Chapter Six

THE LOBBY LOOKS like any other nondescript hub of skyscraper offices. No logos or branding, which is standard. No people either, which isn’t. Lobby completely empty, emergency lights flashing. Eerily still and quiet.

“Nobody home,” Ravi says grimly, slipping his access card back into his pocket. “Not great.”

“How incredibly lucky that we just happened to be in the city while this is happening, isn’t it?” Harry’s words are so full of irony they’re rusting at the edges. She hops over the security desk and parks herself at the computer.

“I hath ceased to believe in such things as coincidence,” Constance sighs, rummaging through her bag for magical supplies.

“So, trap?” Nate asks conversationally, rolling up his shirt sleeves to the elbows.

Val takes off her sunglasses, her eyes burning white fire. “I have received no worthwhile information from my superiors in some while. All this twisting of time has left even the celestial plane in uncertainty.” Her meter-long maul appears in her hand, and she rests it on her shoulder while clapping a hand to Nate’s back, sending the professor staggering forward. “Trap or no, I am confident we shall prevail.”

“Atta girl, Val,” Harry absently mutters, clicking through menus. “An evacuation notice was sent out to all staff twenty-five minutes ago. Then shortly after, the building’s alarms were pulled. But I’m not seeing any useful details. Everything here is very vague.”

Ravi stretches over the desk, reaches under the counter, and keys the secret button. The nearest elevator dings and the doors slide open. “What are we, amateurs? Critical information isn’t available in the lobby. This way.” He draws his gun and clears the elevator first, even checking the maintenance hatch. “All good,” he says, holding the gun low at his side and stepping aside for the rest to file in.

“Aren’t you supposed to take the stairs in an emergency?”

“Stairs don’t lead up to the working floors,” Ravi explains, “just the dummy offices. The real offices can only be reached by reinforced elevators or helicopter access.” He punches in a series of numbers using the call buttons. A panel pops open and he swipes his access card.

“Cool. Please tell me it takes a handprint, or a retinal scan or something,” Nate says, eyes round and impressed.

Ravi smirks. “You watch too many movies, Doc.”

The doors shut and they begin rising. In the moment of silence, Harry clears her throat and bumps her shoulder to Ravi’s. “You good?”

“Yup,” he replies, feeling almost cheerful. It’s a pleasure to have something to do, something he’s good at.

“You’ve been to this branch before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. Been a few years though.” More than a few. Since before Tanvi and Nirav died.

Nate turns to him with a look of concern. “Are you okay being back here?”

He doesn’t hide his confusion. “Yeah?”

A peculiar mix of wryness and disquiet crosses Nate’s features. “Right, right. Why wouldn’t you be.”

Harry watches the slow crawl of numbers on the digital display as the floors rise. Her tone shifts a little, into the capable cadence Ravi secretly thinks of as Leader Voice. “What do we need to know?”

Delivering a brief is comfortingly familiar. Ravi stands a little straighter. “Manhattan branch is the main North American hub for intelligence agents and network specialists. Mostly comprised of intel agents with occasional field agent coverage. Except for select Directors, these people don’t know anything about the Chosen, Harry. Only the old families know much about that part of The Trust. These are career agents and contractors. They’re not going to take orders from you.”

“Fine by me, I’m not big on giving orders to strangers anyway. We run into Trusties, you take point.”

“Understood. Chances are low that we’ll run into an agent I’ve worked with before, but that shouldn’t be a problem. There’s inter-branch cooperation all the time during emergencies.” While he speaks, he holsters his gun long enough to slip on both knuckledusters, specially shaped to accommodate a pistol grip. No such thing as overprepared, one of his combat tutors liked to say.

Harry zips her leather jacket up to her chin. “All right. I want Val and Ravi sweeping first, Constance and Nate in the middle, and I’ll take caboose.” The urumi unfurls from its disguised form in Harry’s hand as the elevator comes to a halt, ribbons of steel blades ringing. “We have no idea what’s going on here, so let’s be ready for anything.”

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. A twisted, hulking quadruped whips around to face them, snarling through rows upon rows of jagged teeth.

Val strides one step forward and backswings her maul into its chest, the force propelling it clean into the wall where it makes a significant dent in the plaster. The creature shakes his head, making a terrible gibbering sound as it struggles to its clawed feet. Stepping in, Ravi puts three bullets into its head before it can stand. He swiftly checks the hallway for more movement.

“Clear,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Jesus fuck,” Nate mutters beside a wide-eyed Constance.

“Aye, I admit I wasn’t quite ready for anything, my niece.”

“No shit.” Harry’s fingers are white on the urumi’s handle.

Gun at the ready, Ravi moves to study the body. The creature looks like some unholy mating of a mastiff and a snake but covered with two lines of multiple eyes that trail from snout to ears. Each eye has an unsettling triplicate of pupils. Its surface doesn’t look like anything Ravi’s ever seen before; not covered in fur or scales or skin, but an oil-sheened film that reflects the light oddly. After a few seconds, the body begins to froth and dissolve, leaving a smoky, stinking burn in the tiles.

“Well, that’s pretty fucking gross.” Nate sidles alongside him to also inspect the corpse, their shoulders brushing. “I’ve never heard of anything matching this description. Very cool. Know what it is?”

“Unknown,” Val declares. “A being not of this world. We should assume there are more of them.”

“Percussive force kills it,” Ravi says with a shrug. As far as he’s concerned, that’s all the information currently required.

Nate doesn’t respond, staring at the stain on the floor while he nibbles at his lower lip, brows drawn low. Ravi bumps his shoulder in a steadying nudge, and Nate’s nervousness dissolves into a grateful smile.

“Indeed.” Valiance hefts her maul, looking downright jaunty to have something tangible to smite. “Where do we go?”

Ravi cautiously pokes his head around the corner, hand-signaling the group to move forward. No bodies or blood. Maybe the evacuation was complete before things went to shit. A surprising turn of good luck. “Through this room. The most secure area nearby will be the server room. Anyone under attack here would have fallen back to that location.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” Harry edges her boots carefully around the acid-etched part of the floor. “We’re a little light on firepower.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Constance says, stuffing a few bundles of herbs into her pockets for easy reach.

Nate raises his hand like a kid in class. “I’m not fine. We were just gonna have a friendly chat with a vampire today, I left my stuff back on the plane.” Without hesitation Ravi flips his gun upside down and offers it to Nate, who grimaces and shakes his head. “No way, man. You’ve taken me to the range enough times to know I’m next to useless with those.”

“You have to have something, Doc. I can make do with these,” Ravi insists, displaying one be-knuckled fist.

“I can teleport,” Val mentions.

Harry smacks her forehead. “Fuck me, all this time doing this crazy shit and I still forget you can just bamf anywhere you’ve visited before. Val, can you be a lamb and grab our stuff?”

