{Gait}

Rejuvenated. That’s the word Pehton wanted to use to describe this feeling. She returned to Gait after visiting the Progeny and all their happy-huggy shit. Scaring Celindria out of Kyle with the threat of physical violence. Helping the heroes plan a counter-strategy.

Electric. Intense. Morale restored. Awesome.

Now what?

The Executive Warden pushed through the revolving door to Razor’s Emporium of Exotic Experiences without a plan of her own. Just pure optimism, a pack of goodies, and a full mail of Lyriki armor. Battle-ready.

And what did she expect to fight?

The swirling menagerie of cocktail gowns and tuxes swirling around the main dance floor? The degenerates getting their rocks off in the booths?

An attack on the Pain Curator was anything but straight-forward. He didn’t condescend to violence. His front was far more complicated.

Under the whiskey-lit chandeliers and over the polished parquet hardwood, Pehton crossed into the addition. The antiqued mirrors captured her in frames of decay. A line of fancy people waited outside the Divine Booths exclusive to King Rayne’s pain. Totally immersive, Razor charged one billion credits per experience. And they paid it—

A rough hand jerked her by the pack. With a “yip,” the Executive Warden staggered clumsily on her heeled boots into a regular booth. “Hey! What the fuck?! Oh. Matt.”

The auburn-haired human with an impressive freckle count placed a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

A loud group with an obnoxious laugher passed by the door before he closed it. After the guffaws dried up around the corner, he pointed to a notebook used for writing on Earth. With the paper hidden from the camera, he started the clandestine analog rendezvous with:

I have an opening. Can you break Korac out and free Kyle’s sisters? They’re in the basement with the Numbered.

The Numbered. The undercover moniker for slaves and indentured servants tortured in the Emporium’s sinister basement. Staff abused them to load their nacres with experiences that Razor later harvested and sold on the pain market. A monopoly of vice.

Bought on the slave market, the Pain Curator subjected Bethany, the youngest sister, to the Wrong Side of Eternity for the last two years. Now he planned the same fate for the oldest sister, Ross.

This was the righteous crusade Pehton wanted. She wrote:

I need Razor’s key.

Matt dropped it on the table.

Pehton beamed at him.

I’m in. When?

The ginger grabbed her wrist so suddenly she met his eyes sharply. Strange young man. The attractive fringe cut of his auburn hair and the expansive freckling all over his sturdy frame should disarm her.

But his eyes. So dark, she always thought they were black. But no. A cold brown. Dead inside. It riled her feathers with a shiver down her spine.

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

Something was very wrong with Matthew Anderson.

On the paper, he warned:

If we’re caught, he’ll make me kill you. And I might if it means I’ll live to save the Numbered at a later opportunity.

Pehton knew her eyes widened. His candor was so startling. And she understood it. Hell, even appreciated it. But some part of her questioned if that was Sagan’s fate. Nodding, she confirmed:

When?

Tomorrow, he leaves for Earth. But that errand won’t take long. In three days, we attend the Night Rayne show. I can keep him there all day.

All day. That gives her time to free Korac and get those people out. Which raised a question:

What do we do with the Numbered once they’re free?

Leave that to me. In two days, get me in with Korac. We’ll plan specifics. Until then, try to keep Razor appeased. He likes you, but he likes you more when you’re riled.

The Executive Warden smiled.

Astute, aren’t you?

Matt grinned with genuine mirth.

It’s been said. Don’t associate with me again for two days. I’ll do what I can to limit the activity downstairs, but I don’t make any promises.

Last month, following this human’s lead would qualify as hitting rock bottom. But comparing her lonely existence on Gait to the Shadow family on Earth and Cinder—maybe hanging with the humans wasn’t so bad. They promised to help her find her children. And then Pehton would gain a family and some closure.

Understood. Don’t die.

U 2.

He left her alone in the booth. Pehton stared at the smooth alloy equipment in shades of charcoal and gunmetal. The port input judged her. Razor manipulated the Lyrik’s experience with the technology to convince Sagan to install one. Without explaining the extenuating circumstances from two and a half million years ago, the Seamswalker only learned half the story.

Shattered by the disappearance of her children, the freshly appointed Executive Warden accepted the Pain Curator’s comforting offer to revisit the memory and investigate the phenomenon known as Inanis. But it cost her. Eventually, he came to collect on that debt.

“Flagship my new upgrades, the nacre port, and I’ll grant you two hundred free memory dives. I’ll remove the implant afterward with no scarring.”

Dives cost ten thousand credits each. How could she say no? With Kyle’s recent help, she learned Razor tampered with her memory so that Pehton forgot the twins’ faces. Without access to these booths, her memory displayed the children as empty, non-existent voids. She couldn’t even trust the authenticity of the faces in the dive Razor sold her.

Corrupted. Damaged. Wrong.

The Executive Warden gripped the chain Dr. Suarez entrusted to her. Family. She wasn’t really into repeating the “We will always remain” line. That was a smidgen too culty. But she otherwise dug their wholesome vibe.

Bolstered with renewed purpose, Pehton exited the booth. Beyond the dancing crowd, Matt climbed the spiral wrought-iron staircase to the mezzanine. Razor and Triss emerged from his suites after another marathon session downstairs. Curiously, the auburn-haired security detail kept close to the former Executive Warden. This pleased the Pain Curator, if the congenial smile in the human’s direction was any indication. The same smile he gave the Traitor Prince, Xelan, once upon a Verse.

Why would he place a bodyguard on Triss? Pehton filed that question away to ask Matt another time.

Triss spotted her from the second floor and glared with those hard, yellow eyes. Moving to the stairs, Razor took her hand and led her down. After Pehton discovered their relationship, they recently went more public with it. And by public, she meant occasionally caught fucking around the Emporium, regardless of its occupancy. The entire building stank of roses and vanilla. They had sex as if their lives depended on it.

Gait’s royal couple headed for Pehton, followed by their disloyal human guard.

Get back in Razor’s good graces. Buy a window for Matt to rendezvous in the big cell two days from now. Save the Numbered.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Razor, I brought you a present.” Pehton retrieved a parcel from her pack and held it out for him.

Those cognac eyes sparkled with delighted curiosity. As he accepted the wrapped volume, the Pain Curator raised a questioning brow. Matt kept his face schooled in neutral at Triss’ side. She glared suspiciously at her successor.

The Executive Warden plastered on a coy smile and confessed, “It’s Nox’s Verse. I want us to be friends again.”

Razor’s eyes widened significantly as he opened the massive tome. After thumbing through a few pages, he stepped up to her, cupped a nail-less hand behind her nape, and pressed his forehead to hers.

Genuine appreciation. Almost like a family.

“Welcome home, Peh Peh.”