Sol LAHQ. Saturn Department.

“So,” Louis began, leaning against Mackenzie’s door frame and crossing his ankles. “I just got sent the mission wrap up for Fox’s assignment in the Balkans.”

Her eyebrows rose above the rim of her glasses, but she didn’t look up from whatever notes she was jotting down. “And?”

“And I didn’t realize his mission had ended.”

The eyebrows returned to their normal position. “He’d gotten all he was going to get out of the prime minister. No point in dragging it on.”

The prime minister’s wife, who Fox had been seeing, probably would have preferred it had. “Alright. Now I’m seeing that he was immediately put on a new assignment, bypassing the standard waiting period, but, as it turns out, I don’t have the clearance to view that assignment.”

She sat back and looked him in the eye, finally. “That’s correct.”

He studied her with his knack, but the sounds of her pulse were steady and slow. Nothing about the tension in the muscles of her face, the way she moved her eyes, gave Louis anything to work with. Normally, seeing this confident, stonewall side of her gave him a rush of pride, but he normally wasn’t on this side of it. Louis kept his voice as casual as hers.

“You’re not going to tell me where one of our best agents is.”

“No.”

“Or what intelligence push his mission is a part of.”

“Correct.”

“Sandy didn’t make up any new ID documents for him, so he can’t have gone far.”

“I see you’re doing your own intelligence push.”

“Mackenzie,” he groaned, dropping his cool facade.

“Louis Solomon.” It wasn’t a whine to match his. Simply his name, and it made him pause. “For now, I just need you to run the analysis on his finished mission and trust me.”

“You know I do,” he argued. “But you’re also not an island. These top clearance missions need approval from Mercury, right?”

“It’s recommended, but not required.”

“Jesus—” he dropped off as he ran it through in his head. “Even Mercury doesn’t know? Can you be using Saturn assets for your own side project? Which I completely and totally trust as serious and valid,” he continued quickly, seeing her face, “but you can’t put ‘I have a bad feeling’ on a mission report and get it approved.”

“If I can’t do exactly that, then what was the point of giving me this job?”

He deflated. She was right, of course. There were maybe two people in Sol with the authority to make calls completely free of Mercury oversight, and she was one of them.

“Just. Just let me help you,” he pleaded.

“You already are,” she said firmly. “Keep doing your job to the high caliber that you always do. Pick up my slack as I drop things. Keep the department above board and give no one reason to take a closer look at anything. That’s what I need from you.”

“I can do that,” he said, moving to sit in the chair across from her. “I can do that,” he repeated, “but I need you to promise you’ll bring me inside when you’re able to.”

Her lips curved up on one side as she looked him over. “You’re one of the best things I’ve ever done.”

“Mackenzie,” he scolded, not allowing her to sidestep his demand, however much he was touched by it. He didn’t know his mother, and she was as close to that as he had.

Her expression turned serious. “Of course I’ll bring you in.”

“Thank you.” Now all he had to do was hold her to it.

---

Sanctuary. Berlin, Germany.

Reeve made Tex-Mex that first night in Berlin, and Gareth couldn’t think of anything that was more Reeve without him being a jackass. It was nearly afternoon by the time they got to the Sanctuary, and Gareth had gone with him to the grocery down the block almost as soon as they’d arrived. There were only two Children at the Sanctuary, but still, it was a lot of people to overwhelm one place all at once, and the lot of them would need to eat. When they returned with bags full of peppers, rice, beans, tomatoes, tortillas, meat, and cheese, Alex fell into laughing fits. It was a good sound.

Misha pacing and talking loudly in German on his phone was less good. This Sanctuary was a good size, at least—mainly because the large basement had been converted into a warren of smaller bedrooms.

While Reeve put the food away, Gareth stepped outside to sit on the stoop for a moment of quiet. The busy sidewalk wasn’t quiet either, but the sounds were anonymous. Small snippets of strangers’ conversations, most in a language he didn’t know. Even the music thrumming from passing cars had nothing to do with him. It faded quickly as they went, taking the song with them before he even had time to try to identify it.

He looked up and saw Reeve opening the door.

“Misha has news,” Reeve called, sticking his head through the door.

Gareth followed him inside, where the rest were already gathered in a sitting room.