Without a word Val disappears. She pops back into the hallway with an oversized weapons bag hefted easily in one hand. Harry unzips the bag and hands out Nate’s hockey stick, then affixes her gun onto her hip with a sigh of relief. She tucks a few more clips into her pockets and throws a couple to Ravi. “That’s better. Heads on swivels, folks.”

Ravi and Val lead the way in a quiet, cautious advance through the building. Aside from hastily moved ergonomic chairs and scattered papers on the floor, nothing appears amiss. Computer screens still on and glowing, a few lunches left half-eaten. No sign of movement anywhere.

“Nice offices,” Harry mutters. “Intel must be cushy work.” Ravi suppresses a smirk. Harry unknowingly hit upon the main point of contention between field and intel agents.

The door to the server room resembles a bank vault. After Ravi swipes his card, keys in the code, and lets the reader take a thumbprint scan, the door buzzes, a series of internal bolts noisily unlocking.

He carefully leans around the open frame. “Anyone alive in there?”

A few tense seconds pass before a reedy tenor calls, “You field?”

“Yeah. Intel?”

“Yeah.” The sound of scrabbling feet. “Come on in, but weapons up. It’s been a weird day.”

“Looks like,” Ravi says, holding his gun low. He gives the team a nod, and Harry’s urumi snakes up into its disguise. Nate lowers his stick, Val puts on her sunglasses and holds her maul down at her hip, which is the most disarmed she’s likely to get. Constance trots along behind, looking as deceptively harmless as she ever does. “We’re coming in.”

Ravi enters first, scanning the room as the others pile in behind him. Behind the glass partition, banks of servers hum away while the front area looks like a hurricane’s been through it. A face peers out from behind an overturned desk, the muzzle of a shotgun beside it. Lowering his Glock, making it clear he’s no threat, Ravi approaches with one hand raised.

“Agent Abhiramnew from Atlanta branch. This is my team. Freelancers. We were in the neighborhood and got a call that you went dark.”

A lanky intel agent with square glasses and a hi-top fade stands up, wearing business casual attire that’s torn in several places. “Agent Williams. Thank God, yeah, there’s been a brea—” Williams loosens his grip on his shotgun, and he blinks a few times. “Wait, Ravi Abhiramnew?”

Ravi frowns. “Yeah. Have we worked together? Sorry, I don’t remember you.”

Williams’s laugh is just shy of hysterical. “Have we worked together! No, we have not.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just really glad someone’s shown up. I’ve been holding position by myself for the last half-hour.” The agent straightens up as if his morale has been boosted considerably.

Odd. There’s no reason for another agent, even an intelligence agent, to know the first thing about the old family names, even the Abhiramnews. And even if they did, recognizing Ravi’s name specifically? It’s strange, but ultimately not important, so he shoves it aside. “What’s the situation?”

“Right. A bit ago a mysterious branch-wide evacuation was called, warning us about an incoming dimensional breach. Somehow a rift was opened inside the premises. The communication network went down, like a damned EMP or something. Then those snake-dog things started pouring through, attacking anything they saw. Did you spot any on the way in?”

“Just one. It’s dead.”

“There’s a lot more,” Williams states grimly. “Most people got out, as far as I know, trying to alert other branches. There’s still a strike team in the facility, working on extraction of…a high-priority asset. I think the bulk of the horde has them pinned down.”

“Why didn’t you evacuate too?”

“I, uh. I’m mainly IT. I…get a lot done when everyone’s away from their desk, not messing up their computer. I didn’t realize the evac was legit until those things started running through.”

Nate chuckles. “Some office drama is universal.”

“What about the Branch Director?” Ravi asks. “We were told he’s missing.”

Williams shrugs. “Yes, kind of. But he does that. He’s sort of infamous for it.”

“I haven’t heard about him.”

“Javier Mason? He was promoted to the position a couple of months ago.”

“Oh,” Ravi says with surprise, “I have heard of him.” Mason was something of a Trust legend. Five years ago, he was presumed KIA in Anchorage for several months until he showed up wearing a yeti skin for warmth. Ravi has always wanted to meet him. “Mason’s out of house?”

“Yeah, he goes on walkabouts sometimes to investigate stuff on his own. He says it keeps him sharp. He left yesterday. Bali, I think?”

“It wasn’t him who sent out the evac order?”

“No. I took a look at the message, and all the metadata had been scrubbed. I didn’t have time to dig deeper, but whoever sent it saved a lot of lives.”

A mystery for later. “The strike team on site. What kind of asset are they securing?” Williams gives the rest of the team a wary look. “You can speak freely, Agent.”

Williams stands up a little straighter, almost at attention. “We have a seer visiting, sir.”

Ravi sucks in a breath. If this attack was of Cayenne’s design, which Ravi still holds out thin hope it wasn’t, then they’re making a hit on a Trust seer, one of the most valuable resources The Trust possesses. Smart play. Even though time travel played havoc with clairvoyance, the seer must pose a significant enough threat to warrant taking out.

If it is Cayenne. There’s still a chance it’s not.

“I’m not a sir, Williams. Just an agent.”

“Yes, s—uh, right.”

This random agent’s high regard for him is weird. Another mystery for later. “Relevant details?”

Williams nods sharply and trades his shotgun for a laptop, bringing up a map. “An unknown incident caused a rift to the Outside to open in the middle of the armory. That’s the epicenter. Seconds later, the feeds shut down along with comms. I haven’t been able to get them back online.”

“Fuck,” Ravi mutters. The armory is the worst possible place the branch could be breached. It was extremely good fortune that the evac order came when it did, or there would have been a lot of agents unable to arm themselves against the attack.

Constance steps forward, her eyes wide. “The Outside?” She shoots a meaningful look at Ravi, jerking her head aside.

Harry catches this and turns to Williams with a reassuring smile. “We’re on it! We’re gonna need some floor plans.” She takes the agent aside to look over his laptop while the rest of the group forms a loose huddle around Constance.

“Ravi,” she says urgently, “I have not yet finished looking into your list of stolen arcane artifacts, but this occurrence was most assuredly caused by one of them.”

“One of the Bhagavati’s lost items? You’re sure?”

“Aye, an obsidian mirror that opens a rift to the Outside. Called the Darkling Eye.”

So much for Cayenne not being responsible. Ravi swallows bile.

Nate hikes up his hockey stick over both broad shoulders. “What’s the Outside? Another word for the Faerie Realm or something?”

Constance shakes her head, braids spilling over her shoulders. “Nay, ’tis the space between realms. A dark place of madness and eldritch beings who seek to enslave lifeforms on the material planes.”

“Ah. Lovecraftian horrors. Got it.”

Ravi snorts. “Basically, yeah.”

Nate flashes a buoyant smile. “That’s easy, then. Nobody read any old books, and if you see any fog or mist, don’t walk into it.”

Harry comes back while tapping at her phone, no doubt syncing up with Agent Williams’s information. She checks her gun again. “Nothing about avoiding tentacles, Doc?”

“Hey, I don’t kink shame.”

