Under a Waning Sun

The next day, after dumping a bag of oats into Kyle's empty trough, Silas met up with Ossie at the training grounds.

"Are you sure you're feeling... y'know. Strong enough for this? It's okay if you need some more rest," Ossie greeted as he approached.

Though he was anxious to talk about what had happened yesterday, Silas was also eager to let off some steam. "Stronger than ever," he said, giving a reassuring smile.

The air was fresh and biting, and as the wooden axe and glaive swung and clacked, he was never more determined to prevent his own injury.

"Have you met Cari yet?" he asked, finally, when they paused to catch their breath.

"Cari?" Ossie asked in return, frowning as he lifted the brim of his shirt to wipe sweat away from his eyes. "I don't think so, no."

"She's a little girl," Silas said softly. "A healing mage. She . . ." Silas gestured to his side with a shrug.

Ossie nodded, then smiled. "That's so cool. I mean, imagine if everyone was in the Suns and had access to such quick healing."

Silas felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't even lifted a finger to get his injury healed, while Ossie had gone through hell and back to try and save his baby brother's life.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. For those who really need it. But . . . it seemed like it hurt her to help me."

"Hurt?" Ossie repeated. "Like, permanently?"

Silas rubbed his forehead. "I don't think so? I don't know, she just seemed really tired afterward. Do you know how it works, magic?"

Ossie shook his head. "No," he said slowly, then laughed awkwardly. "I definitely don't. But you're... you're worried about her?"

Silas nodded. "Uriah, he--" He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "Cari didn't choose to heal me. Uriah asked her to. What if she didn't want to, you know?"

Ossie stood, hands on his hips as he squinted up at the sun. He looked like he was really considering it. Finally, he said, "I think... I think that if someone was able to heal people, they'd wanna heal everyone who was hurt. Do you think..." He paused, wincing a little as he glanced down at the ground. "Do you think maybe you're just feeling a bit bad that she healed you, but other people we've known weren't able to be healed in time?"

Silas nodded with a tight smile, exhaling through his nose. That was part of it, maybe, but Ossie wasn't getting it. Silas would have to cut closer to what was bothering him. Biting his lip, he took the plunge.

"Ossie, I think she's a slave. I think Uriah took her. From her family."

Ossie faltered, watching Silas as his chest slowly rose and fell. The wait felt excruciating in the chilled air, like the sweat was freezing onto his skin. "Well," Ossie said finally. He faltered again, then frowned. It was like Silas could see the thoughts swirling inside his head. "Family is... family isn't a, uh- a specific term. Is it? Like, you mean blood. The people who-- you know. Created her. But that doesn't mean it was her family. I mean, she could have been in a really bad situation and needed a way out."

He squinted again at Silas, the sun casting Silas' own shadow in-between them. Distance. "What's making you feel that way? Did someone say something, or is there something that made you know that, or...?"

Silas looked down, spinning the wooden shaft of the axe. "No, you're right," he said, flatly. "Uriah would never do a thing like that, would he? Take someone away from a family they loved?"

His gaze returned to Ossie's face, steady. It was his final test to see if Ossie would budge.

"Well, parents are pretty good at pushing kids away anyway," Ossie said quietly. "Uriah creates a place where people can actually have a family who cares about them. I wish someone like him was my father. Someone who, even if he lost me for awhile, actually pushed to get me back."

"You're right, Ossie," Silas said with a forced smile, while on the inside, he was crushed. He'd hoped he could open up to his friend, but Ossie was unyielding.

Silas lifted his axe. "Shall we?"



By that evening, any lingering resistance to Saoirse's plan was gone, and in its place was a nagging desire to fulfill his end of the bargain and find Ramona. Knowing she'd be having dinner, he set off for the mess hall.

Shrugging off his coat, Silas stepped inside the mudroom, where piles of mucky shoes were stuffed in the cubbies. He found an empty spot at the very top for his boots, and decided he'd hold onto his coat instead of hanging it up; hugging the bundle gave his hands something to do.

Though he didn't feel like eating, the aroma of pale ale, spiced lentil soup, and warm bread and butter made his mouth water. The scent mingled with the sweat and mud of people - so many people, faces flushed pink with buzzed delight - drinking around the fireplace, playing card games in the corner, crowding around the counter with empty bowls and spoons.

Silas was struck by how cozy it all felt. On principle he avoided crowds at all costs, especially now with everyone knowing who his father was, so visiting the mess hall at mealtime was a recipe for discomfort. Tonight, though, with the windows black and the firelight soft and warm, he felt free to drift through the rabble like a ghost unseen.

Even Ramona's shock of red hair was difficult to spot in the semi-darkness. She and Jean were alone in a corner, sharing a bench pulled up to one of the wooden tables. Ramona stared at nothing, and Silas guessed she wasn't tasting anything either, for though she ladled the soup to her lips once, twice, and again, it seemed her mind was far away. Jean was straddling the bench next to her, rubbing her shoulders and nuzzling her neck.

Ramona's gaze remained faraway until Silas stopped squarely in front of the table. With a sharp blink, she lifted her chin and met his eyes, pulling up a smile so warm, it was like Jean wasn't there. But, like a shadow, he clung to her shoulders, leering.

"Si!" Ramona chirped. "Where's your food?"

"Already ate," he mumbled, watching Jean. The guy was still massaging Ramona's shoulders. Gods, get a room.

Ramona turned to Jean and began to shoo him. Reluctant, with his gaze locked on Silas, Jean pulled away and folded his arms.

"Did you want something?" Ramona tilted her head. "Or did you just want to see me?"

"Can we talk?" Silas hugged his coat. They'd probably have to go talk outside, where the winter night was sinking its claws into the compound.

The split-second glance Ramona sent Jean carried paragraphs Silas couldn't read. For a moment, it looked like Ramona was going to rise and pull him into the cold, but instead, Jean got to his feet with a bitter smirk that pulled his scarred lip to one side.

Huffing, Jean narrowed his eyes at Silas. "I won't tell Daddy Pretorius." The clip against Silas's shoulder was both playful and aggressive as Jean disappeared behind them, mug in hand.

Ramona smiled innocently.

