Domrik sat slumped on the cot, staring at the opposite concrete wall, his eyes finding pareidolic patterns in the grungy texture. The echoes of argument played out in darker corners of his mind. The voices weren't his.

Minni insisted they keep the bow hidden. It was too great of an asset to lose.

Commander Marr pointed out they couldn't risk sheltering a known criminal. Domrik had to be turned in immediately.

She started ranting about the recordings.

He cut her off, shouting that the recordings merely damned Domrik further.

Domrik remembered watching tensely from the side, uncertain of who he wanted to win the argument. Into which version of hell would he be banished?

Even Lieutenant Avosta backed Minni's case, but it was no use. The argument ended when Marr threatened to court martial them for obstruction of justice. He'd caught the Commander's victorious look as he was escorted out of the room in cuffs. The twinkle in his eye indicated there was more to his argument than he'd revealed. He had a plan. Domrik knew his plan. He wished he didn't.

At some point, a security guard showed up and unlocked the iron door. "Someone is here to see you."

He sprung off the cot, his body slamming him with painful protests all over. The battle had been a workout and a half. The breakfast he'd been fed was pitiful. The caloric intake wasn't enough, and the macros were way off. He was sure none of it was organic.

He was escorted to the visiting room. Kelly was already waiting on the other side of the glass. A circular speaker was embedded near the bottom. He had to assume it would be recording the conversation it mediated. He would have to be careful with his words again.

Kelly's swirl of conflicted emotion hit him about as hard as the uncomfortable metal chair in which he sat. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. She sniffed, the edges of her eyes irritated from tears. "Do you regret it?"

He sighed. "Good morning to you, too."

She paused for several seconds, her eyes flicking occasionally from one side of the booth to the other. He clued into what she was trying to do, but he didn't think it would work. He was a bit too tired for the precise tuning required by telempathy. Their general spread of frequencies were too different from each other. None of their conversation would be secret.

He looked at her intently. "Jase?"

"Yes," she said instantly, as if she were waiting for the question.

"Good," he muttered.

"Are you going to answer my question?" she asked, irritated.

"No," he said, then suppressed a smirk when he added, "I don't regret it."

"What purpose did it serve?"

He leaned back and stretched, his gaze sliding away from hers as he considered his answer. "More than you can imagine. Did you talk to Jase?"

He knew that question was a risk, but if she played along and kept her answer vague enough, Jase wouldn't be implicated.

She nodded. He nodded back. How much of the true situation she understood, he couldn't tell. "Did he not want to come?"

"He said he had obligations."

Domrik narrowed his eyes. "I don't remember him having class this early."

"I don't think it's class." She gave him a knowing look. He knew she wanted him to understand something, but his foggy mind came up with nothing.

He shrugged. "Tell him I said hi."

"He says thanks in return," she added, gazing through one of the booth walls.

Domrik leaned forward in realization. "He needs to talk to Eleanor and spill everything he knows."

Kelly furrowed her brow. "Why Eleanor?"

"She'll know what to do."

She frowned at the circular speaker, and he sensed a pulse of irritation. She hated these vague answers. "I'll let him know."

"Thank you."

"Hector knows."

The statement hit him like a slap, and his face reddened accordingly. "How did he take it?"

"Jase in the car when Hector was radioed. He said he lost all ability to talk for about ten minutes. Then he let loose the longest string of swear words known to man."

He lowered his head as he fought down a bubble of laughter. "He didn't deserve to know this soon. The man's still struggling with the loss of Adam."

She nodded. "The Norallis family knows, too."

"The Norallis family," Domrik repeated. "Brandon, too? They found Brandon?"

"He was with Jase."

Domrik sat back in the chair, letting the new information integrate with what he already knew. "Wow. How is he?"

"I haven't seen him personally since his last visit to the Haven Center. Apparently, he's still sane enough to drive a car."

"Good. Good… How many people know?"

"Everyone. Reporters have been haunting his front yard for the past few hours."

"I meant about me."

"Beyond me, Jase, Hector, and the Norallis's, I don't know. There's nothing on the news. You're being overshadowed by Brandon at the moment."

"I have a feeling that circle of knowing won't grow much further."

She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

His gaze went downcast. "They wouldn't want to announce to Trellendek, or Sylga, their newest secret weapon."

***

The morning sun crested the horizon just as Brandon pulled the car into the driveway. Nostalgia hit him like a tidal wave. They had an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Nothing was particularly memorable about the front façade, and that was what did it for him. It signaled his return to the mundane world. The garage gaped open slowly in a groaning welcome.

Once the car was parked, he turned off the engine and wiped his eyes. Marvain's hand graced his shoulder. Evan was silent in the back seat. The three of them cried once more. In a mental haze, they migrated from the car to the living room couch. Marvain brought them glasses of water, and by the time she had returned with napkins, Brandon had already drained his glass. He gasped as he collapsed into the sofa's soft embrace. It was a wonder what sensory deprivation did for the senses. He noticed everything, from the gentle whirring of the fan above to the brown-and-blue textures of the stone fireplace.

