Emil pulled a random assortment of food and drink out of one of the fridges, and Kit peeled off the foil and dug his fork in without even looking. Something sweet hit his tongue. It was one million o’clock in the morning, he felt inside out and unreal, a ghost had almost killed him, what did it matter if he ate dessert first? He ate a key lime pie followed by half a chicken casserole. By that time, he felt just human enough to succumb to his own exhaustion, and he swayed on the bench. Emil caught him by the shoulders before he went face-first into his food.
Emil was straddling the bench to Kit’s right and he’d positioned himself very close. He held on so Kit was turned toward him. “Do you need me to feed you?”
“Oh my God, no,” Kit mumbled, looking down at his food. Then, because fatigue had stranded him at the edge of intoxication and escaping death had made him reckless, he said, “I only want that if it’s a sex thing.”
It was worth it to see Emil’s eyes get that big. Kit’s gaze drifted lower, down to Emil’s spread legs, wondering what else might have gotten bigger. He would have to be dead not to think about that. Even tired, they could make it work. They could curl up in Emil’s bed and Emil could kiss his neck again and reach down to wrap one of his big hands around the length of Kit’s cock and it would feel so good. That was all he wanted, really. Well, and then they could fall asleep and wake up and do it again. He wanted that, too. A smile spread across his face.
“You are shameless,” Emil told him.
Kit hadn’t been shameless before. He’d barely ever messaged Travis about their arrangement, even though it was mutually understood that he could. It hadn’t been shyness, although Travis had called it that. It was just that Kit knew some day Travis would say no to him, and he didn’t want the feelings that would come along with that when it happened. Travis wasn’t worth the risk.
Emil was.
Kit smiled at him with half-lidded eyes and poked him in the center of the chest. “Somebody has to be. You’re hoarding all the shame.”
“I’m not ashamed of you, Kit,” Emil said, all too serious. “I don’t want you to think that. And I’m not ashamed of being queer and I never have been. The whole team knows and so does my family. I just… feel funny. You’re so much younger than me. And the circumstances have been… complicated. And I don’t really do casual. And we don’t know anything about each other!”
“Uh huh,” Kit said. “Sounds a lot like you’re ashamed of me.” He ate a few more bites, because he was hungry, and because now he had a point to prove. “I already know everything I need to. What do you want to know? I love making money, buying clothes, eating, and sleeping, in that order—and, as it turns out, I love sleeping with you. What else you want? Address, date of birth, Social Security? Because you’ve seen my apartment and the other two don’t apply.”
Emil blinked. “They don’t…”
Too late, Kit realized he’d drawn them into a conversational minefield. He had to do some damage control. “You know, the whole orphan foundling thing. It’s a real tearjerker. More importantly, I’m cute and I owe you a blowjob. But if it makes you feel better, you can tell me about your childhood before I suck your cock.”
“Kit.”
Emil wasn’t giving up on the subject. Kit had to turn things around. “I know about your parents from Chávez and Lenny’s schtick. What about siblings?”
Emil hesitated. “Yes. An older sister.”
There was a story in that hesitation, but Kit wasn’t doing this to dig up stories. “Pets?”
Emil shook his head. “But maybe some day—”
“Whoa, we are not in the business of ‘some day’ here. Past and present only. Hobbies?”
“Wait, why are future hopes off-limits?”
“Because the aim of this conversation is to fulfill my immediate-future hope that I can convince you to have sex with me again. We’re not getting married.”
“That’s kind of the problem, Kit. I don’t just… have sex.”
“You did. With me. It was great and we should do it again some time. If you don’t remember, I’d be happy to remind you.” Emil was ridiculous. I don’t just… have sex. Well, Kit didn’t have relationships.
“Kit.”
“Emil, I am afraid of actually dying an actual death in the very near future. Shouldn’t you, as a morally upstanding goody-two-shoes type, do all that is in your power to take my mind off it? I mean, when you think about it, taking me to bed is the only right choice.”