Silas sat on the opposite bench, brushing off the table's crumbs. "You and him . . . doing alright?" he asked, elbows on the table, chin cradled in his intertwined fingers.

A light died in Ramona's eyes and her smile fell fast. "Oh, um... he's been my business partner for years, now. We tolerate each other."

The need for tolerance, Silas inferred, was one-sided. He opened his mouth but didn't want to pry, his gaze landing instead on Ramona's half-empty bowl. "Lentil soup again, huh?" he asked.

She looked away and nodded, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Yeah. If you want to try some-" she pushed the bowl his way. "It's good." She offered him a piece of bread, broken off.

The truth was, he hadn't eaten, and at the offer of food his stomach betrayed him with a grumble. He accepted the bread and wagged it up and down, eyeing the soup. She smiled and tilted her head. "Yeah. Dunk it."

"Nothing like soggy toast for dessert," he said.

The bread soaked up the flavor, fragrant of garlic and thyme. Scooping it deeper, he grabbed some of the brown lentils, carrots, and potatoes. The crust was crispy and held the weight of the broth when he lifted it out, and the warmth it brought to him instantly thawed his fingers. He was so lost in the relief that he didn't notice Ramona's affectionate stare until the bowl was empty. He'd eaten all of her food, and she watched him with quiet adoration, chin in her hand.

"You must've been hungry," she said softly.

Silas felt the blood rush to his face in embarrassment. "Sorry," he grimaced, "that soup was way better than I expected." And he wanted more.

He rose to his feet. "Will you share another with me?"

"Of course!" Ramona jumped to his side.

Behind the counter at the other end of the cafeteria, a woman ladled them a new bowl and gave them each a generous hunk of bread. After they'd finished the second serving of lentil soup, side by side, Silas leaned back and stretched. He felt a little sleepy, and the urge to put off Saoirse's request for another day was as tempting as ever. Absorbing the din of the chatting Suns around them with little interest, he waited for Ramona to fill the silence. It was weird when she didn't.

He turned to look at her. "You seem a little quiet tonight. Everything alright?"

Ramona leaned, just enough for her shoulder to rest against his side. "Oh." She looked into her lap. "It's nothing important. Hoss was just being an ass earlier, and Jean's been bothering me all day. I'm just tired."

"Hm." With one arm stretched on the back of the bench and the other supporting his chin, Silas studied her face. She was tired. "Is Caelan pushing you too hard? I can pull some strings, have him pull back."

Ramona smiled faintly and rested her head against his arm. "That's really kind of you to offer, but Caelan's not my direct report anymore now that he's Ace Forger. It's Hoss." She looked up at him with fluttering lashes. "It's okay, though. I feel better with you here."

"Ace forger?" Silas blinked. "Isn't that Adonis' job?"

Ramona's brows rose. "You didn't hear that he retired? It was earlier this week but I thought with the rumors..." she pressed her lips together. "Sorry. I thought you knew."

"Adonis . . . wow." It was hard to wrap his head around that Adonis had suddenly gotten so old he wasn't going to work anymore. "Where was the retirement party?" he asked, half-joking. But if anyone deserved one, it was Adonis.

"Well," Ramona dropped her voice to a whisper. "Don't tell anyone this, because I'm not supposed to know, but, Adonis didn't quit. Uriah let him go because he tried to stick his neck out for Ivy. I'm not sure how to feel about it."

Silas mulled that over for a few moments. "So, my dad fired Adonis for being a good dad," he said. It was another strike to Uriah's record.

Ramona fell silent, but leaned into Silas a little more. A lull passed where music filled the other end of the room, and some Suns began dancing, pushing back tables for space. It was sectioned-off chaos.

Saoirse's request nagged at him again, and Adonis' retirement was another sobering reminder that it was high time to get it over with.

"I've been having bad dreams again," he said softly.

Ramona turned up to him with gleaming eyes. "Really?"

The sincere empathy in her gaze made him uncomfortable. His stomach dropped when he realized why: he was manipulating someone just like his father would.

He swallowed and pressed on. It was a lowly mean to a crucial end.

"Uriah's been teaching me more about all the dangers out there, and I guess it's gotten to my head. Mages, werewolves . . . it's scary."

"There are a lot of scary things out there," she agreed quietly. "I think, in some ways, we're really sheltered in Sticks, with all the Suns here. We don't see as much of it." She turned and gently rested her hand over his chest. "I'm sorry it's giving you worse dreams. I know you've always had nightmares."

That much was true. Still, he didn't feel worthy of her compassion when in that very moment he was using her. Straightening himself, he squeezed her hand as a way to reassure her that he was alright, and to - guiltily - thank her for her kindness.

"You get your lumshade from the Lowe family, right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Do you ever move the. . . sedative strain? The kind they use on monsters?"

"Just the opioid," she said. "Without the sedative, I mean. For - you know."

"You know a guy, don't you? For the other stuff? Uriah's been telling me I should have some, just in case, but . . . he didn't want to get any himself. Reputation's on the line, and all that."

Ramona's smile pulled a little tighter, and she laughed lightly through her nose. "Of course I know a guy," she said. "My pillock of a brother. I can put in a word for you, but it might take a while to get, since we don't make it in Sticks."

Hoss was a good deal less desirable to work with than his sister, but assassins can't be choosers. Silas nodded grimly. "Thanks, Mona, that'd be great."

"When do you need it by?" Ramona asked, brushing her hand down his chest to his ribs.

He didn't know when Saoirse hoped to strike, but she'd said by winter's end. "Couple months? Spring?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Silas breathed a sigh of relief. He'd done his part. He'd report back to Saoirse that the cards were in Ramona's hands now.

As they watched the dancing Suns across the room, the rest of Silas' pent up anxiety slipped away, replaced instead by warmth: the drunken laughter of the dancers, the soup in his belly, and Ramona's head on his shoulder.

It was nice.

For the past couple years, he'd spent the most revelrous night of the Blue Suns calendar, the summer solstice, pent up inside with his parents. Uriah refused to participate, deeming the activities immoral and beneath him, and Silas wasn't one to choose a party, so it was no loss.

"Is this what the night of the summer solstice is like?" Silas asked Ramona. "Just, warmer?"