From a respectful distance away, Williams hefts his shotgun and pipes up, “I’ll keep this area secure. A defensible position in case you need to fall back.”

“Okay.” Ravi nods. “Good thinking.” Agent Williams looks inordinately pleased, narrow chest swelling.

Constance ties her skirts into a pair of knots over each knee, freeing up her formidable boots. “Likely these hounds are merely vanguards. We need destroy the mirror before anything larger comes through.”

Ravi takes a long breath and adjusts the fit of his knuckledusters against his palms. “Okay. Shut the rift, find the strike team, save the seer. Those are our objectives.”

“Unlikely that our adversary is still here after setting their trap, but we should still remain vigilant,” Val says. Ravi hopes fervently that she’s right, that Cayenne isn’t still here. He can plan for or adapt to any battlefield situation, but when he grasps for what he’d do if he saw Cayenne, he just…blanks. Like a map with a hole cut in it.

“Vigilance, yeah. Always, big gal,” Harry mutters. She checks her gun a third time. Ravi inspects her a little more closely. The whites of her eyes are wider than normal, her skin pale as wheat.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “Harry.”

She looks up with false brightness. “Mm-hmm?”

“We’re going to be fine.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” she says with a careless wave. “Just kinda seems like the sort of apocalyptic event that Chosen Ones tend to get chewed up by, y’know?”

This is several orders of magnitude worse than the few small skirmishes Harry’s had since getting her newfound abilities, and though she’s been training hard the entire month with both Val and with Ravi, her introduction to what it meant to be Chosen was a front row seat to the memories of countless deaths.

Ravi wishes fiercely he could take that burden from her; not the urumi, that wasn’t his place. But if he could take the fear from her, he would.

So, he gives it a try.

“This?” he scoffs. “This isn’t an apocalypse, Harry.” He grins and cocks his gun for theatrical effect. “This is a Tuesday.”

*

“YOU KNOW WHAT I wish we had? Flamethrowers.” Harry drags back on the urumi, its whiplike blades scissoring deep into a hound’s hamstrings. It howls furiously, struggling until Nate staves in its skull with his hockey stick. The professor’s eyes are a little wild, but he’s handling himself well.

While the others take care of the straggler, Ravi and Val continue covering the hallway. A thick mass of hounds waits for them. Hundreds of eyes reflect the fluorescent light in unearthly green flashes. The beasts writhe around each other in a confusing knot, making it impossible to pick out just one. An oil-sheened ocean of menace waits to crest over them. The chorus they make, a terrible gibbering, chattering whine, sets Ravi’s teeth on edge. Enough time spent listening to that might drive a person mad.

“There would have been some flamethrowers in the armory,” he says wistfully. “And grenades.” Now it’s all likely floating away in the hollow space between worlds.

“Throwing flame is no problem, mine companions.” Constance dips her hands in her pockets, then draws her fingertips across each opposite palm, smearing gritty ash over them. “Plan, mine niece?” Two small sparks ignite in her palms, illuminating her strangely, gilding her hair as it slips out of its plaits.

Double-wielding gun and urumi, Harry asks, “Rav, how much further?”

“Down that way past the foyer, and then two more rooms to the armory.” Which is now a gaping hole into the Outside, spilling out more monsters the longer they linger.

“Okay,” Harry says. “There’s a lot of these things, and we can’t let them surround us or separate us. We stay close to the wall. Constance, clear a path. Nate, you cover her. Val, guard right flank, I’ll take left. Ravi, can you keep them back with some suppressing fire?”

“I’ll keep them off you. Though headshots would be more effective than suppression.” He slides in a new magazine. If he had an automatic weapon and unlimited ammo, that would be another story, but with a 9mm, he’s got to choose each shot carefully.

“I mean, if you can get some, sure, take ’em.”

He attempts to keep a wolfish smile off his face. “Can do.”

“You’re enjoying yourself way too much, my guy,” Nate remarks, though he’s smiling himself.

“Let’s move,” Harry says.

Her tactics are sound; the cumulative wisdom of the Chosen weapon added to Harry’s natural affinity for leadership make a powerful combination. Constance keeps a steady sweep of flame aimed ahead of them as they hug the wall, occasionally catching a hound aflame and sending it panicking into the mass of its pack, causing further damage. And as much shit as Ravi gives him for stubbornly fighting with only a wooden hockey stick, Nate is impressively accomplished with it. The professor aims for the eyes of any creature that gets close enough, blinding it for Val to bring down her mighty war-hammer onto it. Hound after hound gets smashed into frothing ichor. Exultant, eyes aflame, Val roars battle cries with every pummel of her maul. Ravi’s never seen her smile so much. No doubt, like him, she’s pleased to finally have a problem she is suited to solving: a hammer among nails. Emotional tumult and intrigue aren’t her forte.

Harry’s attacks are neat and quick, constantly aware of their placement and gauging distance. Economical movements of both sword and gun work in tandem to hobble hounds that stray too close.

Another hound separates from the main knot and tenses for a leap at her. Ravi’s shot catches it square in its centermost eye. It topples, body disappearing under the mass of creatures that undulate around them as they keep moving.

“Dude,” Harry laughs back at Ravi. “You weren’t kidding about headshots.”

One monster bounds up to him from their flank, shark-like rows of teeth gnashing too close to shoot. He takes a swing with a left hook. The metal does no special damage—his “brass” knuckles are iron for fae and silver for undead—but the weight of them added to his well-placed punch sure has the intended effect. Bones and cartilage crunch as the beast falls short, catching his forearm with a shallow rake of claws. Ravi ignores the scratches to skip back and put a bullet in its head, keeping his attention on the ever-changing battlefield.

“A great shame my noble familiar Griswold is not here,” Constance calls back, furling a fresh gout of flame to clear the way, beasts cringing away from the heat. “He has been complaining about getting fat and complacent without battles to keep him sharp.”

“I share your cat’s sentiment,” Val declares, stepping out between two straggling hounds. She kicks one in the face, while her hammer swing collapses the ribs of the other. The kicked hound bites her savagely on the calf before Ravi and Harry fell the creature with a flurry of bullets.

“Stay in formation, Val!” Harry darts forward, covering Val’s side as the angel rejoins the main group.

Constance staggers a little. Nate is quick to shore her up, bracing himself against her back. “You okay?” He thwacks an approaching monster square in the mouth, then sweeps its legs out from under it.

Her voice sounds faint. “’Tis a great deal of magic to channel without surcease. I am well enough.” The hounds’ terrible chittering joins into one menacing yowl, like they’ve scented weakness.

“We have to pick up the pace,” Ravi shouts, shooting the creature Nate had dropped before it gets back up. The sound of the shot gets swallowed up by the cacophony, like a thousand hyenas screaming.

Harry uses her forearm to swipe a spatter of oily ichor from her cheek. “Fuck, that noise is giving me a headache. Just a little more to go before we get there, guys. Once the mirror is in view, you can teleport over and smash it, right, Val?”