Thank fuck, Emil laughed. It was a nice sound. But then he put on his serious voice and said, “Kit. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe. I promise.”
“A great way to keep me out of harm’s way would be to take me to your bed and keep me there. Just saying.”
“I don’t sleep with people who don’t want to talk about our hopes for the future,” Emil said. “Including an immediate future that doesn’t involve you getting forced out of the Nowhere and stranded in some inaccessible wilderness alone. Can we talk about that?”
“What do we have to say about it?” Kit asked. “Other than ‘I’d prefer not to’?”
“I’d prefer you not to as well,” Emil said. “Will you promise not to go into the Nowhere until we figure out a solution?”
“I can’t,” Kit said, thinking of Laila and Aidan. “But I will promise not to go anywhere until I’m in better shape. I could recover in, say… your bed.”
Emil sighed.
“Fine, fine, we’ll avoid the subject of your bed if it makes you unhappy,” Kit said. It was a lie, of course, but Emil probably knew that. “But I’m exhausted and I’m not going to come up with any solutions right here and now, so there’s no point in being serious. Let’s go back to simpler things. I think you were about to tell me your hobbies.”
Emil squeezed his shoulder, then dropped his hand before it lingered too long. “Alright. I can do that. Gardening. Plants. Or maybe that doesn’t count as a hobby because they became my career, kind of. Um… working out, I guess? Oh, don’t make that face, I get enough shit from Chávez and Lenny. It clears my mind. And I like hiking. It’s been hard, living in this facility for months. I’m really looking forward to spending some time outside.”
Kit wrinkled his nose. “For the record, this is not getting us any closer to sex. Do you like anything that isn’t terrible?”
“I thought we weren’t discussing sex,” Emil said primly. “And for the record, I’ve never wanted to describe anyone as ‘citified’ until right now, and I’m from the suburbs of Chicago so I barely have a right to use that word. But you qualify. By the way, do I get to ask any questions?”
A dangerous proposition. Emil might go right back to the family Kit didn’t have. “Answer mine first.”
“Fine. I also like music. Zinnia Jackson especially.”
“Ugh. I forgot how tragically dated and tasteless you were for a second,” Kit said. They were probably back in safe conversational territory now, having moved away from Kit’s past and his future. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’m thirty.”
Kit shrugged. “I’m twenty-one. Would you freak out about sleeping with a thirty-nine-year-old?”
“No. But that’s different.”
“Doesn’t seem different.”
“It does to me,” Emil said.
“That’s your argument-winning voice,” Kit observed. “Your I’m-in-charge-listen-to-me voice. It’s very sexy. And sometimes it works on me. But not now. You don’t get to win the argument because of your voice.”
Emil was studying something in a distant corner of the kitchen, avoiding Kit’s gaze. His cheeks were flushed.
“I win the argument,” Kit said. In triumph, he stabbed a bite of casserole with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. “You’re all flustered now.”
It probably would have been sexier to say that without chewing, but whatever.
“I don’t even know what we’re arguing about,” Emil muttered.
“That’s why you lost.” Kit finished the casserole and pointed his fork at Emil. “Carry me to your bed.”
It didn’t have the intended effect. “Kit,” Emil said softly and far more seriously than Kit wanted.
That was when Kit heard someone behind him clear their throat.
“Mr. Singh, you are aware that unauthorized persons are not permitted in this facility.” Kit didn’t have to turn around. He knew it was Winslow from the voice and the way Emil’s expression went carefully, rigidly blank.
“Yes, sir,” Emil said.
Kit swung one leg over the bench, spinning to face Winslow. “I was contracted by Quint Services,” he said, and it came out cool and collected until he saw who Winslow was with. A tall, slender man with dark brown hair falling just so, framing his clever, green eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt in the same shade as his eyes under a fitted black blazer with the sleeves bunched up, and as always, Travis Alvey looked good.