"Warmer," Ramona said. "And everyone's a lot more drunk than this. Plus, the food is even better. Think you'll make it this year?"

"I think I will," Silas said, smiling.

Would Uriah complain? Probably. Let him scowl from his window.

A curious thought floated by: perhaps Uriah wouldn't even be alive by the summer solstice, which was many months away. Perhaps Saoirse would sneak in through the secret passage one night, her footfall hushed by spring rain battering the window, a flash of lightning catching the glint of her dagger.

But - gods, even with the unlikely blessing of a thunderstorm, how on Nye would she pull it off? The entrance was fortified day and night, with a personal guard on Uriah's floor and well-armed Suns all around. One voice to raise the alarm, and the warning would spread through the base like wildfire.

Unless . . .

Unless there was so much drinking and dancing and warmth and food, that the fire had no kindling.

Silas hummed thoughtfully. Striking on the summer solstice - it'd mark a new beginning in more ways than one.

"Si," Ramona whispered, with her hand still on his side. "Would you like company for the rest of the night?"

Silas' whole body went rigid before his mind caught up with what Ramona was saying.

He planned to be sleeping the rest of the night. In bed. Alone. Just him. No one else.

It suddenly felt very strange and suffocating how close they were sitting to each other, in a public place, too. He straightened, reaching for the discarded soup spoon so he could fiddle with something. "I've gotta get up early. Maybe some other night that would be nice though." A short laugh escaped his throat, for some reason. "Yeah, that'd . . . Thanks."

Ramona's face fell as she pulled away. "Yeah." She wrung her hands together. "Of course. I understand."

The spoon clattered in the bowl as Silas put it back down. He stood abruptly, banging his knee against the bench as he side-stepped to the aisle, scooping up the bowl on his way out.

"Have a good bye," he said. "I mean --" Blood rushed to his cheeks. Releasing another awkward laugh, he turned to flee out the mudroom, realizing only when he reached for his boots that he was still carrying the bowl.

He left the bowl in the cubby.

"Saoirse!" Silas whispered. Too quiet. "Saoirse!" he tried again.

Saoirse lifted her head. She looked around, holding her woodcarving knife a bit tighter. "Oh," she said, lowering it as soon as she saw who it was. "Hey, Silas."

He'd caught her at just the right time, it seemed, in the quiet reflective time she spent between dinner and sleep. As he'd neared the Carver house, relief washed over him when he heard the familiar rhythmic scrape of blade against wood. Thank Gods he hadn't needed to knock on the door this time.

"I need help." His teeth were chattering, but it wasn't from the cold; a nervous thrum was running through his bloodstream. "We need to talk."

Saoirse raised an eyebrow. She left her carving on the porch and made to follow him, careful to avoid the path in front of her house's window. "What's up?" she asked, stepping into the alley. "Are you okay?"

"Everything's fine, it's just . . ." He didn't finish the sentence until they reached the edge of the forest. "It's Ramona."

He sank to a crouch, holding his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do," he said.

"Hold on," Saoirse said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Is this about-" she waved her hand, trying to find the right words. "Did she agree to help, or?"

"She agreed. That's not the problem." Silas groaned and toppled over, hugging himself in the fetal position, cradled by pinecones.

"...then what is?"

"She asked if I wanted company."

Saoirse let out a quiet gasp. "Really?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "And what did you say to her?"

"Have a good bye," he mumbled.

"I didn't catch that."

He rolled onto his back and starfished. "HAVE! A! GOOD! BYE!"

"...that's it?" Saoirse blinked. "Dude."

"Look. I was in the middle of figuring out how you were gonna kill my dad, and out of nowhere, she says that." He gestured at the moon. "My mind was not there and suddenly it had to be there, and that was the best it came up with. I think." He sat up suddenly. "Oh gods, what else did I say?"

Saoirse looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "That's... Um. You really don't remember?"

"Well, I came up with an excuse, and... I think I said some other time would be fine."

"Some other time of WHAT?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Silas wailed, falling backwards again.

"Well you better FIGURE IT OUT, DUDE!!" Saoirse put her head in her hands and dropped to a crouch. "What else did you promise her, Silas???"

"More soup?" he asked the moon, hoping it was that simple.

"Oh my Gods. Silas, dude, you're an idiot."

"We all knew that. Spell it out for me. What did I promise her?"

Saoirse just shook her head.

"Does she like me?"

"I mean," Saoirse flopped onto the ground beside him. "Do you like her?"

He pictured Ramona leaping off the stone horse in the middle of the fountain and showing off her first ray. He saw the gifts she brought him - purple vials and stickers bars - and the special attention she always showered on Kyle. He thought about the first time he approached the Suns, asking for her - how she'd clearly been in the middle of something but came straight away regardless, cheery and attentive. Then there was that dreary day a few days before Morgan died, when she'd hugged him, and said he was her favorite, and dropped a kiss on his cheek.

He'd convinced himself it'd been a one-off thing. How could friendly, bubbly Ramona pick him as her number one? No. It was kind of her to say, and maybe it really was sincere in the moment, but it was merely a fleeting glimmer of affection on a lonely day where she had no other options.

But she was always glimmering, wasn't she?

Ramona was like sunshine. Not the blue kind, but the real sun. Generous, warm, unrelenting.

Always. She'd always liked him.

"Do you?" Saoirse pressed.

Silas' face flushed hot again. "I guess I do."

Saoirse smiled. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Silas didn't get far down this trail of thought before seeing there was no hope. Sobered, he sat up and brushed the dirt from his shoulders. "Nothing. You're gonna kill my dad, all hell's gonna break loose, and we're gonna have to run. We'll never see her again."

Saoirse stared up at the trees above them. "Ah," she said. "Right. That."

The thought that Ramona was fond of him, which was only moments ago terrifying and exciting, was now acutely painful. Silas pushed it away.

Without much enthusiasm, he told his cousin about the secret passageway to Uriah's study through the bookshelf - digressing to announce that there was a new healing mage in the family - and that the best night to strike might be the Summer Solstice, when everyone would be occupied down below and Uriah would be a sitting duck.

"We should send my mom away," he added, "and Cari, too, if she's there."

"Yeah," Saoirse said. "We should." She was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "Maybe we invite them to my family's solstice celebration? I know my sisters were planning something. If you deliver the letter she'd have a harder time ignoring it."

