, I realise. “Yeah, I suppose I do. I’m with you, boss. All the way.”