“Kit,” he said, struggling to hide the surprise in his voice. Then, slick as ever, he smiled. “Of course you found your way here—the money’s the best around and nobody hustles like you. Well, except for me.”
Did you come by Zin’s to kidnap me like you kidnapped Laila and Aidan? Kit wanted to ask. How much was I worth? Instead he smiled back and said, “Travis.”
“You two know each other,” Winslow observed. It was five-thirty in the morning and he’d undoubtedly been woken by the blaring alarm in Lange’s lab, but he looked well put-together in a blue button-down shirt. His wavy grey hair was all obediently combed into place.
“Yeah,” Kit said, keeping his tone light. “Didn’t realize we were both freelancing for Quint, though. We haven’t talked much recently.”
“I can see why,” Travis said, giving Emil an appreciative once-over. Kit wished he could block Emil from sight with his body, but their size difference meant he had to settle for glaring.
Winslow didn’t notice any of it. He zeroed in on Kit. “Mister…”
“Jackson,” Kit said.
“You are the runner who was contracted to bring Mr. Singh back to this facility on Friday night, are you not? Come with me to the lab immediately.”
Kit didn’t move. Could he jump? Had he eaten enough? His poor, assaulted body balked at the thought of entering the Nowhere. But Winslow didn’t know that, so Kit stared him down. “That wasn’t in my contract.”
“Neither was remaining in this facility,” Winslow snapped. Then he softened. “If you consented to an examination by Dr. Heath, I would permit you to stay a short time. You could… conclude your business with Mr. Singh, and I would not consider it my duty to write him up.”
It was disturbing to be offered a carrot by someone who was clearly accustomed to using a stick. It wasn’t much of a carrot. Winslow had only bothered with this tactic because he thought Kit could vanish at any moment. He’d figure out soon enough that Kit was trapped.
From the way Travis was watching Kit, he already knew.
“Excuse me,” Emil said. With his back to Emil, Kit couldn’t see his face, but his tone was icy. “Kit has experienced a great deal of trauma this weekend, and Quint Services is to blame for all of it. He’s only here now because he’s in no shape to jump back to Earth without food or rest. We can’t subject him to examinations or interrogations now.”
Damn it, Emil.
“If Mr. Jackson will not agree to these terms, I must ask that he leave immediately,” Winslow replied.
“I could take him,” Travis said.
“The fuck you could,” Kit said, standing up, the words exiting his mouth before his brain caught up. Travis had outmaneuvered Laila and Aidan, and presumably neither of them had been as exhausted as Kit was now. The effort of standing left him trembling. But it was too late to back down. “Don’t touch me. I’ll take myself when I’m good and ready.” He turned his gaze on the prick scientist. “I’m just as authorized as he is.”
“Mr. Jackson, you were authorized to make a delivery on Friday night. It is now Monday morning. Mr. Alvey’s status has no relevance to your own.”
“How about Laila Njeim and Aidan Blackwood? Are they authorized to be in this facility?”
“I don’t recognize those names, Mr. Jackson.”
“The fuck you don’t,” Kit said, because he’d committed to this attitude now and he had to wear something well. But his fork skittered off the metal table and clanged to the floor before he’d even finished. Kit’s eyes darted to the tabletop, where a blur of blue light hovered.
“What the hell was that?” Travis asked.
“Nothing,” Winslow said sourly. “Just a minor issue we’ve been having with our artificial gravity, since Mr. Singh’s team likes to adjust it every week for their silly little game. We’ll have it under control soon.”
For some reason, when Emil stood up behind Kit, he muttered “disrespecting the game” under his breath. “I think we should go,” he said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder. Kit couldn’t pay attention to anything but the thing—ghost, poltergeist, whatever—hovering over the table. The light ought to have been reflected in the metal, but there were no glints. It wasn’t of this world, and yet it could interact. The chicken casserole dish went sliding down the table. It crashed to the floor and shattered.