Silas nodded thoughtfully. "It'll be difficult to get them away from Uriah either way. It has to be done, though. I don't want them tangled up in that."

Silas pictured a bleeding Uriah beckoning for Cari to heal his wounds. He shuddered.

"Yeah," Saoirse grimaced. "Me neither."

The winter breeze picked up, rattling the branches and swirling dead leaves across the night sky like phantoms.

"Guess I'll walk you back home now," Silas said. "Thanks for listening."

"Get home safe," she said once they neared the alleyway.

Silas nodded and turned to go, wondering absently when they'd meet up again. He stopped with a start, remembering what day it was. "Hey you," he said, over his shoulder.

Saoirse stopped and looked back.

Silas smiled sadly, wondering where all the time had gone. "You're a whole year older. Happy birthday, cuz."

Saoirse's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Thanks, cuz."

Silas tackled her with a hug. "That's your birthday present."

Saoirse laughed and hugged him back tightly. "Confidential info and a hug? Best present ever!"



The walk back to the smithy that night was the coldest and darkest Silas had ever remembered. Time with his cousin had helped, absolutely, but it'd also been a dreadful reminder of what lay ahead. It made everything else, like training with Ossie or sharing soup with Ramona, feel like some charade, while in the real, gritty Sticks, he and Saoirse used secret passageways and lively holidays as tools for murder.

Would Saoirse make it in and out of the lion's den, and survive to see another birthday? Would either of them ever escape the Sticks after the deed was done? It seemed more likely that they would both be buried here, mourned only by the sticky summer flies on their blood.

Kyle bleated in sleepy greeting as Silas trudged inside. It was the second night in a row now that Silas chose the draughty smithy over the Pretorius Suite, and of course it had to be two of the coldest nights of the year. He lit the stove, rubbing his hands as he waited for the flame to catch.

Supposing he and Saoirse did make it out alive, they'd spend the rest of their days in hiding. Silas remembered all too well the years he'd lived in exhausted fear of Uriah finding him, and here he'd be subjecting himself to the same cycle, now with all the Blue Suns across Nye on their tail.

Silas slumped onto the ground in front of the stove, knees against the iron, not caring when his legs fell asleep.

There was no way out.

Just last night he'd made a promise to never be like his mother and father: cowardice and manipulation, two heads of the same Pretorius coin. Already he'd broken that promise. In the morning, he hadn't stood up for Cari in the training arena with Ossie, and in the evening, he'd twisted Ramona's compassion to get from her what he wanted.

What was the point in even trying anymore, when it was rooted in who he was?

There were three purple vials, full, stashed under the floorboard for emergencies. Legs prickling in agony, he dragged himself into the hallway and pried the floorboard open.

"I am a coward," he said out loud, taking a vial.

When had the workshop gotten so cluttered?

Ivy's fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the table, itching to reach out for something and not knowing where to start. Did dust have a smell? One that could carry above smoke? It had been settling in the corners of the room for a while now, she realized, and on the shelves closest to the rafters she rarely went looking through. She practically lived here now, and yet the small shed looked almost derelict. Abandoned. Forgotten.

It was a realization that had crept up on her. And she didn't like being caught off guard.

Sighing, Ivy leaned back in her chair, flicking an accessing gaze to a nearby crate half-covered by a soot-stained cloth. At some point, she'd become a hoarder. She enjoyed being able to have anything she could possibly need on hand-- a quality that served her well when adapting to new design challenges, and now a curse that encumbered her precious work space. She didn't need all this. She was planning a strike in the form of one fell swoop. She wouldn't be coming back for anything left behind.

There wasn't anything worth staying for.

Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose as she rose from her chair, circling the crate slowly like it was a creature that could be intimidated out of biting her. What little she could see from under the cloth was unfamiliar to her-- scraps of projects long abandoned, materials never used. It might as well as have been a time capsule.

She had just started to reach for the edge when a rhythm of knocks sounded off the door, and her hand flinched back to her side.

"Yes?" Ivy called loudly, fighting any surprise from her voice.

"Ives!" Ramona chirped. "You got a sec?"

Arguably, she didn't, but she'd just been wasting time standing over a crate. What was another minute, then?

Summoning a smile to her features, Ivy kicked the crate towards the wall with the toe of her boot before gliding towards the door. It had been years since she'd arranged the traps in its way, and she didn't need to look at them anymore to avoid triggering them. Maybe that was a sign she needed a new one.

She tucked the thought away and opened the door wide, as if she had nothing to hide.

Ramona smiled wide, her face flushed from running. "She lives!" Ramona joked with bouncing feet. "And another year too - soon, anyway."

Ivy huffed a laugh. "Already? Wait-- dragons above, you're right." It was nearly that time of winter, and despite how cold her workshop was getting, she hadn't noticed it creeping up on her. It mattered less and less with every year.

"You're going to be twenty one!" Ramona said. "That's a pretty big milestone, chipping past the big two 'o.' And I was thinking, with you being busy and all, I could put together a party to celebrate you! Invite our friends. Have some food and drinks and whatnot."

A party. Ivy scanned Ramona's words for any hint of sarcasm: detecting none, she had to fight back the scoff of disbelief forming in the back of her throat. When was the last time they'd thrown a party? It would've been...

Gods, it must've been for Silas. That day at the lake felt as distant and untouchable as sunlight on the horizon now.

"A party," Ivy echoed, deciding to humor her for a few seconds. "Who would even come?"

Ramona blinked blankly as if she'd believed the answer was obvious.

Oh, dragons above, Ivy thought. She can't be serious.

"Well," Ramona blubbered. "Ossie for starters?"

Ivy kept the smile up at that name, but she let her head tilt to the side, inch by inch, allowing something demanding to slip into her gaze. A demand that whispered: what exactly makes him a friend?

"And Caelan! And Silas, and..."

It was pity, more than bitterness, that prompted Ivy to raise her eyebrows as the smile cracked into something like a smirk. Really, Ramona should know this by now. Those people weren't her friends. She hadn't even been bothering to act like it for years now. It was moments like this where it was most evident that almost anything could fly over Ramona's head.