“Change of plans,” Misha announced without preamble, seeing Gareth walk in. “It’s no longer a shipping job. They need us to take a decoy package and take care of anyone who tries to steal it.”

“They want us to kill people?” Alex asked.

“Who? Why?” Reeve asked, his voice tight.

“Who doesn’t matter,” Misha shook his head. “As for why, fairly certain they’ll be thieves by default.”

“It matters,” Reeve snapped.

“Fine, it can matter, but you don’t get to know or ask.”

There was a gap of quiet and Gareth silently cursed his knack again. He heard Reeve let out a slow, deep sigh.

Ignoring it, Misha continued. “They only want three of us now, including me. Can’t have the cops showing up, so we’ve got to be fast and quiet. No gunfire. Who’s coming with me, then?”

“I’ll go,” Hannah said, a little muffled still. She pointed to her mouth. “I fucking did this, so if I don’t use it, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Good,” Misha said loudly, preventing any discussion Reeve wanted to have over it. “One more.”

“Me too,” Reeve nodded.

“No. I’m not going to manage your morals and the job at the same time.”

A muscle in Reeve’s jaw twitched. “I’m the smart call if you need quiet.”

“No telepathy,” he answered automatically.

“I can do it,” Alex said, pushing himself up off the wall.

Misha shook his head again. Alex snapped back with a flinch. “I don’t doubt you can,” Misha said, “but I want you,” he continued, pointing at Alyosha. “You’re too quiet and you’re not an Icarus. I don’t get why you’re here. I want you with me. Can you take care of yourself in a fight?” Misha barely waited for him to nod before proclaiming, “Good! We leave late tonight.” Alex caught Gareth’s eye, staring hard. He had that same left-behind look. Gareth was glad not to be alone.

That night, the dining room was packed. There was a long, wooden table and they overcrowded it anyway with people, plates of food, and bottles of beer. It must have been something about the platters of out-of-place Southwestern American food, but the energy was lighter than normal. It was loud and a little raucous. People laughed and told stories that had nothing to do with their current circumstances. Strange misadventures as kids, that time Hannah slept-walked partway into town—just funny no-consequence things. Alyosha banged on the table laughing and Hannah’s eyes were bright with drink.

Stolen novel; please report.

Gareth would remember it as the last relaxing night he’d have in a long time.

---

Late that night, they picked up a panel van from a warehouse after showing their tattoos, along with instructions of the route they were to take. Misha drove, being more familiar with the area. Hannah was already invisible in the passenger seat and Alyosha was in the back.

“You good?” Misha asked her.

“I’m good.” She was, too. She could feel Alyosha’s nervous energy crackling off of him like static electricity, but for Hannah, it was just another mission. Finally something familiar. There was something to be said for her calm, but she also knew that it wasn’t always a virtue. Misha’s energy was off too, but not in the same way.

“I make you uncomfortable,” she said out loud.

He turned his head, surprised, and squinted in her direction, slightly to the left of where she sat. “I’m not used to being around people I can’t see. I can’t keep track of you without borrowing telepathy.”

“If you want, I can go visible until we need it, but I’ll be naked.”

“No,” he said, his lips pressed together in a deep frown. “That might actually be more uncomfortable.”

As they left the concentrated, well-lit area of the city, she began to get more wary, checking side streets as they passed.

Alyosha leaned up from the back. “Did they say where they think we’ll be jumped?”

“Nope,” he called back, “but I would say it’s soon. A lot of these buildings are unoccupied.” Glaring at street signs, Misha took a left down a street with sparse streetlamps. “So, Alyosha, you’re here with Reeve because he’s your friend?” The venom on the word “friend” was heavy.

“That, and I owe him.”

“Ah. It’s never good to be obligated to a telepath because you never really know if you owe them or if they’ve made you believe you do.”

“So you never trust telepaths?” Alyosha asked.

“It’s not a rule, but no.”

Alyosha leaned forward, elbows on the shoulder of the front seats. “I do owe him. I was in Entropy and now I am not. Reeve did this.”

Misha grunted. “Entropy. Agent?”

“Pilot.”

“Shit. You aren’t trained? I’m not going to look out for you when we do this.”

“I knew how to fight before Entropy. That’s not what they wanted me for.”