Val winds up a hit and slams a hound back into the pack. Bones crunch. “Yes.”

“Will that do the trick, Constance, or is there an incantation or something?” Harry slices a hound clean in half with the urumi. A second one slinks ahead, but Ravi’s shot takes it right at the base of the skull. The team steps over their bubbling, dissolving bodies.

The line of fire gutters for a heart-stopping second before Constance leans into it with determination, bracing her boots wide. “God’s wounds, how should I know? This is all new to me.”

“My hammer will suffice,” Val asserts. She spins her hammer fast enough for it to hum in the air before crushing another beast into paste. The mass of snarling hounds closes in tighter, crowding the team against the wall. One snaps at Ravi’s leg, and he kicks it away with a sharp curse.

Distance is gained with agonizing slowness, step by step. Sweat beads on Constance’s brow, fire pouring from her hands. At last, they round the final corner. A long tear of blackness ripples in midair like a torn sail, the area around it a twisted mess of concrete and rebar. The sheer force of it opening must have ripped the armory apart, and the very walls from their moorings. The only thing untouched is a round, impossibly black circle of glass flat underneath the portal. As they watch, another slavering hound wriggles through the rift, unsettlingly reminiscent of a thing being given birth. Rows of triple-pupiled eyes blink independently, claws clicking one by one on the concrete as the hound sets foot into their reality. The creature fixes every one of its many eyes on the group, then starts running toward them, ichor dripping from its jaws.

The arc of shielding fire flickers and dies. Constance looks at her palms with alarm.

Ravi drops to one knee and sights down the barrel. He pops off two rounds, and the beast’s head jerks back once; twice, and its legs crumple underneath it. The hound slides lifelessly the rest of the way to Constance’s boots, already sizzling into acid.

Harry spins around to cover their rear. “Val! You’re up!”

Ivory wings fan out with a loud snap as Valiance teleports next to the rift. She grimaces, as if the air itself hurt. Bracing herself with wings spread wide, she slams the head of her maul down on the obsidian mirror.

There’s a reason why Val is the team’s tank; so far, they haven’t run into anything that can withstand a direct hit from her celestial weapon, and the Darkling Eye is no exception. Glass shatters, the rift twisting and twitching as it sucks in a massive draft of air. Val gets dragged across the floor toward it before she slams her maul into the concrete, wedging herself firmly in place.

Everyone’s hair swirls wildly in the sudden wind, then just as abruptly as it started, it stops. The rift winks closed like a weary sideways eye, and the air itself loses a slimy, oppressive quality Ravi hadn’t even consciously aware was there. The destroyed section of building looks a lot bigger without a massive hole in the middle of it.

With ear-splitting howls, the hounds disband and scatter, no longer twining together in their protective pack formation. Shoulder to shoulder, Ravi and Harry together pick off as many as they can before the rest retreat deeper into the facility.

A long moment to catch their breath. Val kicks at the shards of obsidian. Constance slides down a wall and sits with her legs splayed, rubbing at her ashen hands. Nate joins her, talking softly. She nods and pats his hand.

Harry leans into Ravi for a second. “Objective one complete.”

Switching out his clip, he returns her grin with a crooked one of his own, adrenaline high. “And look at that. Still alive.”

She gives a comical roll of her eyes. “Well, now you’ve jinxed me. Nice job, dude.” She nods her chin over at the rest of the team in silent suggestion to join them as she trades her gun for her phone. “I’ll keep watch and check in with Williams. Find out where the strike team is. We could use a hand mopping up whatever hound-things are left.”

Ravi leaves her to it. He holsters his gun and crouches down next to Nate. “Nice work, Constance.”

She smiles with a little scrunch of her nose, wiping ash from her hands. “Fair shooting, as well. Mine thanks.”

“None necessary.” He looks them both over. “Any injuries?”

Constance shakes her head, and Nate says, “I’m good, but it looks like you took a hit.”

“Hm?”

Without another word, Nate takes Ravi’s arm, shoving up his tattered sleeve. Ravi blinks. “Got something for this, Constance?” She leans over to look at the sluggishly bleeding claw marks. She purses her lips and digs through her bag.

“It can wait,” Ravi insists. “Val took a bite.”

“And I shall require healing for it, as well.” Val sets herself down beside Ravi, stretching out her injured leg. The wound appears to be sizzling, though she pays it little mind. “We both need to stay in top form to be most effective on the field.”

Grudgingly, Ravi drops into a cross-legged seat. Constance gets to work patching Val’s bite while Nate still holds onto Ravi’s wrist, his fingers warm and gentle.

“Hey,” he says seriously. “Tell me the truth, Ravi.”

Ravi lifts an eyebrow.

“Last time you invited me to the range, to teach me to shoot.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you miss those shots on purpose, to make me feel better?” Clear blue eyes twinkle as Nate’s serious expression breaks at the edges, a smile creeping through.

Ravi looks away, ears growing hot. “I, uh. I didn’t want to demoralize you.”

“Demoralize me, geez, man. You’re not my commanding officer.”

“Okay,” Ravi admits, turning back to meet Nate’s gaze. “I didn’t want you to think I brought you there just to show off.”

Nate’s grin is wide and admiring. “I think you’re entitled to show off a little, Annie Oakley.”

Ravi snorts and looks away again, warmth creeping across the nape of his neck.

Constance takes Ravi’s arm, pulling him into an awkward lean as she cleans and dresses his wound. He murmurs his thanks and pushes himself to his feet.

Harry steps over, putting away her phone. “Williams says the strike team is pinned down over by the archives, with the seer safe for now.” She bends and helps Constance to her feet. “You good, hot stuff?”

“Indeed, I just needed to catch mine breath. Channeling the same spell for so long is akin to straining a muscle.”

Val tests her leg before she extends a hand and pulls Nate upright. “That was a very refreshing battle. Let us seek out another.”

*

ASIDE FROM HOCKEY (and a few abysmal seasons of standing in the left outfield of his Little League, catching more Zs than fly balls) Nate hadn’t been a particularly sporty kid. He had been an extroverted Honors Roll valedictorian with AP courses in everything except math and physics. It wasn’t until grad school, after his big breakup, that Nate hit the gym and discovered he was secretly kind of a jock under the nerdy leanings.

He’s never been more grateful for that discovery than he is now, bashing in an eldritch abomination’s head as it tries to latch onto his face. Its chattering screech cuts off as it falls dead at his feet, flesh bubbling into foul ichor. The things have a strange chemical stink, inorganic, like ozone. Nate wishes their bodies wouldn’t dissolve quite so fast; he’d love to catalog a few pictures for later research.

The hallway roils thick with snarling hounds, slamming and clawing at the far double doors in repeated attempts to break into the room. They’ve got the strike team well pinned down inside, with only about a jillion otherworldly monsters in the way. No problem. Nate’s heart feels like it’s dancing a rumba.