"Hah," Ramona laughed softly. Her smile tightened. "You know what, you're right. I don't know what I was thinking." She dropped her gaze to the ground and scratched the back of her neck behind her braid. "Honestly I just wanted to see if I could make you laugh -- obviously it's just a joke."

"Hey, it was pretty funny," Ivy agreed, giving Ramona a nudge of the shoulder, which barely reached her upper arm. It still felt odd to see Ramona as taller than her, though that fact was well cemented in reality now-- she'd dared muse about it to Adonis once, who had swiftly replied that it was probably because she wasn't eating enough. That was just like him to say. "Not much silly business going around here these days."

"Well, I'm glad I could at least make you smile," Ramona said, dropping her hand.

"Aw, Mona, you can always do that."

Her smile warmed sincerely. "Aw," she murmured, then gently tapped Ivy's shoulder. "Same to you, Ives."

Ivy allowed her smile to widen in turn, leaning against the doorway. Whenever she did that, it usually made Ramona's perception of the conversation seem longer, since it looked like she was settling in.

"You know, I really wouldn't have remembered my own birthday if not for you," she mused. "Probably would've only remembered days or weeks after the fact. Thanks for that."

"Of course," Ramona said. "And -- for what it's worth, I do actually want to get you something, if you'd appreciate it."

"You sure? This is Sticks. We're not exactly--" Ivy rubbed her pointer finger and thumb together as if to say, swimming in gold.

"I have ways of getting things," Ramona smirked, twirling the end of her braid -- long enough to hang past her hips. "Come on. Just tell me what you want!"

"Well..." Ivy huffed.

She couldn't lie-- she had been hoping Ramona would say that, and there were plenty of things that she didn't know how to source... but Ramona had her methods.

There wasn't anything she needed of dire importance-- only time to build her weapons, and that was the one thing that couldn't be given over, no matter how earnest the friend. But one thing she was lacking was spectacle. It would be stunning, of course, when the bombs did go off-- but she needed it to be shocking. It needed to spawn the same cold dread that had curled in her stomach that evening.

"You do have a knack for that sort of thing," she said, as if relenting. "And... well, I guess there are things I need. It's so odd, though. Uriah wants me to work on new uniforms for the guard-- I guess because I'm handy in one way, I must be in all the others-- but he hasn't told me where I'm supposed to get all the red dye for it, and that stuff's expensive."

Ramona's brows shot up, but she was nodding before she even spoke. "I think I know someone in Banden I could talk to. They've got a workshop out there. When Jean and I make our rounds there this weekend, I'll see what I can do."

...Holy hells, she'd actually bought that. Ivy forced her surprise into glee as she grinned wide.

"Really? Mona, that would be everything. Thank you," she said, letting relief creep into her tone.

"Of course!" Ramona grinned, then pulled Ivy into a hug. "It's my 'Happy Birthday' to you."

Ivy returned the hug, lifting her chin so that her head could just barely peek over Ramona's shoulder and perch there. It was only in recent years that Ramona's hug had started to feel like Juni's, from years ago-- and yet they hugged far less often than they had back then. Ivy couldn't say either way whether she regretted that or not.

"You're the best, Mona," she said.

"I love you too, Ives." Ramona pulled away and patted Ivy's arm. "Thanks for giving me more than a few seconds, friend."

Ivy smiled, deciding to lean into the touch, just this once. "Of course."

The dust particles pricked at Ivy's eyes as they scattered from the cloth tarp she'd just swept away from the crate. It took a moment to see through it, but when the haze of the air cleared and her vision quit watering, she was facing contents she instinctively knew she hadn't seen it a very, very long time. At least they wouldn't be strangers for much longer.

She couldn't help but let out a huff of laughter at the first item her hand closed around and pulled out on a rummage-- a pair of pliers she'd once considered to be her best. They'd served her well four years ago-- even five, maybe? The day she realized they'd gone missing, she'd fretted over how to replace them before she'd remembered she had money to spend on new ones. It had been a strange relief, even knowing that the source of that money was one she fully intended to dam up one day. Ivy clutched it tighter for a moment before setting it aside, kneeling more heavily into the floor to get a better vantage point.

What she saw made her first frown, then scoff quietly. The box was full of casings, the kinds meant to be filled with loose explosive powder. Composition-wise, they didn't appear to be made that differently from how she designed them now, but they were so... small. Barely larger than her ring finger. They were puny, really. She hadn't built anything so ridiculously tiny in ages.

...Why had she built them?

Picking a handful up offered a clue-- she hadn't ever finished most of them. Of the four she was holding, three were light and hollow, offering almost no resistance to the raising of her hand. Ivy let them tumble back into the box with a soft murmur of metallic clinking. The last one had more weight to it, but no memory came rushing back when she curled her fingers around it. The casing was cold and unfamiliar against her palm, offering nothing to her.

She felt as though she was unlocking a time capsule when she pinched and twisted the lid to open it up, spurred by an invisible curiosity.

There was definitely an explosive inside, and one she hadn't worked with in a long time. Flash powder. She didn't determine that by sight-- it was the acrid scent hitting her nose, too cold and crystalline to be gunpowder or any of her more recent charges. It wasn't what she was looking at, either. The candlelight was dull, providing little to the workshop now that it was dusk, but it was bright enough to confirm what she saw inside. Bright enough to give her pause. It was a flash of color.

But it couldn't be.

Breathing in-- and absorbing more of that stale smell as she did-- Ivy dipped her finger inside, then drew it out like she'd been shocked to stare it down. Cracks of vibrant blue had seeped into her fingerprints, twisting like waves on a lake. Copper blue.

Ivy couldn't reach for the cloth to wipe it off fast enough. Her hand shook when she pulled it back.

What the fuck?

She couldn't have these. She'd thrown them out ages ago. When the sister she'd made them for had been torn away so suddenly, there was no point in holding on to the fireworks that would have been launched for her nineteenth birthday. Not when there was nothing left to celebrate. Not when there were far more dire fires to start.

Who would've remembered these? No, who would've remembered these even when she'd forgotten?

The answer came to her as an angry laugh rumbled out of her chest. Adonis. It had to be.