“And that’s not what Reeve needs you for either, huh? The flying. That’s why Reeve’s here and not squatting in some filthy warehouse in Mexico.” Misha looked back and forth. “But I don’t see a plane, and yet, you’re still here. What is he going to use you for next? Besides this job, I mean.”

Alyosha chuckled and sat back. “We’ll see.”

Hannah ground her jaw. “For fuck’s sake, what if Reeve’s not a bad guy?” she snapped at Misha. “You could try to maybe consider that. He can be an ass, he is an ass, but not as bad as this.”

Misha smiled thinly. “Breathe, okay?”

Hannah focused on the fact that socking the person driving the vehicle was an inherently bad idea.

“I was just trying to make him angry,” Misha continued. He glanced up in the rearview. “I wonder why he is not angry.”

There was a pop as the driver’s side window was hit with a bullet. They both ducked and Hannah felt pulverized glass dust smack the left side of her face as it punched a neat hole in the window. She forced her eyes open to make sure Misha wasn’t hit, then focused on trying to spot the shooter. The window had instantly clouded up from absorbing the impact, which made it feel like trying to see through six inches of ice. The car swerved off the left side of the road and onto a patch of dirt by what looked like an empty lot, and Misha brought them to a fast stop.

“Bag!” Misha yelled, reaching his arm back to grab his bag from Alyosha.

Misha ducked low, working at the zipper as another bullet tore a chunk out of the already compromised window, then another on Hannah’s side, snowing in the glass. There were thuds of more slugs hitting the doors.

“Misha,” she began with a pang of panic. “Can we use guns now?”

“No, they’ve got silencers. Do you? Wait. I want them to come in a little closer. Be ready on my go.”

Hannah gripped the long knife she’d brought. In the dark in close quarters, there was no reason she should rely on weapons she could fit in her mouth. Plus her lip was still swollen and hurt like hell.

There was a dull clunk as someone pulled in the locked back door of their van.

Misha held up two dark canisters from his bag and barked, “Cover your ears.” He popped his door open a crack, causing a fast increase in bullets slamming into his side, pulled the pins, and Hannah didn’t wait to watch him throw them out into the lot. She doubled over, shut her eyes, and pressed her palms hard against her ears. She just barely heard raised voices from outside and then two successive cracks rocked through her skull and she could see the world light up behind her closed eyes. The pain in her ears was sharp and urgent. Even protected inside the van, the world had gone silent, except for a high-pitched whine. When she tentatively opened her eyes, Misha was sitting up in his seat. Outside the car, there was a rhythmic flashing light that illuminated smoke through holes in the driver’s side window. She registered that the explosions hadn’t blown out the windows--stun grenades.

She yelled something to Misha questioning his sanity, but it was an if a tree falls in the forest sort of thing. If Misha couldn’t hear it and neither could Hannah, did it really happen?

In response, Misha gestured to the doors with two fingers and they were off.

Carefully opening her door, Hannah slid out low. The air was thick with the gunpowder, sulfur stench of the flashbangs. The first man had been too close to her door for her to take by much surprise. Having been on the other side of the van, he was only in as bad of shape as she was, so as the door opened, he let loose rapid fire. Lunging, they wrestled over the gun, but that wasn’t a fight she was going to win with one hand in the dark. Instead, she climbed up high onto his back where he was less likely to want to shoot and brought him down with a knife in the ribs.

She worked her way around the front of the van. There was a vague pounding sound in her head that was too slow to be her heartbeat, but she set her rhythm to it anyway. The second one had been hit full force by the stun grenades and was struggling to reload his pistol, glancing around, panicked and shaking his head sporadically to clear his ears. She waited for him to finish reloading, then set her knife up under his jawline and picked up his pistol where he dropped it.

Once she had a gun, it went quickly.

She’d cleared her area when she heard Misha turn the van on. Her hearing was back, though painful. The flashing and muffled pounding had grown into the horn of a car alarm set off by the flashbangs. She headed back.

Closer to the van, Misha was handing Alyosha something and she heard him say, “Light this on the road.” Alyosha took it without argument.

“Hey,” she said to Misha, making sure she was far out of range of the too-long knife he carried. Misha startled, turning in the direction of her voice, muscles stiff.