The team is holding the advantage so far, Harry having led them in wedge formation right in the thick of things. Constance switches to casting hedge-witchery spells, growing tangles of vines up through the floor that wrap around the beasts, keeping them frustrated and corralled. Easy to pick off. Nate resolves to bake Constance a dozen chocolate cupcakes after they get back home. Two dozen.

Gun hand propped on his bandaged wrist, Ravi rocks off another series of swift shots, serenely lining up each one to find purchase through a different monster’s eye. The team has never encountered a horde like this before, or at least not since Nate joined up. Seeing Ravi get a few perfect shots on a single foe is one thing, but this is a whole other ballpark. His distaste for firearms notwithstanding, Nate’s always had a thing for competence, and Ravi is a dead shot. Good aim is a big deal in most South Asian folklore, nearly synonymous with virtue. Seems about right.

Val teleports around the hallway in flicker-swift dashes, taking out hounds while Constance’s vines snag them in place. She appears, strikes, then disappears before any snapping fangs can catch her. That much teleportation will wear her out in pretty short order, so they can’t drag this out too long.

With a clear path to the doors, Harry takes out a trio of hounds with a complicated sweep of the noodle sword. Nate almost laughs at how surprised she looks with her own success.

Harry knocks on the door with a shave-and-a-haircut rap. “Hey in there, fellow humans to the rescue! Well, human-ish.”

“Thank fuck,” comes a muffled Brooklyn-accented female voice. “We’ve got the way barricaded. Hold out a minute while we clear it.”

“Easy-peasy,” Harry says sarcastically, taking out a hound with a noodle sword/gun combo. As Nate watches, another creature tears free of its ensnaring vine while Harry is distracted and takes a running leap at her, rows of teeth glinting in its oil-slick mouth.

Before the thought even registers, Nate intercepts, blocking with his hockey stick with the intent of checking the thing into the door. It’s far too heavy, and Nate slips on an oily film left by the melting bodies. Next thing he knows he’s flat on his back, bracing the stick against the monster’s slavering jaws. His heart thuds a wild tattoo in his ears, vision tunneling down, but he keeps his arms locked and attempts to kick up into this thing’s gut. Spittle flies from its mouth, and every droplet that lands on Nate’s face burns with pinpricks of fire. His arms strain as the creature bears down on him, seeking his throat.

A silver flash slams into the back of the hound’s skull. It gives a pained whine and falls off him. Nate scrambles to his feet. He’s always happy to see Ravi, but this is something else. Ravi grabs the creature’s jaw in one hand, and the other digs into the loose skin at the scruff of the neck. He twists up sharply. There’s a muffled crack, and the beast goes limp, spine broken. Ravi drops the beast as it falls, avoiding the corrosive effluvia, and draws his gun again. He glowers through lowered brows like a panther, all deadly grace.

“You’ve got to stop charging in like that, Doc.”

Breathing fast, knuckles bloodless white on his chewed hockey stick, Nate can only shrug as he wipes his face with his shirt, adrenaline making him a little shaky. He’s saved from thinking up a response by the doors finally cracking open. Attired in classic Men in Black suits, two agents flank the narrow opening, pistols ready. They wave the team inside as they lay down covering fire and bar the doors behind them.

The strike team is split into two groups, one covering the door, and a secondary smaller group back in the farthest part of the office, where filing cabinets and desks have been piled up in a defensible position. It’s a fancy office, bigger than it needs to be, in Nate’s opinion, with a bank of windows looking out over the Manhattan skyline.

Harry shoots Ravi a look, and with a barely perceptible nod, he steps forward, gun down at his side. “Casualties?” he briskly asks, taking lead. The doors behind them rattle, hounds renewing their attack. Nate jumps a little, but Val puts her back to the door. Even without her wings, she looks as if she could stand firm there for eternity.

A woman steps forward. “A couple of us sustained minor injuries, but nothing serious. You from this branch?” She’s cute, a black-haired Latina in a pantsuit with an air of command to her.

“Atlanta,” Ravi replies. “You’re not local?”

“Nah.” She jerks her head back to the far side of the office where the rest of the team are still in cover. “We’re an escort unit for the seer. We’ve been expecting a rescue, actually. Glad that prediction was for real. Not sure how much longer the doors would have held out.” She extends her hand. “Agent Rojas. Team lead.”

“Agent Abhiramnew.” Ravi shakes her hand. “Liaison for this freelancer team. The portal has been destroyed, so when you’re ready we can run a clean-up on remaining hostiles.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Great news. We’ve been saving ammo since the armory was—hold up. Abhiramnew?” She sizes Ravi up head to toe, then grins. “Callum’s gonna lose his shit.” Rojas calls to the group in the back. “Hey, youngblood, move up. We’re clear for now.”

Nate watches Ravi’s face screw up in confusion. Seems like he’d been equally surprised to be recognized back with that Williams guy. “I thought you said no one was going to know who you are?”

Ravi levels a blank, puzzled look at Nate and shrugs.

From behind cover, a couple of new agents pop up, as well as a very distinctive individual, androgynous and elegant in a slim white suit, platinum hair sheeting to the waist. Nate can only assume this is the seer, who looks like they saw the Lord of the Rings movies and leaned hard into the elf aesthetic. Nate’s a little surprised they don’t have pointy ears.

One of the agents from the back can’t be older than twenty, and when he spots the team he stops in his tracks, mouth hanging open. “Bloody hell,” he exclaims in a plummy, aristocratic accent.

Both of Ravi’s brows arch high. “Callum Harbridge?”

Constance keeps behind Nate, obscuring herself from the Trust agents. Can’t blame her. Though she seems to trust Ravi now, no doubt she’s still wary of these new “witch-hunters.” He tries to oblige her, keeping her blocked from view as much as possible behind the shield of his body. “Harbridge,” she murmurs for his ears only. “They were on that plane, were they not?”

Nate nods. Last month they managed to keep Cayenne from killing two planes full of people, including one with the entire Harbridge family on board. According to Ravi, they’re some big Trust deal in England. Nate’s not sure of the details.

This Harbridge kid is younger than most of Nate’s students, this little James Bond Junior. Actually, he looks like… Nate suppresses a smile, glancing at Harry to see if she picked up on it too, and judging by her amused snort, she definitely does.

“Sir! Er, Agent Abhiramnew, rather,” the kid says, eyes wide. His hair is swept back and shaved down at the sides. An unsuccessful attempt has been made at a close-trimmed beard. He’s wearing the same black attire as the rest of the agents in his unit, but he’s added to his ensemble a set of flashy cufflinks, a fashionable pocket square, and a thin tie that he hastily adjusts.

Looks like Ravi has a little admirer. Adorable. Nate has to bite down on a smile.

“Well, I see you two are acquainted,” Rojas says, directing her team into position by the door. “Your team cleared a way in, it’s only fair that my team starts clearing out. Harbridge, stay with the Atlanta crew and keep watch over the seer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Val hefts her maul and leaves the door to the strike team, looking a bit regretful to be walking away from the battle as she rejoins the team. Rojas and the rest of her agents head toward the double doors, and soon the office rings with the sounds of gunfire and chattering howls as they start thinning out the monsters through a gap in the door. It’s loud as hell, but Ravi ignores the racket completely, tucking both his gun and those flashy brass knuckles under his jacket. Nate relaxes a little; if Ravi thinks they’re okay, they likely are.