Kit took some grim satisfaction in the way Winslow jumped. Travis had paled, too, but he wasn’t as startled. Unlike Winslow, he could see the ghost. It must be his first time seeing one, which was odd, since he must have been making runs for Quint Services for a long time. How unfair, that Travis the traitor could jump back and forth safely while Kit couldn’t get away from the damn things. He’d thought they were just randomly violent and terrifying, but maybe they were trying to kill him specifically. That was so much worse.
“Mr. Alvey,” Winslow said. “Please escort Mr. Jackson off the premises.”
From the look that passed between Travis and Winslow, Kit didn’t think for one second that Travis was meant to take him home. Winslow wanted him dumped in that cell with Aidan and Laila. They weren’t going to let him leave.
Neither was the ghost—it had come after him almost every time he’d made a run. Maybe it was time to introduce it to Travis.
“Fine,” Kit said, squaring his shoulders. He felt rather than heard Emil’s tiny, stifled breath of protest. “Travis, let’s go.”
Emil tried to keep his eyes off Kit’s back as he walked out of the kitchen with the other runner, but it was futile. Winslow must have overheard something. He’d already have guessed that Emil and Kit were involved. Why couldn’t it have been Heath who’d found them? At least with her, Emil had leverage.
“You have some explaining to do, Mr. Singh.”
“So do you,” Emil said sharply. What did he have to lose, really? His job? Why would he work for a place that would treat Kit and his friends—or any runner—with such disregard? “What happened to Dr. Lange, Winslow? Why did you lie to my team about the accident? And why does this facility have a room with no door where you’re keeping two runners without their consent?”
Dr. Vaughn Winslow was the type of older white man who got described as “distinguished” because he put on a suit sometimes. He didn’t look distinguished now, no matter what he was wearing. His face was a constellation of red blotches. His lips twisted in anger. “I ask the questions.”
“I bet the media would really love a story about how Quint Services has a secret facility in space where they give highly experimental treatments to United States Orbit Guard veterans,” Emil said. Once he’d stopped caring about his job, he’d found plenty of leverage. “And that part, you know I can prove.”
“You consented,” Winslow hissed.
“I did,” Emil agreed. He heard voices in the hallway outside the kitchen and for a moment, it was hard to concentrate. Kit and Travis were still out there. They hadn’t left. And they were arguing about something.
Emil had to fight his own battles. He pulled himself together and finished the thought: “Laila Njeim and Aidan Blackwood didn’t.”
It was a relief that he remembered their names correctly, and he could see in Winslow’s face that he did. It helped that they were both runners of such reputation—Laila had been in every grocery store gossip rag at the time of the robbery, and Aidan’s recent civil disobedience had made the news as well. “And I know you and Heath would love to get your hands on Kit, and he’s made it quite clear how he feels about that.”
“Do you know what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with a corporation as powerful as Quint Services, Mr. Singh? Do you know what resources we possess? You can’t even imagine all the ways in which we could make your life hell. I’d advise you to drop this line of thinking here and now. You can still answer my questions and return to your bunk with a job.”
Winslow was threatening him. For now, it was only Emil, but how long until Winslow turned his eye toward the others? Emil had to stay here until he could be sure the team could get out safely. Kit was on his way already, he hoped. But Laila and Aidan were another question. And could Quint Services be trusted to handle whatever was happening in Lange’s lab responsibly? Kit had called it a fault line. Lenny had said the Nowhere is leaking.
Either metaphor suggested the worst was yet to come.
Emil couldn’t sigh. He had to endure whatever humiliation Winslow wanted to heap on him without reacting too much. This wasn’t about his job. It was about his friends and Kit’s friends. And Kit. And maybe more than that. For all those reasons, he had to please Winslow right now. Emil lifted his lips in a smile. It was more challenging than anything he’d ever done at the gym.
“Of course, sir. My apologies. I haven’t slept much recently.”
“What happened in Dr. Lange’s lab at four o’clock this morning?”
