{Lukemore}

Kyle was having a bad fucking day. The faintly green smoke from his joint drifted through the open conduits leading all over the Vast Collective. Thirteen Lyriks helped millions of people file through them. Millions of souls in his head. Childhoods, adolescences, first experiences, adulthoods—all of it in pain. Abducted and reduced to nothing but work, day in and day out.

Fuck Imminent.

Pot mellowed out the headaches, but it couldn’t cleanse Kyle’s brain of this outrageous fever. The throbbing in his temples almost buckled his knees. It only worsened when Pehton returned holding two citrine gems.

Another loss.

Kyle liked Oleen. She was nice to the Shadow and optimistic about their strategies. Another adopted stray.

Now Pehton carried herself in the same way as Caedes. Both heavy in the shoulders with their heads down, shuffling as if their feet weighed too much to lift them. The Icarus still proved formidable in a fight after losing his best friend. More so even. He was quicker to kill.

Pehton was older, though. She understood the futility of mourning casualties. “The good ones go first.”

“You’re wrong.” The gravel in Caedes’ voice rattled deeper than usual as he corrected her. “When all you have are good ones, the grief is the same. We’ve surrounded ourselves with mines of bereavement. Each one fallen is an explosion of sorrow that rattles our house of nacre glass.”

Wow. Even through his screaming temples, that made sense to Kyle.

Miy stirred from where she watched beside him to glance over her shoulder at the pair of real upbeat types. Usually, she spoke in a sharp, harsh tone. Dissatisfied with everything. On this cliff overlooking freed slaves, Miy softly pressed, “Then what are we to do?”

Kyle turned then, feeling a little woozy from the pale yellow horizon twisting around. He wanted to hear how the Lyrik approaching Caedes answered. The Icarean warrior kept his back to her. Pink, yellow, and blue blood coated him from bald head to combat boot. Caedes always dressed like a serial killer, wearing a black turtle-neck sweater and cargo pants, but he added warpaint to the uniform after…

Well, Kyle couldn’t think of a word that described this level of aggression.

Caedes would fuck anything up that got in his way to Abresson.

Except Pehton, apparently. The short Lyrik only came to his bicep and gently squeezed it. With perfect restraint on those killer instincts, the bald Icarus peered down at her.

To answer Miy’s question, she said, “Destroying Imminent is worth every one of those sorrowful explosions. We know the fallen feel the same.”

That’s right. Everyone who died fought the good fight. But god damn, Kyle was tired of losing people. Not all of them to death, either.

Lucas, Smith, and…

A cruel smile crept onto Kyle’s lips. He couldn’t think her name without a burn in his chest that Kyle had become far too acquainted with over the last two months.

And then there was Rayne.

Kyle took a solid hit on the joint as his thoughts drifted to the sleeping King. She wanted this. Told them so.

“This is the only way inside. Trust me. Please.”

Okay. But now what? How did they communicate with Rayne once she found herself inside? How did they rendezvous with her to synchronize missions? And dear Elden, someone please tell Kyle this wasn’t some self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit. The thought of her dying alone and afraid after all of this—

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“Story Taker!” Miy cried out as she rose to her feet to help him.

More footsteps rushed across the dirt toward him, but Kyle couldn’t see. Fallen to his knees, he squeezed his eyes closed and held his head in his hands. “Too much… light.”

Light? Yeah, right. Try guilt and anguish.

But they bought into his bullshit. “Keep your eyes closed. I’m sure the stench from the pollution and fire isn’t helping.”

Caedes growled when he spoke. Not out of anger, it was just his voice lately. “Sagan will arrive soon—”

“I’m here.”

The Seamswalker appeared beside them and whistled at the conduit activity. “Your team finished early, and wow… what a sight.”

The exodus migration trickled to a herd of two-by-two now. It still made for an impressive view.

“Almost finished,” Pehton assured.

Miy huffed beside her. “Tell the Seamswalker about the price.”

Not again. No more talk of death. It was too much.

Kyle’s head pounded, pierced, and—

“Well, I’d say six million is his limit. I’ve seen him in action. He doesn’t take breaks. Story Taker just pushes through the pain and smokes more to self-medicate. I—He’s awake.” Pablo’s frustrated voice switched to professional concern. “Hey, can you open your eyes yet?”