So he'd been here. He'd probably gone through her belongings as well. He could've done this years ago, holding on to these before planting them and waiting for them to be noticed. And for what? A sick, cunning ploy to make her nostalgic? To make her seek solace in the walls of her childhood home again and come running back to him? The thought sent a shiver of fury up her spine.

Well, it wasn't working. He'd be hearing from her for sure, though.

Feeling almost possessed, Ivy rose to her feet and lunged for the door, gripping the casing so tight she thought the vial might crack.

She couldn't actually remember making the journey back to Adonis's house. One minute, she remembered the thud of the workshop door slamming behind her; in the next, the sound shifted into another door fighting its hinges as it violently swung open, and there he was, staring at her like he had no idea how she'd gotten there.

Well, neither did she.

"Care to tell me what this is?" Ivy practically spit the words out as she brandished the casing, kicking the door shut behind her.

The creak of the floorboards under her feet was not their usual soothing sigh, but an unfamiliar groan of lament. It felt like even the house didn't like being confronted. Ivy stood her ground anyway, gritting her teeth as she dug her feet in.

"Ivy," Adonis said slowly, raising both hands in useless pacification. He was behind the kitchen counter, his widened eyes and tense shoulders betraying the alarm behind his calm tone and words. "What's wrong?"

Ivy ignored him, drawing closer while still holding the vial at arm's length. "I asked you a question. What is this?"

Adonis's confused gaze flickered between the firework in her hand, then back to her relentless expression.

"I-- I don't know," he said, with hesitation he clearly regretted having. "Am I supposed to know?"

"It's Juni's birthday fireworks!" Ivy snapped. "And I found it planted in my supplies!"

The delayed recognition that spread over Adonis's face didn't erase the bewilderment there, and Ivy could feel her blood boil hotter in response, the heat straining at her veins. He was stooping so low as to play dumb about it, too? He'd regret it. He'd regret going behind her back like this.

"...Planted," Adonis said carefully. "You're saying someone put them there on purpose? Why? Is that a problem?"

"I'm not saying someone did it, I'm saying you did it," Ivy seethed. "No shit, it's a problem! You're going through my belongings and trying to appeal to my sentimentality while you're at it!"

"Is-- is it not a possibility that you simply held onto it and forgot about it?" Adonis sputtered.

"I threw these out ages ago. I didn't want to hold on to them." Ivy swung the vial out meaningfully. "Where did you even find them? No, better question. How long ago did you arrange this? How long have you been waiting for it to pay off?"

"Please don't wave that thing around--"

"What? Are you scared I'm going to use it on you? Scared I'm going to hurt you?" Ivy took a step closer, feeling a prick of righteous satisfaction when she saw him instinctively back away.

"No!" Adonis insisted, through the desperation seeping into his voice seemed to show he was lying about that too. "Ivy, I don't-- What's gotten into you?"

"I'm not the one who committed an act of betrayal and surreptitiously went through my possessions. I think I should be asking what's wrong with you."

"I didn't raise you to be this hostile and untrusting." Behind the now-unhidden panic, there was now something searching in Adonis's tone-- like he was rewinding time, frantically trying to determine what actions and inactions of his had landed him here. "So what's this really about?"

"Just admit you know what's going on and make this easier on the both of us, would you?" Ivy's glare had narrowed to the point where Adonis occupied only a sliver in her vision. "You wanted me to find this and think of family. You wanted me to see it and miss home."

"Is the idea of missing home so unthinkable to you that the only possible explanation for it is that I'm conspiring against you?" Adonis shook his head, allowing himself a scoff of disbelief. "My apologies. I hadn't realized the concept had become so foreign."

"I already told you, I never would've kept these around. What other explanation is there?"

"I suppose this is how I learn you're immune to any fits of sentimentality." Dry scorn bled into Adonis's voice as he folded his arms over his chest, no longer on the defense. "For both our sakes, I sincerely hope you only think yourself immune. Because if you can't conceive of a version of yourself that might've once wanted something to remember Juni by-- a version of yourself that didn't heartlessly live and die by the flame-- gods help us all. That shard of humanity could've been the only thing keeping this town from burning to the ground."

Dimly, Ivy realized her vision was clearing at the edges-- the scope she'd been seeing Adonis through widened into reality again, bit by bit. Her palms mysteriously stung. A glance at her clenched fists told her why; uncurling them revealed crescent shapes where her fingernails had dug into her skin.

Juni had taught her a lot of things. One of those had been how to throw a punch. Her sister had shown her how to curl the fingers just so, leaving out the thumb so as not to break it on impact. How to add the weight of her shoulder to the force of the swing. And most importantly, how to make it hurt.

The pain shining in Adonis's eyes said that Ivy was still applying that lesson, even today.

Drawing in a deep breath, Ivy forced her mind to travel back to that span of time she desperately tried to avoid thinking of. Within weeks of the murder, she'd been moving boxes into that abandoned shed, sweeping her area of the table clean of equipment. Among those items relocated had been a crate that was in hiding under the kitchen sink. The fireworks were meant to be a secret-- they'd had to go somewhere Juni wouldn't easily stumble upon. Perhaps that had been her now-forgotten rationale for keeping them without ever checking on them, leaving them to collect dust and be abandoned by memory on a shelf. Until now.

It wasn't unthinkable to her. Adonis was right about that.

But the fact of the matter was that she simply wasn't that girl anymore. And she never would be again.

Adonis was watching her with something almost like impatience, and Ivy realized more of this inner realization may have shown on her face than she'd intended. She forced her features to return to neutral, but she couldn't keep her cheeks from flooding with warmth.

"It's... you know, I think it's coming back to me now," she muttered, unable to meet his eyes. "I must've brought them over in the initial round of moving out."

And that's what she had been doing this whole time, hadn't she? Slowly moving out of her adoptive father's house, bit by bit, until he had nothing left to remember her by when he looked around the room?

She should've felt more regret at the idea. Instead, she couldn't help but feel relief. Relief that she'd finally slipped far enough that she could do what she was aching to without fear that anyone would hold her back from it.

"Good." Adonis's shoulders and voice seemed to carry twin oceans of weariness. "Anything else you'd like to get off your chest, while I have you?"

