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Headache. Dizzy. Sagan groaned, unwilling to open her eyes. Something heavy landed on her. Landed? Why landed?

The explosion. The last thing she remembered was the wall of fire, Razor threw them out of the way, and… the Seam. The firm stone beneath acknowledged it. Sagan opened her eyes and… cried out.

The Seam. The stone everywhere she looked was purple. Like her eyes. Startled, she tried to sit up and finally examined the heavy weight anchoring her down.

Razor groaned at her jerky movements where he fell on top of her.

In the Seam.

Razor was in the Seam with her.

Sagan didn’t cry out. She screamed.

Her voice echoed through the cathedral and startled him awake. He gazed around, unawares and possibly concussed given their circumstances. The moment he looked down and saw himself laying on her, he quickly moved off and onto his back with another groan and a wince.

“If I apologize, will you promise not to scream again? No one will hear you, anyway.” He sighed and covered his eyes with one hand. “Are you all right, Seamswalker?”

“That depends on your definition of all right. How. The hell. Are you here, Razor?”

He frown-squinted at her, perplexed. That’s when she noticed the hand at his face. The nails beds were bleeding. Yellow.

Rudely, she pointed at him and accused, “You’re a Thailean Mystic.” She held up his hand as evidence known to her from Nox’s Verse. “I thought you were all short.”

Razor chuckled. Inappropriate given their circumstances. “I assure you, I’m no priest.” Stiffly and with many grunts, he rolled over and pushed himself onto his feet. He took in their surroundings. “Monarch Hall. It’s been a while.” Gazing down at Sagan, he sighed. “How could I ever forget that shade of purple? I need only look in your eyes to see it.” He offered a silk-wrapped tan hand.

Between them, his whip lay on the floor. Two-pronged. In Nox’s Verse, the King of Cinder, Nox, gifted his General a two-pronged whip. Korac later used it to punish Celindria. It couldn’t be…

In the middle of a personal crisis, Sagan reached for her chain. All she found was the cover on her nacre port. She closed her eyes in defeat when she found it missing and remembered Matt kept it for her. No axes either. How could she be so naïve?

“No harm will befall you. I swear. And not only because I need your help to leave this place.”

The Seamswalker opened her eyes to find the Pain Curator smirking down at her, hand outstretched like a lifeline. She could walk out of here and leave him to die.

As if he read the thought behind her eyes, he knelt to level his gaze with hers. “Ask yourself what’s changed since you trusted me at the gala. I’ve done nothing to you. I won’t. Now you know I’m different from others you’ve met before, but you already suspected that.”

“I want answers. Honest answers, Razor.”

He gave her a genuine smile at that. “I owe you that much.”

Sagan searched the cathedral beyond him and reached out her hand. “But not here.”

He clasped it, and they stood together. Peering about, the tightness in his shoulders implied the Seam made him as uneasy as her. “My suite in the Emporium. It’s the only place I know without Imminent surveillance. And here…”

She shook her head and fought a shiver, unwilling to stay. “We’re making a stop first.” Sagan walked them out of the Seam and into the coat check at the gala.

They stood close to prevent unwanted attention. He smiled at her once more. “Of course, you’d return for it. He is a very lucky Icarus.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I love him, Razor. I’m like this with the people I care about. Do you understand what it is to love someone? To be foolish and risk yourself for a jacket because it belongs to them. Because it holds meaning between us?”

“Your innocence is enthralling.” He searched her eyes with utter emptiness in his own.

Sagan’s heart broke with Razor’s words. Irredeemable. A small fraction of her held out hope she could sway him to the Shadow’s side. To work for good. In that moment, her disappointment decided for her. She’d never save him, and it was never up to her, anyway. He was no friend of hers.

With that knot in her gut, the Seamswalker snooped around the closets until she found Korac’s coat. She spared a few risky seconds to breathe deep of his scent and reveled in it. A man worth fighting beside.

She found Razor across the way retrieving his coat, and that’s when they heard a sound neither of them appreciated. Celindria’s voice cut through the halls. “Eminent Wiw is dead.”