The smell of cinnamon gum assaulted Kyle’s senses and twisted his empty stomach. If not for his nacre, his upchuck reflex might’ve won all over the Doc. “Dude. Please.” Kyle gagging in his face helped push Pablo away.

“Sorry. Sorry. Lynn likes it.” He possessed the good grace to sound abashed. “Is that better?”

Someone giggled.

Kyle cautiously cracked a squinted eye. Black tile floor, white-plastered walls to hide the nacre glass frame, and fiber optic lights twinkled along the black ceiling like a starry night. Combine that with a fairly comfortable bed, and Kyle knew he was laid up in the infirmary.

Sagan and Tameka both smiled down at him. Alive and well.

The blond went first. “You passed out shortly after I arrived. Sprung a leak in your nose, too. How are you feeling?”

The redhead checked his forehead next. “We may have to bench you for a night. Doc Pablo was just giving his orders.”

“Bed rest.” Pablo gave a firm nod. “You outdid yourself today. Amazing work, and we’re celebrating—”

“The other teams? Everyone’s all right?” Kyle couldn’t wait anymore to find out. “Nothing happened on L. Capra or Yu?”

Tameka’s voice softened as she confirmed, “No other casualties.”

With warmth in his brown eyes, Pablo elaborated, “R’s eternity rites on Yu went quietly, as they should. X took R’s kids to stay on Yu with Legir. They should be safe there.”

Safe. Safe.

Sagan’s violet eyes met Kyle’s green ones and a sad exchange took place. Was anywhere truly safe anymore? He opened his mouth to say so when a familiar elegant voice sounded disembodied throughout the room.

{One night I leaned in the drawing room’s entryway while Nox and Xelan told their stories to the delight of our guests. Devis had left the room and when he returned, stood opposite of me in the arch.

Devis folded his dark arms, well-honed from working at his forge. Back then, his head was hairless and shiny. And he had trouble being still. Dusting off his clothes, pulling on his earlobe, rubbing his head—anything to fidget.

It grated on my nerves.}

“Wow,” Kyle croaked through his tight throat.

Pablo hopped up and offered, “I’ll get you something to drink. Water or juice?”

“Juice.”

Sagan sank onto the foot of the bed, and Tameka mirrored her. The Seamswalker beamed proudly. “We did it.”

Tameka shared the same appreciative smile. “We made it.”

Kyle let his head fall back on the pillow, exhausted. But yeah, the relief was catching. “Phase I complete.” His brows pulled together in a frown. “Now what?”

“Rest.”

The girls looked back at the door. Xelan stood in the frame, shrank it really, looking a little tired himself. Which helped Kyle’s ego some. “Hey, Wingmaster.”

The biggest pain in Kyle’s ass drifted into the room with a tightness in his eyes. Xelan’s voice was so sincere as he said, “I apologize. We underestimated the number of people kept as slaves beneath Lukemore’s surface.”

“No problem. They’re free now.” And only one person had to die for it. Kyle winced at his internal crassness. “I uh… can I get some rest?”

The girls hopped off the bed, and he felt the absence of their warmth instantly. Tameka came to his side, surprising Kyle. “What you did today was nothing short of amazing, and I don’t give praise lightly.”

For the first time in three years, Kyle felt a bridge between them. It made him smile for her.

Sagan called from the door. “Yeah. It’ll be one of the first things I tell Rayne when we see her. Good night, everyone. I need a break, too.”

At the door, Xelan squeezed her shoulder and assured, “You earned it.”

They shared a warm smile before she disappeared. Tameka followed Xelan outside with a lingering wave. Pablo returned with that drink, exercising some perfectly discrete timing.

“Thanks, Doc.”

In a white lab coat that flattered his Nicaraguan complexion, Pablo held up a finger. “Because you overdid it and passed out, you’re staying for a few hours.”

That sounded reasonable to Kyle. “Sure. Standard operating procedures—”

“On Lynn’s first night off in two months.”

Oh. Fuck.

The wicked grin that crossed the doctor’s noticeably full mouth unsettled Kyle even before Pablo announced his sinister plan. “So we’re listening to Korac’s Verse all quarter-night long.”

Someone blow Kyle’s brains out already.

Fuck.