"I'm taking the rest of the week off," Brandon mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

Marvain looked at him funny. "It's the weekend."

"Was it Zandith?"

Brandon blinked at Evan's sudden question, noting the anger in his voice. He gulped, suddenly craving more water. "I don't know, bud. It doesn't really matter."

Evan shot to his feet. "Bullshit!"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Marvain rose from the couch slowly, taking his hand in hers. "Honey, can we leave this discussion for another time? Dad's been through enough."

Brandon could imagine the resentment on Evan's face. He couldn't blame the kid. He'd felt the same way a month ago. Some of the same fire lingered within him still. Righteous indignation was a difficult addiction to break. He lifted his head off the couch and gave Evan a crooked smile. "I saw the hoverboard, bud. Been hard at work? Do you have a name for it yet?"

The fire evaporated from Evan's expression, leaving the boy sheepish and confused. "Yeah, I took it for a test flight. It worked better than I expected, but… I took a hard crash. I'm going to Strucka's again today to get the final repairs done. I think I can apply for a license after a few more test flights…" He writhed his hand from his mothers grasp and let himself fall to the couch between her and Brandon. A scowl twisted his face as he absentmindedly rubbed his abdomen.

"What's wrong?" Marvain asked, sitting next to him with a hand on his back.

"I… think something's wrong with me," he confessed through a wavering voice.

Brandon leaned off the backrest. "Is it the implant?"

He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes against a fresh stream of tears. "I wish it were. But it's something deeper. I keep seeing him. And he's… attacking me. He keeps coming back. And he won't stop!"

Marvain, holding Evan tightly to her side, flashed an insistent glance at Brandon. He shifted closer, buying himself a few more precious moments to come up with something useful to say. "Hey, Evan. It takes strength to admit something like that. Do you want to take a trip to the Haven Center? I think we both could use a little checkup."

Both parents watched their son intently as he took a few deeper breaths. After he calmed down, his head bobbed almost imperceptibly.

Marvain sniffed and reached for a napkin. "We can go after breakfast. Pancakes? Oatmeal?"

"Pancakes," Evan said.

"Coffee," Brandon blurted, rising from the couch. "I'll take care of it. I need something to do."

"No," Marvain stated, rising with him. She wrinkled her nose. "You need a shower. Badly. Like, right now."

"Really?" he sniffed his shoulder. "I don't smell anything. I was dumped into a lake last night."

"We can't tell."

Evan looked up at him, managing a weak smile as he leaned away. "She's right… again."

Brandon rolled his eyes, and was about to snap back when the doorbell rang. Marvain, being closer to the front door, went to answer it. Brandon heard a slam and a lock. Marvain rushed back. "Reporters are here."

"In that case," Brandon said, snapping his fingers and pointing down the hallway, "I'll be in the shower. Let me know when they're gone."

***

"I fucking told you," Strucka growled, glaring at Evan from his workbench. The metal printer hummed away before them, correcting one of the last few tends in the hoverboard's frame.

Evan nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, you did. He just seemed so genuine and helpful, and when I asked him about it, he gave me several good reasons why it couldn't have been him."

"And yet…" Strucka didn't need to finish. His jaw muscles worked as his thoughts raced. "You can't trust anyone in this world, man."

The apartment doorbell buzzed. Strucka snapped out of his thoughts, alerted and confused. He exchanged a curious look with Evan as he made his way to the garage door. Evan followed and peered around the door's frame as Strucka opened the front door.

A police officer stood with badge at the ready. "Strucka Laski, you are under arrest for the suspected aiding of a—"

The authoritative voice was cut off by Strucka's vicious slap on the wall. It left a dent.

"FUCK!"

***

"Status report."

The hangar was bustling with activity as Kyreeda stood over the cowering officer like a mother preparing to spank a child. He was technically taller than her, but he was keenly aware of the swiftness and efficiency with which she would use to dismember him if he showed the slightest hint of a challenge. In his mind, he was puny. His hand trembled as he opened up the report from his wristpad. "Sixty-five percent of the Jets have been transferred, Lead Operator. We lost forty-three soldiers at the time of the final transmission. The Void Protocol detonation was successful, and so far we appear to have avoided detection by pursuers."

"What of our research assets? Where is their ship?"

Beads of sweat accumulated on the man's forehead. "I… I can't find a ship reporting such cargo, ma'am."

"We know they are still alive. They must have used a Jet. What are its coordinates?"

A few tense moments passed as he searched the map. His eyes narrowed. "There looks to be a Jet over the ocean. Or perhaps under it."

Kyreeda looked closer at the timestamp. Its last ping was late during the night. "It is lost. We cannot do anything about it now. Round up your troops and collect all reports. I want a fully-detailed combat analysis by midday tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am." He was eager to stride away.

