. . . Truffles continues

Interlude

ON THIS LEVEL, the night zone was dim, noisy, and their boots stuck to something regrettable on the floor every few steps.

Yet there were stars overhead, albeit the Plexis version, and their light rode the waves of Sira’s hair, embers of molten gold flowing with her every movement as she led the way between the seemingly random tables and planters the station used to slow traffic. Never inconspicuous, his Witchling, no matter how she tried. Knowing himself hopelessly smitten, glad of it to his core, Morgan smiled, fingers curled at the thought of the warm, silken stuff.

His smile faded, fingers forming fists he deliberately relaxed. Plexis was no place to be distracted. Those who lived and worked here weren’t a problem—not more than once, anyway. Morgan focused on the strangers to every side. That cheery in-their-cups band of spacers they were about to pass could turn to trouble with an instant’s perceived slight. The gold airtag on the haughty Skenkran beside him had the sheen of a fake, but being out in the open made its business none of his. On Plexis, pickpockets took lifting valuables to a fine art and those convenient planters offered blind spots for more serious threats.

Sira took care to avoid them.

She battled her own demons, Morgan knew, much as she tried to dismiss them. The First Chosen of the di Sarcs, Speaker for the Clan Council, and now his partner on the Silver Fox—her courage, innate Power, and single-minded determination to help her kind had earned those titles. What had happened to her along the way ached in his heart. That it had brought them together, to this, was their shared joy and yes, she was healing. The scars she bore with such courage had begun to fade.

If not those in her mind. Being back on Pocular brought her nothing but nightmares, dreams she tried to hide behind her formidable shields. They were Chosen; even before that bond, he’d experienced her dreams, and now? He’d wake in the jungle, sensing Sira’s pain—

Sharing it. He should have refused the job. Said no to Huido after the first trip, when he’d seen what returning to that world did to Sira. But she had her pride. Argued they needed the work, the ship needed the parts, Huido needed the truffles. It helped they’d both forget, during the trips to and from, consumed by the urgent joy of discovering one another.

But her nightmares each landing grew worse, not better, and he’d decided before leaving Pocular this load of truffles would be the last. Nothing was worth those painful shadows in her mind.

Shadows within shadows here, Morgan thought, catching the glint of other eyes in the nearest. Watching eyes. He tensed his wrists to drop his force blades into waiting palms, only to still as a face moved forward from the darkness. Enough to be seen.

Enough to be known—

He gave the smallest of nods.

—Gone again.

That he’d been shown the face at all was a warning—or threat. They were, the Human thought in some exasperation, one and the same when it came to Plexis. Odds were this—this attention had nothing to do with them or the officious F’Feego at Duties and Tariffs. Yet.

Nonetheless, he took a longer stride to catch up to Sira.