“I don’t know, sir. Something made the alarm go off.”
“Were you there?”
“No, sir. I was here, helping Kit find something to eat. He materialized in my room in the wee hours, having been chased through the Nowhere by something we’ve been calling a ghost. You saw one earlier, when the casserole dish fell off the table.” Emil gestured at its remains, still scattered on the floor.
“This is not a hotel, Mr. Singh. You are not permitted guests.”
“The ghost hasn’t permitted Kit to leave.”
“How interesting,” Winslow said, and for a moment, he wasn’t a corporate lackey interrogating Emil but a scientist pondering the world. “Why is that, I wonder?”
Emil could only shrug and shake his head.
“It’s not good to call it a ‘ghost.’ The name gives it an agency we can’t be sure it truly possesses. You think there are multiple entities?”
“Yes, sir. Kit could see them—so could Lenny, and I think it’s fair to say Travis could see the one in here. Kit said they were different sizes. One was larger than him and all the rest were smaller. They seem to be shapeless for the most part, but they have some substance in the Nowhere.”
“And here, they’re capable of knocking things off shelves,” Winslow said. “That seems to be all they do, though.”
“Except for the large one,” Emil said. Winslow had been so genuinely interested that he almost slipped up and added I think it was in the lab earlier. “I’m sure Dr. Heath reported to you that Kit and I encountered it on our first run together, when it knocked us into what I suspect was another reality, or at least another planet.”
“A subject on which I have many more questions,” Winslow said. “But I suppose, for now, since the runner is gone and you’ve assured me you are awake only by coincidence and you were not in Lange’s lab this morning, I can let you return to bed and we can discuss things at a more reasonable hour.” Winslow was no fool, and his expression was skeptical as he spoke. Perhaps having him walk in during Kit’s loopy, fatigue-inspired flirtations was a blessing in disguise. He thought Emil was being cagey because he was sleeping with Kit.
If only that were all there was to it. Emil merely nodded at Winslow and escaped the conversation as quickly as he could. As he stepped into the hall, he couldn’t stop himself from looking around for Kit and the other runner, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Kit’s plan backfired immediately. He’d expected Travis to step into the Nowhere, but instead he slung an arm around Kit’s shoulders and manhandled him into the hallway. Travis pushed him against the wall. At least he kept his arm off Kit’s windpipe. Still, he got way too close and practically spit in Kit’s face with his question.
“How much did they offer you?”
“That’s my line,” Kit said. If Travis was asking, it meant he was worried. Maybe he didn’t intend to dump Kit in that cell. “You afraid of the hand that feeds you, Travis?”
“As we both should be!” Travis hissed. “I can’t believe you’re fucking one of these scumbags. Do you know what they do to runners here? Do you know what they think of us?”
Emil wasn’t a scumbag. Kit didn’t want to talk about Emil with Travis. “You work for them.”
“Yeah, because they fucking own me now, and if you stick around here, they’re gonna own you. You have no idea what they did to me. You don’t want to fuck with these people, Kit.”
“If you’re so scared of them, why didn’t you ask for help? Maybe you didn’t trust me, but you know Aidan would have taken up your cause. He lives for that shit. And Laila would have helped. You didn’t have to turn on them.”
“It was me or them, Kit. You’ll see how it is soon enough.”
“You’ll see how it is when I get Laila and Aidan out,” Kit said. “Go ahead and take me there. I’m not in great shape but between the four of us, we could work it out.”
“Which part of ‘don’t fuck with Quint Services’ did you not hear? They will vivisect me, Kit.”
Travis always wore tailored jackets and sunglasses. His hair was devil-may-care. He rode a nicer bike than Kit’s. He was too cool to say hi to Zin or Louann. He strode through the world, effortlessly edgy and not owing anyone a thing, but he was a caricature of a sexy bad boy. Travis Alvey was a goddamn coward.
“They fucked with me first,” Kit said.