The man standing in front of her was the same man who had taken her and Juni in with open arms, who had become the only father she'd ever known. Ivy had never known her real parents-- even the circumstances of their deaths were a hazy mystery to her. And yet, she could only see him now-- couldn't unsee him-- as just as much of a stranger to her as those unknown parents were.

Finding she had nothing more to say to him, Ivy shook her head.

Looking like the gesture physically pained him, Adonis nodded towards the exit. The dismissal was clear-- what wasn't as evident was whether he thought she needed space, he did, or both of them did. Regardless, Ivy knew she wouldn't come crawling back so soon. Not when her eyes were opened.

Clutching the firework in her fist so tightly she thought it might explode all on its own, Ivy ducked her head and retreated to the shed.



The lights in the house were still on.

Adonis had all the time in the world now, and he clearly wasn't using it to rest. Even with nothing more than lingering anger, Ivy still felt like her gaze could burn a hole in the building's siding as she stared from her shed's window out to that one as it bled flickering candlelight out into the darkness. There was nothing in her that wanted to go back to that place, and yet looking at that glow, she swore she missed something about it. Something nameless, stuck in the past that couldn't follow her here.

Even if it could follow, Ivy was sure her instincts would demand she outrun it.

Maybe it was that same instinct that drove her to stand from her desk, pulling the blackout curtains back over the window and turning her back on it. There was no point in working, not when her head was spinning like this, but she couldn't rest either. That left one option she'd been meaning to get around to, at least-- scouting the base for where to plant her bombs. She hadn't considered it urgent, since she was still biding her time and there was no point in casing grounds that might still change before she made her move. But after that argument, everything had shifted into clarity. She couldn't hope to avoid suspicion altogether eternally.

Absent-mindedly, Ivy reached for the gun Adonis had given her, tucking it in her usual messenger bag that she slung over her shoulder. She had yet to need it, but she'd become a good shot, and it was a wiser emergency weapon to carry around. A gunshot in the night could be anyone. An explosion could only be her.

She didn't need to use caution stepping over her own traps anymore as she pushed the door to the shed open, wincing at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot in an otherwise silent night. Winters in Sticks were incredibly dry, and these few weeks they were living in were the only times the town got properly cold. The chill bit at her exposed face and hands, but she took comfort in it. It meant she wouldn't be running into anyone.

The shortcut she took through the woods spit her out near an entrance left unguarded at night, as most regular residents didn't even know it was there, and Ivy slipped right through. She found herself standing in a familiar yet deserted courtyard where Suns often ate their meals during the daytime-- the cobblestones were covered in empty chairs, campfires and picnic tables. Hit with a sudden stroke of inspiration, Ivy flipped open her bag, reaching for her notebook to add to her map of the base's layout. A fuse wire could easily run through the cracks between the stones without being noticed, and the seam between the ground and the courtyard walls would allow it to run hidden in a loop around the space, enclosing a well-frequented area while allowing her to start branches off for bombs in other sections.

But she heard a rustle somewhere in the darkness-- the shift of fabric on fabric-- and her hand moved to her gun instead.

"Who's there?" Ivy called, not brandishing it just yet. She regretted speaking immediately, and had to reassure herself-- if it was a Sun, she was allowed to be here. And if it wasn't, well, no harm in taking care of a threat and looking like a hero.

The silence didn't last long. Saoirse-- of all people-- stepped out of the darkness with quiet ease, as if she'd been a shadow on a wall only a moment before.

"Hey, Ivy," she said calmly. "Good to see you too."

Ivy blinked, her hand frozen on the pistol's grip. Saoirse? She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her. If she didn't count the times they'd passed each other in Sticks without acknowledgment, it had been even longer.

She hadn't become a Blue Sun, had she? No. No way.

"What-- What are you doing here?" There was no threat in her question, but mixed in with the surprise, Ivy heard a trace of longing in her voice. Gods, had she missed Saoirse without even knowing it?

"Poaching," Saoirse said, a little too quickly. She nodded at the hunting bag slung over her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

Slowly, Ivy pulled her hand out of her bag. Saoirse was a hunter-- she had to see the gesture was for grabbing a weapon. And Ivy wasn't about to shoot the only former friend who hadn't gone on to enable the Suns' tyranny in some way.

"I work here," she said simply. Before Saoirse could retort that she'd actually been working in her shed this whole time-- or worse, press for a better excuse, because of course she would-- she added more in a hushed, cautious tone. "It's not safe for you here. Someone else might object to you looting."

Saoirse quirked her head to the side --thinking, or pretending to. "Yeah," she said, after a moment. "I know. I'm pretty familiar with their methods."

Ivy couldn't help but let out a quiet, knowing hum. She tilted her head as well, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied Saoirse. She looked... well, healthier than Ivy could ever remember seeing her. Just as short, but certainly healthier. There was finally color in her face, and actual meat on her bones. And yet, despite whatever improvements must've happened in her life to cause that change, Ivy found the same fierce stubbornness trapped in Saoirse's eyes. It was the look of someone who had unfinished business.

That was something she could understand herself, at least.

"You don't seem afraid," Ivy said at last. "Of me, at least."

"I can pretend, if you want."

"Never said I did." Ivy flicked her gaze to the nearest table-- its wood surface scratched and marked with years of past camaraderie. She took a slight step towards it, but didn't move to sit down. "Just... I'm surprised, that's all."

"The Suns usually are," Saoirse said, her voice calm. It was not entirely an accusation.

Ivy lifted one shoulder in a sort of half-shrug, letting out a quiet sigh of acceptance. "Yeah. They were surprised about me too, at least when I first joined."

"Shows what they know, I guess."

"Guess so." This was all-too familiar, and yet not nearly familiar enough. Was this conversation an attempt at portraying sympathy? A roundabout way of extending a hand in solidarity that neither of them could take? Ivy didn't know if she was imagining things, and maybe she could never know. When she'd lost touch with Saoirse, she'd lost knowledge of how she hid her feelings and thoughts, and how to see through the mask anyway.

Some of that knowledge must've lingered, though. Otherwise they wouldn't still be talking.

"What do they need a base all the way out here for, anyway?" Saoirse shook her head and let out a small sigh. "Hoarding all these resources... It's no wonder people are afraid."

