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Vidar watched Kirby and Brit, eyebrow raised. “Do you have that out of your system?”
“Yes.” Brit spoke before Kirby could. “For now, at least.” This wasn’t the time or place to fight, and whatever made Kirby forget that...
Brit understood, though. This place looked so much like home. No, not home, the past. Kirby looked more like home than anything. It wasn’t the time for the thought, but Brit couldn’t help it.
“Kirby needs to sleep.” Magnus sounded concerned. “I’ll get them a room.” There was a unique blend of deference and command in her tone.
Vidar nodded. “Take them with you.” He pointed to six of the soldiers. “Give our guests a room in housing.” He focused on Brit and Kirby. “We’ll speak in the morning. Please keep in mind, I’m not Hel. I have a great deal of respect for your skills and who you are. There’s no competition here. Not like that.”
“Thanks for the recruitment speech.” Brit didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. “We’ll be sure to not take it into consideration.”
“Keep in mind, Sergeant Hauge, your time here will be a bit prison like at first. You know how it goes—you can have freedom or security, but you can’t have both. Rest well.” Vidar turned on his toe and strode away.
Brit hated gods.
“Let me show you the digs,” Magnus said lightly. “You’ll love it. It’s almost like we never left.”
“Swell.” Kirby slipped her hand into Brit’s and squeezed.
The sweet gesture sent a rush of familiarity and warmth through Brit, but the way Kirby leaned her weight into it marred the experience with concern. This wasn’t about making a connection; Kirby needed to lean on her for support.
They stepped from the main building, and Brit’s gut twisted in on itself. She hid the reaction. This wasn’t identical to the old campus, but it was too fucking close for her comfort.
“I miss the trees.” Magnus was conversational. “So far the weather isn’t as intense here, though.”
“Where’s here, approximately?” Brit asked.
Magnus glanced at them with a smirk. “Not the northeastern part of the US. I could get more approximate, if you’d like.”
“Nah. We’re good.” Kirby was mostly upright, but every few steps she wobbled.
Brit supported her. Their path was taking them straight toward where Noble housing was on the old campus. Odds seemed high it would be the same here.
“So what have you two been up to?” Magnus’s question sounded like casual small talk, the way Brit’s about location had. This was all low-level interrogation bullshit, though. If a detail slipped, anything that could be used to learn more, any of them would stash it for future reference.
Brit plucked an answer out of thin air. “I’ve been teaching English as a second language to Martian refugees in New Mexico.”
“Oh, wow.” Magnus sounded genuinely fascinated. “Area 51?”
“Nah. An actual Top Secret black site. I could be shot for even talking about it,” Brit said.
Magnus tapped her claw against her chin. Interesting tic. Intentional or not? “I probably shouldn’t ask you more, in that case. Kirby?”
“I’m a chaplain in Kuwait. US Army.” Kirby’s answer wasn’t fabricated at all. According to Min, that was her last life.
“I didn’t realize the army had a lot of Freya worshipers,” Magnus said.
Kirby squeezed Brit’s hand more tightly. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the Freya comment or the fact that they’d just stepped into a building that might as well be their old apartments.
“It’s more of a nondenominational thing.” Kirby’s light retort defied the tension vibrating through her grib. “You know, I won’t yuck your yum, as long as your god doesn’t try to kill me.”
They stepped into the elevator, and Magnus pushed the button for the fourth floor. “You and I always had some differences of opinion. I hope we can still be friends.”
“I’m sure we can.” Brit and Kirby spoke at the same time, but Kirby’s retort held a lot more sarcasm.
This wasn’t right, though. Not just the creepy recreation of a place that had been turned to rubble less than a week ago, but also Magnus’s behavior.
Brit had always liked Magnus and Dahlia. They were genuine. Not the phony make-everyone-think-you-like-them that most of the Nobles practiced, but actually kind. Fun. And they’d never struck her as zealots.
Maybe it had all been an act, but pretending to not be brainwashed by the cult one was trapped in didn’t seem like the smartest thing to pretend.
They reached their floor. The walk down the hallway was half-eerie-flash-to—past, half-march to their execution.
They stopped in front of room 404—Kirby’s old room number. Magnus unlocked the door, then pocketed the key. “There’s food in the fridge and cupboards. Clothes in the dresser. If you need anything, there will be guards outside your door. Just ask them.”
“Thanks.” Brit had lost all desire to fake sincerity. The room they were shown into was identical to Kirby’s old room.
It wasn’t decorated the same, but Kirby had the biggest room of any Noble. Partly because of her position, and presumably as another of Hel’s manipulations.
“See you in the morning.” Magnus closed the door behind them, and the audible clicking of a lock sound filled the air.
Kirby leaned her back against a nearby wall, and her shoulders slumped. Exhaustion shone in the lines on her face and the dark circles under her eyes. “She didn’t even give us the grand tour.”
“Rude, right? I guess we’ll have to show ourselves around.” In other words, time to take a look and see what they’d been handed. Brit both hated that the double talk came so easily, and adored that she and Kirby still had that connection they’d shared as partners.
It was a basic apartment. A kitchenette, small living room, and bedroom with bath. The bedroom was where Brit stalled.
Last time she was in this room—no, just a room like this—with Kirby, she’d known she was going to betray the woman she loved. This campus was a replica, and missing the people who made her old life miserable, so the triggers weren’t there. But this room... this woman... Brit wouldn’t fall into it, but fuck she wanted to.
All of the food in the kitchen was either vacuum sealed or canned. Nothing gourmet, but edible and nutritious. “So great to be back,” Kirby said sarcastically, as she eyed the shelf full of beans and peaches.
There were two sets of dressers. Brit checked the top drawer of each. White cotton bras and panties. “Is it just me, or is it creepy someone else went underwear shopping for us?”
“Creepier that they’re the right size.” Kirby fingered a lingerie label. “If there are uniforms in the other two drawers, I will try to kill myself again.” Her laugh fell short.
Brit stared at her, not sure how to respond.
“Kidding.” Kirby’s weak smile shifted to too bright in a heartbeat. “Do you think we have the full security package in this place?”
“One assumes.” Brit agreed the suite probably had full-coverage cameras and mics.
What was in the drawers wasn’t as important as what was eating at Kirby. It seemed unlikely she’d open up to Brit even under good circumstances, but here, with an audience...
Then again, the here was probably the issue. If Brit hated being reminded of that last night the two of them spent together on campus, it had to be devouring Kirby.
“I’m sorry.” Brit’s lungs squeezed tight, as she let the memory and guilt linger. “Nothing I can say feels sufficient. It was my decision—”
“You were under duress.” Kirby’s tone was tighter than her casual dismissal.
True. Mark had told Brit her life on campus would never get better if she didn’t sell out Kirby. He assured her Kirby would recover. But Brit’s life got worse, and that night, Kirby tried to end her own.
For years, Brit thought Kirby succeeded. Brit had no idea Starkad had rescued her. Taken her away from all of this.
Brit had been pressured, but she’d also been selfish. “I wish I could do that night—the next morning—over again.” Saying the words left her throat raw and the confession took a chunk of guilt with it. She’d rarely dared let herself think that, let alone admit it.
“In a way, you can. How many people get that kind of second chance? Don’t sell me out in the morning.” There was no more fakeness in Kirby’s voice or expression. There was no more of any emotion.
“Never again.” The assurance wasn’t enough. Could it ever be?