“They don’t even think we’re human!” Travis blurted. “Did you know that? Oswin Lewis Quint is part of some insane group that subscribes to this theory that runners are from some other reality, which is why we can get into the Nowhere, and therefore they can’t trust us because we have suspect loyalties. To some other world! That’s why they want to take us apart until they find out what makes us tick. They have no plans to put us back together.” He took a ragged breath. “Think about it, Kit. Why are there no born runners working for Quint Services? How come they brought in this elite team of former Orbit Guard normals for a mission that specifically requires our skills? Why try to make more runners—or build a door—when there are already runners out there, and the whole point of us is that we don’t need doors?”
Travis wasn’t whispering anymore. His voice had risen in pitch and volume. If Emil and Winslow were quiet in the kitchen, they could probably hear him. The whole thing made Kit’s heart pound, and he was too tired for that. Even the thudding of his heart sounded sluggish in his chest.
He didn’t want it to make sense.
Does Emil know? he wondered again. Kit had concluded that Laila and Aidan’s imprisonment was a surprise to Emil. And he’d seemed eager enough to get them free. But maybe he objected to the methods and not the idea. Had Emil known that Quint felt this way? Did Emil feel that Kit was some kind of untrustworthy alien?
No. Not possible. And yet… Emil hated and feared the Nowhere. It had been obvious in every trip they’d made. Did that fear extend to Kit himself? He didn’t have the energy to consider it. “Are we going or not?” he demanded.
“I’m getting you out,” Travis said, his voice low. “Winslow’s look wasn’t enough of an order. I’ll pretend I misunderstood, okay? Don’t come back once you’re out. Steer clear.”
“And what if they order you to come collect me?” Kit asked. “What then?”
“Then you won’t be able to say I didn’t warn you.”
Travis tightened his grip on Kit’s shoulders and jerked them into the Nowhere. He could have done it with more grace—or maybe he had, and Kit was so tired that nothing felt right to him. Would it have killed Travis to say “Here goes” or something? Kit would have loved even one more second to prepare his battered body for what he had to do.
He was lucky. Facility 17’s poltergeist, one of the smaller ghostly entities, showed up right away. Kit squirmed out of Travis’s hands and shoved him away. He dove for the ghost. He didn’t have much of a plan, other than pushing the thing in Travis’s direction and thinking chase him not me as hard as he could. Foolish, reckless, unlikely to work—it was the best Kit could do under the circumstances. If only he could catch the damn ghost.
It bounded away from him and he darted after it. His eyes on that blue light, he swam through the blackness until his limbs burned. It made turn after turn, streaking across his vision, and he found himself flipping over to chase it back in the opposite direction. Travis was no longer with him. Kit was dizzy. He had one turn left, maybe, before his concentration would be shot and he’d just have to let the Nowhere spit him out at will. He prayed the void would be kinder to him that the ghosts had been.
Just then, the little ghost flew back to him. It bumped gently against his chest, sending them tumbling through nothing. Kit wrapped his arms around it, still surprised by its solidity. Gotcha. Let’s go the fuck home.
He ended up lying on his back in a bed identical to all the others in Facility 17. Not Emil’s. Kit didn’t care.
There was a large orange cat writhing in his hands.
What? He let go and it sat on his sternum and purred. The poltergeist, the little ghost, the thing he’d been scared of was… a cat?
Kit thought back over all the signs. The scratching on doors. The objects knocked off tables. Goddammit.
“Yeah, you think you’re real funny,” Kit said, narrowing his eyes at the animal, which, in addition to purring, was now kneading its paws into him. He didn’t want to deal with this shit anymore. When he stretched his head back, there was a pillow beneath it, which felt like the best and most important thing in the world.
The stupid cat was still sitting, as heavily as it possibly could, right on his chest. Wanting to dislodge it, Kit rolled over onto his side. The cat, unfazed, curled up in the space between his bent knees and his chest.