The Noomadron jumped at every rock or root that came under its wheels. Ember clung to the handholds the seat was equipped with. In front of her, Lightara was at the controls with a serious and focused expression. She glided the Noomadron through the trees of the sacred wood, toward the city, at lightning speed.

A little too fast. Ember was sure that the speed limit was much lower. She doubted that speeding in the middle of the woods was considered safe.

As soon as she had returned from her own dorm, Ember had found Lightara waiting for her outside her office. It was the first time she had seen her in civilian clothes, and the Sergeant had decided to torture her by wearing a tailored suit with a striped jacket with a wide, pointed collar that matched the white blouse underneath perfectly.

Ember had wasted a good handful of seconds staring at her with a dumbfounded expression. When Lightara had told her to hurry up and turned around, Ember had wiped her mouth, just in case: she didn't trust that she hadn't drooled. And in that moment on the Noomadron, she concentrated on the fine lines that crossed Lightara's suit, making her look even taller than usual. She concentrated on the way the color of the cloth seemed darker when the foliage obscured the moon's faint glow, and how it turned a brighter red in direct light instead.

All to avoid thinking about the fact that the Noomadron could have crashed into a tree at any moment. Or into a Velanthra.

"Did he stop?" the Sergeant shouted to her from the front seat, trying to get over the roar of the engine.

Ember checked her glove's holographic screen. The small triangle that marked Alpes' movements had turned gold to distinguish him from the others. "He's slowed down, but he's still moving. Maybe he's just walking around town?"

"Dressed like he's going to a gala? I doubt it."

Ember tilted her head. "No offense, Sarge, but I don't think you can talk at all."

The other woman sighed, not taking her eyes off the road. "It's just an imitation of his elegance. Wherever he's going, it's clear that one is expected to enter dressed in a certain way."

These were the physical and practical details that Ember never thought about.

That's why you dressed as if you were going shopping.

Ember touched the collar of the shirt with its fine blue embroidery. She had rolled the sleeves up over her arms because she thought it looked cool.

Rather, you look like a moron.

She brought her attention back to the triangle representing Alpes. "He's not alone. There's someone else walking next to him."

"Maybe we're on the right track."

"Or maybe we're following the Lieutenant on his way to a date."

She got a half groan in response. Lightara drove on in silence, the blue lights that ran along the sides of the Noomadron creating highlights in her hair.

They reached Bethus after a handful of minutes. Lightara had to slow down; the streets of the city were packed with traffic. A group of kids crossed without looking, giggling, their shorts so baggy they flapped in the wind. Lightara brought the Noomadron to a screeching halt to avoid running them over; Ember clutched the handles so hard she hurt herself, her hair falling back in front of her eyes.

"Tsk. Isn't it a little late to be letting kids run around like that?" Lightara started the Noomadron again, but with an almost maddening slowness. She kept an eye on all the people walking along the side of the road, to make sure no one was planning to suddenly cross again.

"They were coming back from the beach, I guess," Ember said with disinterest.

"It's still late. They should have a curfew. We're still a nation at war."

But Bethus, despite being the city that housed the largest military academy in Valestria, lived as if it did not even know that a war existed. The city was always alive, even though the sun had set, with streetlights casting beams of light onto the pavement. People walked about undisturbed, buildings towered high into the sky, not at all afraid of the possibility that the Ysnians might overrun the Valestrian defenses and send a Vylian overnight to destroy everything.

The smell of saltiness tasted like home to Ember. It tasted like home in a way that warmed her chest and made her guts churn in her stomach at the same time.

Lightara parked the vehicle in a square. The Noomadel's glow went out and the engine was muted. When they got out, Ember led the way to an unfamiliar neighborhood: shop windows displayed strange and seemingly useless merchandise, such as ceramic mugs so richly decorated and looking so fragile that no one would dare use them, or jewelry that seemed to glow with its own light.

It must have been one of the wealthier districts of Bethus. The ones Ember had learned to avoid since childhood.

Those streets are for daddy's boys with a stuck-up attitude. The useless pussies of society.

That's what her father used to say. Ember didn't like the way he talked about rich people like they were scum to be hated, but sometimes when she saw dandy-looking men, she thought of them as 'pussies'. She mentally punched herself each time.

The golden triangle stopped at a point on the holographic map. Ember found Lumen hovering outside a club door.

"He's in here," she said, giving Lightara a questioning look.

The Sergeant nodded, her hands in her pockets. "Stay close to me and try to be inconspicuous."

"Um, what excuse do we use for being here together if Alpes notices us?" Ember returned Lumen to its metal square form and placed it in her pocket. Then she took off her gloves and stayed in her casual outfit.

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Lightara pushed the door open and entered. Slow, soft music came from inside. "We'll say I brought you here to learn to dance."

The Sergeant disappeared behind the door, and Ember stood outside for a few more seconds. She waited - and hoped - for the air to cool her cheeks. Was it her impression, or did the excuse make no sense?

Stop fantasizing and move your ass.

Ember cleared her throat and followed the Sergeant into the club. Her heart was beating at an exaggerated rate, completely out of sync with the music that filled the walls. It was a large room where a bouncer greeted her and Lightara with a grim face and a doubtful look. But for some reason, he considered them harmless, or at least worthy enough to enter, and said nothing. He stood as still as a statue of salt, his huge arms crossed over his chest.