“I didn’t know you had graduated to fieldwork, Harbridge.” Ravi gives the Harbridge kid a swift, firm handshake. The kid’s chest puffs up a few inches.

“I was cleared two months ago, in fact.”

Ravi raises a single brow. “And already on protective detail?” He dips his chin toward the seer, a respectful gesture, and the seer grants a lofty nod back.

“Er, well.” Harbridge coughs delicately into his fist. “My family insisted.” Nate thinks he can read disapproval in the set of Ravi’s mouth, but he’s unsure if it’s the nepotism or Callum’s inexperience that Ravi takes issue with. The kid’s eyes widen. “My family! Where are my manners, do forgive me. I am glad to have this chance to thank you. All of you,” he adds, sweeping his gaze over the entire team. “We were told we narrowly avoided a nasty fate thanks to your intervention.”

Pretty Machiavellian move on Padme’s part, to inform a valuable family they owe their lives to Harry’s team for an incident that technically never occurred. Get them indebted. Seems like Padme’s style.

“A confusing day,” the seer speaks up. Nate’s no expert, but the accent sounds kind of Björk-ish. Maybe Icelandic.

Harbridge goes red and sweeps his hand. “My manners again, apologies. This is Ikshana. Ikshana, this is—”

“I know who they are.” The seer immediately offers a hand to Harry. “It is a unique pleasure.”

After a swift glance to Ravi, Harry accepts the handshake. “Hi there, nice to meet you, Ikshana. I’m Harry, I go by she/her, you got some pronouns you prefer?”

Ikshana’s ageless smile widens. “They/them will suffice, thank you for asking. You, Miss McAllister, came as quite a surprise.”

Callum smacks his forehead. Nate’s pretty sure the right word here is “gobsmacked.” “Bloody hell, you’re the Chosen.” Hastily, he puts his hands together in a recognizable namaste bow.

Harry winces. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Er. Quite right. As you wish, ma’am.”

Ikshana continues with eerie calm, “Quite an irritating time we’ve had, we seers. Things have been uncommonly difficult to predict with any certainty.” Their pale gaze sweeps over each of the team in turn, from Val to Constance to Nate, but when it lands on Ravi it sticks there. “I’ve seen you. Long ago.”

Ravi’s throat bobs very slightly.

Ikshana raises both palms up, as if in supplication. “I sincerely apologize for the mistake. I was very sure. We all were.”

The corner of Ravi’s mouth pulls suddenly as if caught by a fishhook, then he composes it back into stillness. “Not your fault,” he says harshly.

Ikshana squints. “You wear time very oddly.” They lean in, peering at Ravi as if inspecting him for imperfections. “Folded on itself. Or perhaps like those Russian toys, the smaller ones fitting inside the larger. I have not seen the like before.”

Ravi steps back, his ears darkening, and Nate has to look aside before his face gives him away. He’s got a pretty good imagination, and he can think of a couple of time travel scenarios that would get those results. He’s not jealous. He’s glad Ravi had a fun time with all that time wizard sex magic, he truly is. Too bad time couldn’t be rewound just to take away all the horrific abusive shit and leave the fun stuff behind.

Ravi rescued Nate; maybe he can return the favor. He reels the seer into a hearty handshake, pulling their attention off Ravi. “Hey there! Doctor Nathan Corbin, nice to meet you. So, you’re a seer, that is incredibly cool! There are many fascinating tales about seers. I have so many questions!” A diversion, sure, but also the enthusiastic truth.

“You have a vital part to play, Dr. Corbin,” the seer tells him, and whoa, Nate’s seen eyes this pale blue before, but Ikshana’s are especially piercing. It’s like they can see all the way beneath his skin down to his spine. “Each one of you do. Threads of a tapestry.”

Over Ikshana’s head, Ravi gives Nate a tiny lopsided grin and a very slight roll of his eyes as if to convey: Seers, man.

Nate swallows a laugh.

Val moves out from her vigil at Harry’s shoulder and approaches Callum. The kid has to lean his head back to stare up at her, face agog. She bends down and looks him over like a general inspecting a new recruit. “Your ancestor was Chosen.”

Callum blinks. He might be trying to imitate Ravi, but the kid is nowhere close to achieving his cool, collected demeanor. “Er, that’s right. William Harbridge. Not directly, of course, he married into the Abhiramnews. He was my great-great uncle. Chosen at the start of the first World War.” He lifts his chin, obviously proud. Then he darts a glance to Ravi. “And, er, he was Agent Abhiramnew’s great-great grandfather, of course.”

These bluebloods and their obsession with lineage and bloodline. Nate gets it professionally; history is full of that kind of thing. But personally? He’s way too working-class for that “legacy is everything” crap. The fact that this whole monolithic organization seems built on an archaic idea of the worthiness of birth over earned merit is unsettling enough, but after seeing the size and scope of this facility, the resources at their disposal… How often do the rich and powerful claim they are devoted to the greater good and actually follow through on that? Yeah, Nate doesn’t believe in The Trust. He doesn’t buy what they claim about themselves.

But he does believe in Ravi.

Val, having satisfied whatever curiosity motivated her in the first place, returns to Harry’s shoulder. Harry is wearing her detective face. No doubt later she’s going to grill the angel on what that was about.

Harry turns to the seer. “If you have any useful info for us, Ikshana, I gotta say I’d be pretty thrilled to hear it.”

The face Ikshana makes is almost a pout, a very normal human expression, the first Nate has seen beyond an enigmatic smile or a mysterious arch of their brow. “Would that I could. The way these past months have gone, you may be better off with a Magic 8 Ball than with a seer. Short-term divinations might still be somewhat effective, albeit limited in scope. But for us seers it’s been nothing but migraines and conflicting visions.”

Ravi and Harry exchange a quick look that Nate can’t parse, a flash of silent communication. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ravi says, pulling a pen and a small notebook from his jacket pocket. He scribbles something on a page and hands it to Ikshana.

“What is this?”

Ravi closes the notebook with a snap. “That’s the Chosen’s cell number. A direct line.”

Callum Harbridge’s jaw drops for a moment before he gathers himself, clasping his hands behind his back and looking straight ahead with the air of somebody worried they’ll get into trouble for witnessing something they’re not supposed to.

“Hm. There are proper channels for these things,” Ikshana says mildly.

Harry grins, all easy charm and engaging charisma. “Oh, for sure, proper channels. But, ugh, bureaucracy, right?” She leans her elbow casually against Val. “All that waiting, the red tape, you know how it is. You and your seer buddies need anything, you can just let me know, and me and my team will be right at your side ASAP, no problem.”