She plunged back into her own thought stream as she made her way to Comms. Relief fought with irritation over the loss of the two humans and the Shingagi. Raymi had collected plenty of data from the two humans. They had been nearing the end of their usefulness anyway. While the Shingagi presented a treasure trove of knowledge waiting to be uncovered, handling its shenanigans had been an exhausting task. Overall, containing it had been a loss for the Crimson Vein. Now she could focus Raymi on more productive matters, namely, Piercers. That was the agreed-upon term for second-generation illusion detectors. The current generation could detect location down to a meter, and while that was already proving tremendously useful, Kyreeda craved for the ultimate. She knew that the piercing of illusions was a visual phenomenon. If Raymi and her team were able to create working Piercers, the playing field would be leveled.

That's what she had thought, at least, until she witnessed the incomprehensible terror that was the Sacred Bow. Jase had not lied. The weapon was more powerful than anything they had, and it seemed to grant the user superhuman abilities for a short time. None of their shields, even manually activated, had held up to its power. It seemed Domrik had not once missed his target; he had spared the lives of many so they could be interrogated later. The biggest irritation was how many suits had failed to kill their users when commanded. It was clear from the recording that all of them had attempted it. The silver lining was that most soldiers were kept ignorant of the existence of all the other Crimson Vein bases. Add in the fact that most recruited soldiers believed themselves to be part of a secret, legal, Guard program, and it was assured they couldn't reveal much. Sure, they would admit their knowledge of illusions, but to the Eredore Guard it would be nothing new. They would waste time squeezing dry sponges.

She needed to use the interlude to her advantage. She had several ideas of how to accelerate the war schedule, and she was sure the other two Operators would be eager to hear her suggestions after she alerted them of her compromised situation. Eredore's fall would no longer be measured in years, but months.

Makalai sat in a circular chamber identical to the one in the Preserve base. He was obsessed with regularity. Consistency. Conformity. It was his greatest strength and greatest weakness. She wasn't sure he would survive long outside his circular room.

"Have you alerted the Scythe to our situation?"

He whirled on his stool to face her, eyes wide with excitement. "Oh, I was, but you see, we may have acquired another target for him. I was consulting with my sources to be sure."

"Has he requested one?"

"No, but has he not trained us to be his eyes and ears? He may not be able to resist this target, considering its proximity to his greatest rival, Domrik!"

She frowned at him skeptically. "Show me."

He brought up the relevant projections. "See here. Intense suffering. Emotionally vulnerable. Intense desire for relief. Discernment skills seem to be lacking. I suggest the Scythe strike while the iron is hot!"

She allowed herself a sly smile. "And it would strike back at Domrik. I like it. Do it."

***

Zandith marked the wall with chalk. He'd tried to do it with an Aetheric blade, but the underground lighting did him no favors. Since the only source was his armor, shadows hid from him. He had already marked the locations of the permanent fixtures, but they wouldn't arrive at the mansion until tomorrow. In the meantime, he had to make sure he got the angles correct. Otherwise, the past decade was a waste.

Specter Three's voice came through with a considerable amount of static. "We have an urgent update from the Vein."

Zandith paced to the middle of the chamber and stared straight up the thirty-seven-meter-deep shaft. Dim light leaked in from his underground base above. "And?"

"Their Antiga Preserve base has been compromised with the help of Domrik. The Void Protocol was activated. Their research subjects escaped, but they still have valuable data from experimentation. They will be pushing the war schedule up to divert further investigation into their existence. Secondly, they have found another target which you may find valuable. I am sending you the profile now."

An image with text appeared before Zandith. At first, he stared, confused, but a gleeful smile grew on his face as he continued reading. "Oh, yes. Yes. Yes! This will do perfectly."

He ignited his suit's thrusters and shot up the shaft, landing gracefully at the top edge. He went to the med bay and grabbed his trancing crystal from its case.

He had been wanting to add an Aetheric engineer to the Specter Guild.

***

Strucka jolted up from the cot, instantly awake. His vision had flashed red just as he was falling asleep. That was an odd dream. The jail door clanged open behind him.

"You are free to go, Mr. Laski," the officer said. "Investigation into your case found you innocent of intention."

Strucka blinked sleep from his eyes, hardly believing the words he was hearing. Part of him wondered how they had come to the decision so quickly, but the notion passed without lingering. Who was he to question the officer? Whatever happened, happened.

Relief swept over him as he left the cell. He was light on his feet. For once, things were starting to go his way. It was about time.

While the officer drove him to his apartment, he noticed his shoulder had stopped hurting, even though he'd forgotten his pain meds. He stretched and twisted it around. No discomfort. What's another small miracle?

After being dropped off, he checked his Connect page and found five different commission requests, all referencing the work he did on Evan's hoverboard. Their offers were exorbitant. He gleefully replied to each one in his finest business language. It was so fine, he hadn't needed to edit it before sending.

He sat back on his stool and stretched again, certain now that he would be able to afford a proper office chair that wouldn't hurt his butt.

His mother's scream erupted from the second floor. He was up the stairs in a blur and found her stunned at the kitchen table holding a piece of paper. He advanced toward her with caution. "Mom? What happened?"

The heavy woman snapped out of her petrified state and beamed at him the biggest smile he'd ever seen from her. "I won the lottery!"

Strucka erupted into a cheer and embraced his mother. He would be forever grateful for this moment. Somehow, the day of his second arrest had turned into the best day of his life.