“Just me,” she said gently. She approached slowly with the gun dangling in front of her, hanging from one finger by the trigger guard. “Will you wipe my prints off this?”

“What?” he snapped angrily. It took him a second to understand, then he snatched the gun and rubbed it all over with the fabric of his coat before letting it drop to the ground.

A loud bang and bright light from the road made Hannah duck and brace her ears, but it wasn’t a fraction as loud as the flashbangs. Misha seemed unfazed and a moment later a deeper, concussive explosion above their heads rattled her bones and ricocheted around in her chest. The firework blew a wide spray of white and red light like a giant blooming flower before fizzling out with a crackle.

Misha opened his door and called “Let’s move!” as he knocked the remaining clouded glass out of his window with an elbow. Hannah trotted around the van and jumped into the car in time for Misha to peel out.

As they bounced back over the curb and onto the street, Hannah barked, “In what goddamn way was that quiet?”

Misha shrugged, “No cops.”

“Yeah, but probably a dozen people called them.”

“Probably, but reports of illegal fireworks makes this a lower priority, compared to just loud explosions. Plenty of time for us to get out.”

She fought to catch her breath, holding two fingers against her temple. “Anyone hurt?”

“No,” Alyosha called from the back.

“You are good,” Misha said, nodding to the backseat. He turned to her. “He’s a little vicious.” Misha clucked his tongue. “Go visible. Right now, you’re just floating blood.”

She faded back in and wiped at her face with a clean spot on her forearm. “Yeah, that happens.” Behind her, Alyosha was a mess too; the two of them clearly preferred to fight in close quarters rather than at the end of what basically amounted to a sword. Misha, on the other hand, was fairly clean—a benefit to spending his life fighting things you really don’t want to get close to.

“But seriously,” Hannah continued, wiping her hands on her thighs, “flashbangs? The guy, the mob boss dude I’m guessing we don’t want to piss off, did say quiet and fast, right? And I know your English isn’t that fucking bad.”

“He knew what he was getting into when he gave me the job.”

“What he was getting... What does that even mean?”

“Everyone is so stuck on shoving these tiny pinches of gunpowder into slugs, but there are better, bigger ways, eh.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hannah flailed her hands involuntarily, trying to compose herself. “So you never use guns.”

“Of course I use guns,” he retorted out the side of his mouth. “I’m not an idiot. But anyone who uses anything smaller than a shotgun is absolute shit for brains.”

“What the fuck?” She was yelling now, still on the adrenaline rush of the fight. “This isn’t a war zone. There are other people around.”

“And the first time I accidentally hurt someone, you can give me all the shit you like, but precision isn’t only a bullet between the eyes.” He shot her a look. “You’re a sharpshooter, aren’t you?”

She huffed before answering between gritted teeth. “Sniper.”

“Ha! Yes, you can put a bullet in someone from half a mile away, very impressive. Have you ever been shot?”

“Only in training.”

“Okay, let me tell you something about bullets.”

“Tell me something about bullets?”

He ignored her, continuing, “Even the best aimed bullets can go straight through you, like threading a needle, and never hit anything vital. You bleed, you’re sad, you heal. It’s stupid. You know what never does that? C-4.”

“Holy shit,” was all she could manage. Then, “He said to be quiet.”

Alyosha leaned in, his voice the calmest thing in the van. “You did have me set off fireworks.”

“Actual fucking fireworks!” Hannah shouted.

“I was there. Surrounded and outgunned. And no police came.”

Hannah lowered her voice sullenly and spoke as slowly as she was able. “If you put ‘quiet’ and ‘fireworks’ in the same box, even a toddler would call you an idiot.”

“I have been doing this since before you had tits and I—” But he didn’t get any farther.

Alyosha raised his voice and said something in Russian that sounded harsh, but Hannah yelled louder over him, a bloody finger near Misha’s face. “Hey. First of all, number one—I still don’t have tits, so that makes you an authority on goddamn nothing. And second—I don’t even fucking know.”

“I hit a nerve, huh?”

Her volume lowered. “Just don’t get us killed playing with your cartoon TNT bullshit.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Misha repeated, annoyed.

No one replied.

“Then try shutting up or getting the fuck out of this van.”

They drove on.

***