Ikshana gives her a long look before inclining their head, a faint smile tracing their pale features. “A generous offer. Thank you, Chosen.”

“Just Harry is fine.”

There’s an especially long moment in between gunshots before Nate realizes the firing has ceased altogether. Rojas calls back, “Hall’s clear,” before trotting up to the group, oily ichor splashed on her hands and face. “I’m going to leave Harbridge and one other back here with Seer Ikshana. Abhiramnew, your team all-in on the facility sweep with mine, or do you want to leave anyone back?” Her eyes flicker to Constance, who is dressed in skirts and has no obvious weapon, still trying to shy away from all the agents’ sightlines.

“Yeah, we’re all-in.”

“Great,” says Rojas, sliding in a new magazine. “The more the merrier. And a chance to work alongside you is gonna have all my guys strutting around for a while. Probably won’t have to pay for their own drinks for months after word gets around.”

“That’s it,” Ravi says, voice going stony, his brows drawn forbiddingly close. “How does everyone here know me? Harbridge, sure, we’ve met. But I haven’t been to this branch since I was sixteen—”

Remembering what “special training” at this branch involved, Nate has to take a moment, swallowing hard against a rise of nausea, before he can pay attention again.

“—you wouldn’t mind enlightening me?” Ravi crosses his arms over his chest.

Rojas grins, as if he just told a hilarious joke. “Yeah, how’s everyone know about the highest record-holding agent in any department.”

Clearly just to fuck with him, Harry slaps Ravi on the shoulder with an overly cheerful noise of approval.

Ravi stares blankly at Rojas. “I don’t… What records?”

Rojas shakes her head incredulously. “Are you serious? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What kind of bubble do they keep you Atlanta guys in? Don’t any of you gossip?”

Nate can’t suppress a laugh. “Secret agents gossip, huh?”

“People gossip.” Rojas shrugs. “We’re careful about stuff that matters, but this is just for some friendly, inter-branch competition. You know how it is. You make bets with your teammates, you keep in touch after you transfer, you make intel buddies, you go to office parties.”

One glance at Ravi tells Nate that he does not, in fact, “know how it is.”

“Intel keeps a spreadsheet of everyone’s kills, assists, captures, retrievals, and rankings in all the refresher courses. Guess who’s top fuckin’ dog? Mr. Big Deal right here.” Rojas tosses a wink at Ravi, and if the wink had been a physical thing he would have fumbled and dropped it.

“Uh. That can’t…”

Rojas slams her shoulder into Callum’s, rocking him off balance. “Besides, the kid here talks about you constantly. Full-on hero worship, it’s embarrassing.”

Harbridge goes as red as a beet and starts stammering.

Clearing his throat, Ravi turns to Rojas, adjusting his cuffs with two quick flicks of his wrists. “We should clear the building.”

“Modest too,” Rojas mock-whispers to Harry, giving her a just-between-us-gals smirk that Nate knows well from growing up with four sisters. Ravi looks like he might shoot a big hole in the floor to jump into, so Nate takes pity on him, kicking the hockey stick with his heel to send it up onto his shoulders.

“So, how do you wanna do this? Top floor down? Bottom floor up? A…pincer strategy?” Now Nate is just throwing out stuff he’s seen in movies, but the grateful look Ravi gives him makes it worth it.

Rojas immediately gets serious. “We head down, you head up?”

“Sounds good,” Ravi says with a brisk nod. He gives another to Ikshana, turning it into something a bit deeper and more respectful, almost a bow.

Ikshana returns it, then smiles enigmatically. “I foresee we shall meet again.”

*

BY THE TIME the branch is cleared, it’s just gone morning, and the team crashes at a Trust-provided hotel. A really nice hotel, probably the nicest one Nate’s ever stayed at. Agent Williams sent them each an Edible Arrangement, though Val gave hers to a delighted Constance. She still hoards fresh fruit like she’s trying to stave off rickets. You can take the girl out of the Dark Ages, but maybe you can’t take the Dark Ages out of the girl.

Nate munches on a strawberry while jotting notes on the day’s events in his Moleskine. Updating chronomage lore, starting a new page on Marquette’s hitherto unknown brand of wild magic, scribbling observations on every detail he’s gleaned of the Outside. It’s been an educational day.

Perhaps the most educational bit had been finding that all the Trust agents he’d met were actually good people. He’d learned a lot in a few short chats. Rojas had been a paramedic until she saw enough weird shit to get her on The Trust’s radar. Likewise, another of the MIB-looking agents had left an impressive career at the FBI to “fight the good fight,” as he put it, after a monster killed his partner. Ikshana was a certified weirdo—but Nate likes weirdos, some of his best friends are supremely weird—who gave off solidly positive vibes and spoke often of helping others. Even rich-kid Callum Harbridge, the little James Bond Junior Ravi-wannabe, had seemed like a good guy. Nate knows how to read people, and nobody he’s met appeared capable of the kind of thing Cayenne had accused Padme of. They just seemed like…people.

Maybe he’s starting to get it, what Ravi sees in preserving the institution. It was easier to think it was some irredeemably evil secret society before Nate met the folks who make it up. As with all societies, ancient and modern alike, things were more complicated once you looked under the surface.

On the jet back to Georgia, Harry pours herself a tumbler of whisky, clears her throat, and asks out loud, “So how’d that obsidian mirror get there? I’d love to hear theories.”

Ravi looks out at the tops of clouds. He’s been quiet all morning, more withdrawn than usual, which is saying something. But clearly, he’s been mulling over this question too, because he answers right away. “Cayenne could have stood exactly where the armory stands now and just jumped in and out from years in the past. Or future.”

“Yeah, but how did they know the exact location?”

Ravi frowns, finally turning away from the window to face the rest of the team. “They could have…found blueprints. Or gotten to the builders.”

“There could be a simpler solution,” Nate suggests. “Paying an unsuspecting intern a thousand bucks to put the mirror there is way easier than tracking down super-secret blueprints.”

Nate can hear the slight scrape of Ravi’s calloused hand running over his beard. “We don’t have interns, but point taken, Doc.”

Constance sighs. “To be frank, my fellows, there are a plethora of ways a chronomage may accomplish near anything they wish. We are extraordinarily fortunate that we have managed to avert their plans without them merely trying again until they succeed.”

“An unsettling thought,” Val opines.

Harry rubs the bridge of her nose. “But a fair one. Well, crisis averted, great job everyone. Have yourself a cocktail, you’ve earned it.” She stands up and heads to the entryway, into the more lounge-like section of the jet. As she passes Nate, she surreptitiously kicks his ankle with her boot.

“Ow, fuck,” he silently mouths, rubbing his ankle before getting up and following her.

When it’s just the two of them, Harry crosses her arms with a wry smile. “So that actually went shockingly well for us.”

“I noticed. Pretty much saved the life of someone with one of the rarest and most powerful magical talents on the planet. Saved a whole branch full of useful intel agents, and we learned that Ravi’s name is well respected by the boots-on-the-ground level of The Trust.”