Ember stayed close to Lightara. She felt like a fish in the desert in that environment. She nearly ran out of air. People looked down at her as they passed her, their glasses filled with champagne or some fizzy alcoholic beverage that Ember could not recognize. Everyone knew she had nothing to do with this place.

She stood close to Lightara, a little too close. She felt the warmth of the Sergeant's body, which gave her comfort. "How is teaching me to dance supposed to be a good cover?"

The other woman scanned the faces of those present. She turned her attention to the couples dancing gracefully on the dance floor and the people standing at the bar, chatting and drinking. "Combat and dance are not that different. Learning one can help you with the other."

Ember doubted that, but avoided pointing it out. After all, what did she know? Maybe learning to dance was really part of the military training.

Don't start fantasizing again. Focus.

Keeping the thought of Lightara leading her out onto the dance floor, hands intertwined and bodies close together, was harder than expected.

"There he is." The Sergeant pointed to the bar with a nod of her chin.

There, talking and smiling with a woman, was Alpes. He ran a hand through his hair, swirling the wine in his glass. The woman with him was tall, her fair hair neatly pulled back in a comfortable, aristocratic bun. The dress she wore did not go unnoticed, a soft fabric with many veils.

Ember pressed the tip of her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "Um, why exactly are we following the Lieutenant on a date?"

Even Lightara appeared confused for a few seconds. She looked at the woman as if she couldn't understand how an officer could have an affair when there was a war going on. But she recovered quickly and shook her head. "We're here now, let's make sure this is really what it looks like."

She accompanied Ember to the counter behind Alpes. A few silent men separated them from the Lieutenant. It was enough to hope that he would not notice them. And to keep him in check. Ember sat down at the bar. The seat was too high for her, and she wasted time adjusting the hem of her shirt while waiting for the Sergeant to turn around before she jumped up to avoid looking like a dork. The bartender offered them a glass of clear, fizzy liquid without asking. It was the same one they were all drinking in there.

Maybe that's all they had.

Maybe any other kind of drink was considered too beggarly in there.

Ember turned it over in her hands, not quite sure what to do with it. Alcohol stank to her, and it tasted like stomach acid. And it reminded her of her father's breath when he shouted insults at her.

Lightara didn't even notice, too focused on eavesdropping on Alpes and the mystery woman.

"Don't you find it strange how every mechanism needs a pivot to turn?" The woman's voice was barely audible, a deep, sensual timbre. She smiled as she tilted her goblet toward Alpes. "Even the most perfect machines stop without a guidance."

Alpes clinked his goblet with the woman's. "Ah, you are a philosopher and a classy lady. You are full of surprises, huh?"

Ember swung her feet from the seat. It always amazed her to witness moments of live flirtation between people. It felt like watching a play, with the same script recurring in all the scenes.

Maybe she was too cynical.

Maybe just envious.

"I just like to know what makes things move. Or people. There's always a gear or a reason that makes everyone act a certain way." The woman spoke with a rhythmic cadence, almost as if each sentence was a little song. "What about you, Robert? What drives you?"

Alpes half chuckled before taking a sip. "To be honest, talking about gears wasn't part of my plans for tonight."

The woman put her hand on his chest. "A heart without gears doesn't beat. Perhaps mine is just an excuse to understand you better."

Ember didn't quite know what to make of the woman. She spoke strangely, not only because of her cadence, but also because of her obsession with gears. Surely she was working hard to lure Alpes in, even though it was obvious she didn't really need to.

She noticed, however, that Lightara was clenching her fist on the counter. So tightly that her knuckles were white. What was wrong with her?

"That bastard," she heard her mutter.

Ember didn't understand. She slid a little closer, trying to ignore the scent of cherry and leather that made her head spin. "Sarge? Are you all right?"

Lightara shook her head. "That woman. She's a Ysnian."

Ember just blinked in complete confusion. How did she know? But then it hit her: the accent, the cadence, the strange speech patterns. Gears were what Ysnian was all about. She glanced at the woman who kept her hand on Alpes' arm; they spoke more quietly now, whispering in each other's ears, in an intimate way. As if they were used to being together.

She was reminded of that evening when Alpes had come out of his office, his uniform half unbuttoned and looking distracted.

"He was with her that day," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

But Lightara understood quickly, and brought her fingers to the root of her nose. "He let her into the Academy. In his office. That imbecile."

What were the chances that this was habitual? Was it possible that the intruder that day in Oblam's office had been this woman?

Then what did Jason have to do with it? Maybe nothing. Maybe Jason's was really just a malicious prank.

"I mean, maybe... Maybe this is unrelated. Just because she's a Ysnian doesn't make her our enemy, does it?" Ember didn't know why she suddenly found herself defending Alpes. She didn't even like the Lieutenant. He was a moron, most of the time.

Lightara sighed. "No. But it's too much of a coincidence."

True.

Ember didn't have many other objections to Alpes' defense. Maybe the woman was using him, she thought. Maybe he was aware of it. But certainly their relationship was a good motive for treason. "What do we do now?"

The woman rose from the counter and dragged Alpes by the arm toward the dance floor.

Lightara hesitated for a moment, her eyes following them until they were lost among the other couples. "We need to gather more information," she said as she adjusted her jacket and stood. She nodded at the dance floor. "Now, we dance."