The world is a foggy, muddled mess. Corva blinks her eyes a few times. It’s so hard to focus. The middle of her forehead is cold, and it aches. Despite knowing that she’s lying still on her back, her body feels like it’s slinging between passing out and throwing up. What in the world made her think it would be a good idea to work at a bar in an isolated gray haven?

An image flashes in her mind. At least, she thinks it’s in her mind. It’s his face. Zeke. The monkey. The edges of her vision sharpen and she can see a bit more clearly. It’s not an image in her mind. Zeke is really there. He peers down at her, concern filling his slit eyes. But it’s brief. A moment later he’s turned away from her, pawing Jack’s shoulder and ear.

Why is the boy leaning over her? He isn’t paying attention to Zeke. He’s not looking at her, either.

“So you gonna gimme a hand here, or what?” Jack is holding a cold, wet rag on her forehead, but he’s talking to that older guy he keeps calling “Hairless.” His voice registers in her mind like there’s a wall of water between them.

The balding older man shakes his head. “Sorry kid. Got protocols. You’re not the only one living in this burg.” He spins on his heel and takes long, quick steps to the front door. “Make your way over to the north siege caves. We’ll talk later about how you brought this on the town with your failure to manage this bar.”

Corva can feel Jack’s arm tense and tighten in her hand. She’s holding his other wrist, and hard. She’s the reason he’s leaned over her. He’s unable to sit fully upright. She must’ve pulled him down.

She looks to his face. Anger. Hairless’s comment appears to have really affected him. His eyes are closed and his ears are bright red. She can feel his heartbeat through her grip on his wrist. It’s fast, as if he’s currently sprinting full-out across a field. His lips are moving, but no words are coming out. Is he talking to himself?

And then, just like that, his arm is slack. Relaxed. Even though she knows that his heart is still racing, she’d swear he almost looks calm.

His eyes open and he shouts to the front door, just as the bald man is nearly out. “Hey, Hairless! The raid party. They the Sheeps or the Goats?”

“Umbrati. Not that it matters. Get to the caves.”

Despite Zeke’s insistent prodding, Jack waits a few seconds after Hairless is gone before looking back down at her. His pupils are tiny, constricted dots in a circle of gray. “We should go. Can you stand?”

“Yeah. I think so.” She releases his wrist and props herself on her elbows as he takes the rag off her head. She waits a beat. The watery fog over her vision and hearing clears a bit more. She pushes herself up to a sitting position and leans back against the bottom of the bar. “What’s a siege cave?”

“Side benefit of putting a town on the side of a canyon is that you can burrow into the rock for protection. The way I hear it, the caves were the first things they built when they made Bule. Expanded some mines that’d gone dry and built out from there.”

“How far away are they?”

“Not far. Maybe ten minutes if we hurry. Depends on how fast you can walk.” He pauses. A look of confusion bunches up his brow.

“What?”

He hesitates a bit, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “What’s your game? You coulda beat those two guys, no problem. Why didn’t you?”

She looks away. Being a bouncer for the bar was part of their deal. It’s the part that she knew she couldn’t live up to then. And she knows she can’t live up to it now either, regardless of what he—or her spotty memory—says. Sure, she’d gotten a bit of combat training with the other kids in Fareburne, and years of living on the road have hardened her. But evasion is her talent, not confrontation.

“I’m no fighter. I couldn’t beat them.”

“Bullshit. I’ve got playback that shows otherwise. If you had any tech on you, I could get you to see that.”

“Look. I don’t care what you or your little neats say—”

“Kneaks.”

“What?”

“They’re called ‘kneaks.’ With a ‘K’ … two of ’em actually. Kirsch Neural-Enhancing Aug—”

“Whatever. Point is, I know what I am and what I’m not. I’m not a fighter. I’m good at avoiding, escaping, and hiding. Not engaging.”

Jack stares at her for a moment. A constipated stillness fills the air between them. Even Zeke briefly pauses his hopping and pawing at Jack’s shoulder. The boy lowers his head to one side, away from both her and Zeke. “Augmentation Kit.”

“Puta que pariu! Are you even listening to me at all?” What’s wrong with this kid?

He blinks, his mind returning from wherever his compulsion to finish his thought took it. “What? Yeah, I’m listenin’. Look, you’re wrong. I seen what I seen. You’re just gonna hafta believe me until I can get a screen to show you the playback.”

He twists his neck over to look at Zeke, who’s resuming his nervous gesticulations on Jack’s shoulder. The raid siren continues to blare, an annoying screech adding anxiety to their every word. “But right now, we’ve gotta get movin’. Ain’t smart to be here at the bar during a raid, ‘specially since them Goats are probably trackin’ the imbued tech that was used here.”

He rises to his feet and pauses to tug on the bottom of his vest. As he smooths the vest with the flat of his hand, it lingers a moment over the left side. He gives that spot a quick pat before he reaches out, offering his hand. Corva reaches past his hand and grabs at his elbow to pull herself up. The poor kid has to brace himself against a barstool to prevent himself from collapsing—and her with him. Fortunately, although her head swims a bit, her feet are steady, stable.

She looks to Zeke and Jack. Zeke. The little monkey is almost close enough that she could touch him. There are secrets behind those strangely slitted eyes. She’d just need to reach out and—

There’s a slap on the top of her hand and she realizes that she really is reaching past Jack’s face to Zeke.

Jack scowls. “None of that now. Don’t need you goin’ all freak out, then black out on me. Not here. Not now. Got enough problems with this raid. Don’t need the extra worry of dragging your unconscious ass across Upper Bule. And that’d be after bandaging whatever damage you end up doing to me.”

Zeke lets out an insistent chirp and pushes again on Jack’s shoulder. Jack doesn’t look at him, and instead keeps his eyes focused on Corva. “Zeke, I swear if you push on me one more time, I’m gonna stop trading for that dried fruit you like so much. You’ll be back to eatin’ potatoes and toast.”

The monkey’s eyes push incredibly wide before narrowing to a bitter squint. He drops back to his haunches and rests his arms on his knees. His gaze darts back and forth between Jack and Corva, impatient. Petulant. That said, he’s not jumping or pawing on Jack anymore.

Jack is still staring at her. “You ready?”