“Now, theoretically, Professor. If someone was trying to thwart the Pepper’s plans and give us a leg-up, do you think it might have looked just like that?”

“You know what, Detective Chosen PI? I think I do.”

“Let’s just hope whoever it is keeps it up.” Harry takes a practiced swallow of whisky. “I’m gonna have a chat with Val. She’s been more talkative with me lately, but that’s a…process.”

“I’ll bet,” Nate chuckles. “I don’t know how many times I’ve begged her to let me interview her.”

“Good job in the fight, by the way. You know you didn’t need to run interference for me, Doc. I’m invulnerable, remember?” She makes a face as if the words taste as ridiculous as they sound.

Sheepishly, Nate says, “Yeah, in the moment I kind of forgot.”

Harry gives him a rare, real smile. “It’s appreciated, nevertheless. I know we haven’t had anything go down quite like that before. You did all right. Nice stick control.” And Nate knows she’s talking about his hockey stick, but it would take a stronger man than him to resist a set-up like that.

“Harry, you just used the words ‘go down’ before complimenting my stick, whatever is a gentleman supposed to think?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “I’m going to take your books out of alphabetical order, or whatever nerd shit is going to drive you crazy, you total dweeb.”

“Throwing insults now? Guess you’re out of quarters, huh?”

Nate has to run out of her reach back into the main cabin, chortling and smoothing his hair. Who tries to noogie a grown man? Honestly.

He plops down in the cushy chair next to Ravi. “Am I allowed to look upon thy face, Your Highness?”

Not dignifying him with a verbal response, Ravi rolls his eyes with a scornful snort.

“You really didn’t know any of that, man? All that Trust gossip missed you?”

“I never…made close ties with other agents,” Ravi admits, pushing a loose lock of dark hair up off his forehead. “I stayed a few steps removed from almost everyone, even when I had been assigned to a team.” He taps his fingers restlessly on the armrest. “I just don’t understand…Why didn’t anyone tell me? My aunt never mentioned…”

“That you’re the best agent in the entire Trust?”

Ravi flushes dark all the way to his high cheekbones. “I thought… It always seemed like—” His lips press into a thin line.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve come up short.”

Nate brushes the back of Ravi’s hand. “Confident people are harder to control.”

Head jerking back, Ravi levels his sniper’s focus on Nate. “That’s true,” he says, a thoughtful furrow between his eyes. “Raise up a kid to think he’s important, supposed to be somebody, and you might end up with a real arrogant asshole on your hands.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Nate teases. “Better to give him the Cinderella treatment until he reaches majority.”

Ravi’s sharp exhale is almost a laugh. “I didn’t say that. Can’t there be a happy medium?”

“If there is, you can find it, my guy. That goes for the whole shebang. You have a vision of how The Trust should be run. You’re going to do great,” he says with a squeeze to Ravi’s forearm above the healing claw marks. “If I can help in my nerdy little way, lemme know.”

Sometimes it’s hard to meet the intensity in Ravi’s eyes, the endless topaz depths of them. Feels like burning his tongue on hot coffee. But it’s really good coffee, the kind you want to keep drinking anyway.

“You really think that?”

Nate crosses one leg over the other, ankle dangling over his knee. “Sure, I do. In my professional opinion, you don’t have to destroy something to fix it. It’s harder, way harder, going step by step. Figuring out what works, what doesn’t. Like writing a dissertation. It feels easier to rip the whole thing apart and start over, but it never works out that way. You gotta have an outline. No revolution in history has succeeded building something from nothing; without a working infrastructure, the new system fails.”

Ravi bites his lip, running a hand over his beard. The rasp of it makes Nate wonder how it would feel against his tongue, and he wrenches his wandering focus back to the present. “I feel like…” Ravi sighs, head dropping low. He looks exhausted. Nate wants nothing more than to bundle him up in a blanket and turn down the lights. “I feel like any progress I might make is just going to be undone. Like it’s all going to be torn down, no matter what I do.”

“Maybe so. But I don’t think that’ll stop you for long, sunshine.”

Ravi glances away sharply, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A long moment passes before he says, low and rough, “Thanks.”

Worried he might have stepped on a sore spot, Nate attempts to lighten the mood. “You know,” he says with a lascivious wiggle of his brows, “I think Rojas was flirting with you.”

Ravi snorts. “You think? Seemed like she was making fun of me.”

Nate squints in pretend speculation. “Hmm, yeah, pretty sure that’s Brooklyn flirting.”

“So, what’s Canadian flirting?” The sideways glance Ravi slides over is worse than grabbing the end of an electric wire, Nate suddenly shocked and buzzing all over. Don’t do it, Nate, don’t flirt, don’t you fucking flirt.

“Been a couple decades since I counted as one, but everyone knows we ride over to our intended on our favorite moose and pledge our troth with the finest poutine.”

With a bark of laughter, Ravi fully turns to face Nate. “The gravy fries thing?”

Nate gasps theatrically. “The gravy fries thing, Jesus, man. That’s it, we’re diverting this jet to Toronto for the sole purpose of getting you real poutine. There are places that do a flourless chicken gravy, you should be fine. See, the important thing is to get the cheese curds fresh, so they’re still nice and squeaky.”

Ravi’s mouth twists in a unique blend of horror and intrigue. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. You know what,” he decides, tapping a hand to Ravi’s knee, “we don’t have to take that detour. I’ll just make you some. You’re gonna be very surprised.”

“If it’s at all edible, I will be.”

“That’s either a slam on my cooking skills or on my birthplace’s most favored dish. Either way, you trying to pick a fight, Abhiramnew?” Nate squares up, adopting a glare.

Ravi laughs again—success—holding up his hands. “I take it back. I don’t want to meet the business end of that hockey stick.”

“Speaking of, I didn’t thank you yet for saving my life back there.” Nate scratches at the nape of his neck, a little embarrassed. “I slipped on some monster goo.”

“Oh, that’s… No need.”

This time it’s Nate’s turn to snort. “Yeah, all in a day’s work, right? Just punched an eldritch horror in the face and then broke its neck with your bare hands. Yawn.”

Ravi stares at Nate for a long stretch, long enough that Nate wonders if he said something wrong. “You put yourself in harm’s way to protect Harry. Least I could do was make sure you were safe too.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Nate says easily, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, we got about forty-five minutes before we land. If you want to take a quick nap, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I’m fine.” The words seem automatic, like Ravi has been programmed with self-effacing software.

Nate tuts. “You didn’t even let me ask the great North American question first, man. Bad form.”

Ravi’s teeth flash in a lightning-quick snapshot of a smile, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Thank you. Ahem.” He leans his elbow on the back of his chair in an overly casual manner. “So, how are you?”

Ravi smiles, eyes creasing at the corners, and Nate wonders if he’s ever going to see anyone more attractive in his entire life.

“I’m fine,” Ravi says, and for the first time, Nate is almost convinced it’s true.