Wren's POV

"Who are we meeting?" I ask, cringing from the demi-tonnes of sand that thought well to lodge in my boots.
"You'll see." As always, Kilian is secretive. And I'm suspicious about it. It's like those surpise interventions no drug addict sees coming... The sort that's legit and helpful but painful to live through. I hope it's not one of those...
We’ve left the cave, and Oh brother, does it feel good to be under this bright orange sky. The idea of clogged-up stone vaults gives me the creeps; far better under the yonder... Far better.
There’s this sense of belonging as the wind blows at my back, the sun my second love, kissing me whole.
“Your skin is turning golden, little wolf. As it should.”
“As it should... You like bronze-skinned women, Kilian?”
“I love only one woman; she was born under this very sun, her skin remembering for her.”
Shit. This thing isn’t a fling. It’s a scam! The dawg can’t be real.
The glance I steal from Kilian is immediately returned, and it’s been like this for the past thirty minutes.
I pretend nothing, looking straight ahead into this golden expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. Well, as the eye would see. Because it inevitably lands back on Kilian.
An organism has hijacked my biology. I bet my late Sweet Shooter on it! Because I can’t see any other rational explanation for my oozing fluff self.
And as soon as my peripheral vision detects nothing on me, I glance back like an idiot.
“You want to ask me something?” he asks. This time there’s no stolen glimpse. Kilian’s staring stiffly into the distance, masseters tense.
Yeah, right, you think taking control of this hair-brained back-and-forth babyish eye joust, kindergarten style, Kilian?..
Well, not today!
“I think you want to ask me a question.” My grin is sparking. My tilt cannot be more eye candy, and—
And whatever!
Honestly, I want to slap myself right now because I’m not faking it! Mellow stuff here, and there’s no need for a sample to know it’s real. Where’s my legendary dignity gone?! It’s legendary, right? I mean, I have dignity.
Do I?..
Sigh*
He throws me this look of “you’re overkill,” a hardly detectable nod, a faint smirk—his Saturday night special.
That charmer is soaking my crotch to the bone.
Ask a goddamn question, Wren. Any will do. Let’s try to stop this leaky clitaster, shall we?
Ok. Maybe I do have a question. I’ve been swimming in it for a while, but now it’s crashing in waves in my mind.
“How old was I when they took me?”
Kilian stops in his tracks, his feet gritting the sand with muted crunch. “13.”
The shit he just fed me is of a new level. The problem isn’t that number 13 is unlucky.
It’s because my thirteens can’t be better etched in my memory. In this scene, I’m living it up at height: I’m in a cosplay costume, getting my first tattoo, and I’ve got my proud dad sitting next to me, who’s also getting inked.
Chill, Wren...
“It’s so strange, Kilian,” I say coyly, holding onto my hips, pushing on my bones as if I could stretch up to meet his eyes without having to fucking look up. “I remember losing my first tooth on Pallamir at the tender age of six. It’s pretty vivid—a rogue drone hitting me square in the face.”
There’s a sarcastic huff. “Actually, it got tangled in your hair first,” Kilian fudges, his shifty feet plodding in the sand. It’s like he’s always a step ahead of whatever situation we’re in. “And it wasn’t on Pallamir but near the River Tirga, which is no more than a dried river bed now.”
I stop, now eying my foot as it digs some wrongness in the sand. Maybe it’s a hole, and I want to go inside it.
And die.
Everything about me is a mess: my childhood is bits and bats of manipulated souvenirs—meddled grains of memory just like the sand under me. Laura did say they played with my brain but to what extent... What other things did Pallamir take away from me?
I’ll ask no more. I will never have another day like the one I’m having now. Amidst the chaos about to descend, it is blissful.
And that’s how I want it to stay.
I know it’s crazy to feel this way. My usual self should be with the Chimeras, filling in the jets tanks in mad seconds before shooting off for the stars.
...Far, far away from this hellhole.
I should be weary, my blood pumping in despair to the impending threat, yet Kilian doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. It’s like he’s got this warrior aura harnessed to perfection. It confuses me because it implies confidence for the future, and this confidence is taking root in my being.
The mere presence of this man gives me peace, and no matter how alien it is to me, I should accept it without further question.
For the first time in my life, I’m—
Eyes on Kilian, I realize how this new concept breathes out of him.
... feeling myself.
We’ve only trekked a mile or two, but we’re close enough to Tilmer’s grotto entrance.
There’s some social clattering behind us. Men are trading Galactic trinkets, other pilot vests, weapons, and electronic junk. People enter in and out with droids carrying air-gliding carts loaded with crystal. Where do they get those?.. In the sand?
They all seem oblivious to what lies ahead—tranquil.
“Kilian, shouldn’t you have warned your pack by now?”
“I already have.”
“But when?”
“When we left the Control Platform.”
“That muttering “Dawn ahead” in your wrist gear?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?!”
“We’re always ready, Spades. It’s nothing new to us.”
“Yes, there is. This time, it’s game over, Alpha. Your pack needs to leave. Save yourself before it’s too late.”
“We’d rather die on Galathena than watch it being taken from us, Cariña.”
And then a goddamn wink slides across Kilian's lips as if there were many more tomorrows to come.
He's removing his shirt...
“Run with me.”