They froze and stared at one another with wide eyes. Before they overheard more, several Mon3 drones dispersed and swept the area. Without another moment’s hesitation, Sagan took Razor’s hand and led them to the mezzanine at the Emporium. He took her into a vault big enough to stand inside. There, he sank into a blacked-out staircase in the floor. She followed, confident in her ability to Seamswalk if shit went sideways.

The “suite” spanned the entire bottom floor of the main Emporium. Steps led down to an Olympic-sized bed with shiny white sheets. She tried not to notice they were the same sheets she bought for Korac’s bed. Her cheeks burned.

Razor led her to an equally impressive desk that might double as a boardroom table. All the while, he stripped out of his jacket, unfastened and rolled up his sleeves, and ran a hand through his bright red hair. Mussed. When he started unbuttoning his collar, she worried he meant to strip entirely.

He caught the look on her face and smirked. “So skittish. I think I’ll call you Pain Kitten.”

If Korac suggested the name, Sagan might like it. But given the supplier, she only shook her head. “You wish.”

With a chuckle, he threw himself in his enormous chair and leaned back with his boots on the desk. Arms folded, he put it to her, “What would you like to cover first?”

“How can you be in the Seam?” This mattered to Sagan. Until recently with the voices, the place was so lonesome and empty to her. None of her friends could join her there.

He took his boots off the desk and leaned across it, meeting her eyes. “I was born there. Impossibly long ago. I won’t bore you with the entire story. The people I hail from originated in the Seam and eventually migrated to Thailea. The people known as Aegis.”

Sagan never heard of such a race. “How many of you are there? Where are the rest?”

“I am the last.”

She recoiled despite herself and spiraled on the proper way to respond. Eventually, she offered, “My condolences. May I ask how it happened?”

“You may ask me whatever you wish to know. We were hunted and exterminated like vermin. Which is why I’m not forthcoming with the information. And also why my rank in Imminent is so significant. Very little prevents Celindria from reducing my contributions to nothing and painting me as unnecessary to the cause. As expendable.”

“About Imminent… Razor, I need you.”

At her words, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them again, the irises twirled. “Whatever you want, I’ll grant you. I only ask for your discretion in return.”

Lean into it. “I want full dossiers on every known agent of Imminent.”

He stood up so abruptly it startled her. He shook his head to disguise the delight at her “skittishness” but not very well. A second vault stood sentinel along the wall beyond his desk. Opening it with a retinal scan, he stepped inside for only a moment before returning with a drive of some sort.

“Any Enki tech console can read this. The password is Aegis Atheneum. It contains what you seek.”

That word. From the Seam. It all pieced together with Razor at the center of the puzzle.

He handed it to her. But when she took it, he held onto his end. They gazed at one another over the precious device.

“I wrote it when I first heard you came looking for me two years ago. You were everything I’d hoped you would be and for that I’m grateful to you, Seamswalker.”

Staring into his eyes left her dizzy. Or maybe the shock of surviving an explosion. Or maybe the discovery of an entirely unknown race with ties to the Seam.

System overload.

Razor touched her elbow to steady her and offered, “You can stay here tonight. I’ll sleep upstairs. Matt will guard you.”

Exhausted, Sagan looked at the bed. So close. No doubt comfortable. But then she remembered whose bed it was and the leather bundle she held in her arms. “I appreciate the offer, but I need to report to my family and return this to Korac.”

“Come here anytime you need shelter. My life is in your hands now, Seamswalker. There are few games left to play between us.”

Sagan shook her head, disheartened. Genuinely, she asked, “Why couldn’t you be a good guy, Razor? Why did you have to be a villain?”

For the first time, Razor smiled in a way she would actually describe as sexy in its devilish charm. “Because villainy produces far greater thrills and even richer rewards.” Then he gently took Sagan’s hand and pressed the back of it to his lips.

Rolling her eyes, she withdrew her hand and stepped into the Seam. “Good night, Razor.”

Bone and shadow once more, she gazed at the empty world. Aegis. She thought of a hundred more questions to ask him, but not tonight. The drive mattered more.

As if he sensed her thoughts, Razor’s voice resonated from the ceiling. “Good night, my Pain Kitten.”

Why did part of Sagan take comfort in it?