"It sends a message." Ivy picked her words carefully, glancing down at the cobblestones. She didn't want to alienate Saoirse in a rare moment she felt the mask could slip, but what if there was someone else in the darkness, waiting on a word that would betray her? "It displays abundance to would-be newcomers, and acts as a threat to anyone who can't be lured."

"Hm," Saoirse hummed a low note in the back of her throat. "Yeah, you're right. Why else would they throw that stupid solstice party."

"The one in the summer?" Ivy flicked her eyes around the tables, trying to imagine them full on a sunny day. "That one I think they just do for themselves. A chance to feel on top of the world."

"Throwing a party while the rest of us starve," Saoirse glanced over at the tables. There was a surprising lack of heat to her words, just bitterness. "Sounds about right."

Ivy tried to nod, but she found herself distracted by a thought creeping into her mind as she took in the courtyard. The summer solstice was, by far, the busiest day on base for the Blue Suns-- it was the kind of thing non-regulars like her left their hideouts for, with attendance practically required, at least socially speaking. And nowhere was more packed than this courtyard, all day long.

It was a target begging to be hit. The best opportunity she could reasonably hope for.

Ivy's gaze darted back to Saoirse, trying to read her face.

Was she planning something, too? She'd never shown any signs of it-- but then, neither had Ivy. And Saoirse had never seemed like the type of person to let anger to go to waste. Maybe she even had the same date in mind as Ivy did now. Maybe their intentions were linked together without either of them ever knowing it.

Saoirse had lost her mother to the Blue Suns. And Ivy had lost Juni.

That didn't make them allies, though.

She couldn't risk everything she'd worked for in the last near-decade over a moment of kinship, one she could be imagining at that. Worse, their plans might not be compatible. Saoirse could get in the way, throwing a wrench in the delicate gears that Ivy had no way to account for without knowledge of her scheme. That was knowledge she wouldn't receive, if the stubbornness gleaming in Saoirse's eyes was anything to go by.

The only way around that threat was to take out Saoirse with the Blue Suns, too.

The collateral damage toll was going to be high. Ivy had always known that. But for some reason, this price felt especially staggering.

At least she'd set aside her own moral purity long ago.

Ivy took a deep breath, scanning the shadows in the courtyard. No watching eyes peered out from the darkness. That did not make it any safer here for her-- or Saoirse.

"You keep yourself fed, alright?" She lowered her voice to just above a whisper, the words carrying no echo over the stone. "Don't let them make you one of the starving ones."

Saoirse looked at her for a moment. Then she gave a small, serious nod. "You do the same."

Ivy nodded in kind, stepping aside to allow Saoirse access to the same entrance she'd came through. "I promise."

Saoirse said nothing further. She smiled, briefly, and then slipped back into the darkness. Ivy hadn't blinked-- she was sure of it-- but she disappeared all the same, too fast and subtle to track.

Accepting that she was alone again, she tipped her head back to the night sky, letting the sigh she released into the cold air cloud her vision. Another bridge was burning, then. It was a taste of what was to come.

She couldn't falter anymore. Because if she turned back now, there'd be no one left to return to. Whether the road ended in victory or defeat, Ivy was walking it alone.

The sun was too bright. Ramona squinted into the beam that bridged her nose, and the pressure behind her eyes turned to throbbing.

Instant headache.

Moaning, she raised her hand to shield her face. The canvas of her mind was scrubbed with mud, and the fatigue that weighed her body down brought her to the sullen realization she was in someone else's bed. It wouldn't be the first time, but this felt different.

Who was this man?

She turned her head to the side. His muscular arm was dead weight around her waist, and his copper skin glowed in the light that cut through the curtains. His black hair was long, braided, and billowed around his head. Fast asleep, he looked less threatening than he had the night before, standing beside her brother.

Her brother.

The image returned to her, reeking of alcohol, and stained with hands on her skin. This man was a childhood friend of Hoss's, but now he was a five in the Suns. He was visiting the Sticks to report to Uriah, but it was no secret that his assignment was as a spy. Keone, as they called him, was a Peacekeeper in the Defense Against Magic Guild. He was stationed in Ruddlan as the eyes inside the headquarters, and this man killed mages for a living. He'd bragged about it for hours.

Spikes of regret stirred in her stomach as fragments of the night returned. For a moment, Hoss hung on Keone's every word. He was gripped by the spectacle. Hunting people down, and making an example of them in a public square. It took forever for her to pull Keone away, and it was only because a woman caught Hoss's interest. It took several more shots to get Keone as loose lipped as she needed him to be. Even more to get in his room.

He had mercurial lumshade.

She'd been trying to track it down for three months. The recreational stream was as common as air - but the sedative? The formula at full strength? She hadn't realized how strictly guarded it was. There wasn't a single soul in Sticks who knew where to get it, and even the Lowes only made the drug for consumption.

This was her only shot at obtaining it for Silas - and it was won through seduction. Keone wasn't likely to remember their agreement when he woke up, but it struck Ramona like lightning from above. She looked back to the window. Sitting on the edge of the side table was one small vial of liquid death. The weapon Silas wanted. Needed. Begged for.

Slowly, she reached for it. One vial, and so much secrecy. She slipped it into her fingers like it could shatter on contact, waking the man beside her. The smooth purple liquid sloshed and caught the light, almost glowing. Straight out of fiction.

Keone pulled her closer. He buried his face in her shoulder, and she quickly pulled her hand under the blanket, hiding the vial in her palm.

"Minh," he murmured in her ear, with the affection of a lover.

Her heart recoiled and twisted at the name, bracing for his rude awakening to a woman he didn't know. Every path open to her was lined with briars and needles.

"Keone," she whispered back, hoping he'd keep his eyes shut. "Just a moment, love. Go back to sleep."

She kissed his head, and like magic, he relaxed his grip. With freedom, she slid out of his grasp and picked her clothes off the floor, putting them on, one by one. She was trying to escape the fury of a strong man's regret. Anticipating the worst, all for a vial. She pulled up her pants.

...What was she doing?

The Summer Solstice was a week away. In a month, she would be 20. Hoss just turned 25, and he'd been handed the trade routes to the Outlands. He was assigned a whole caravan to oversee, and even Ron had been initiated into the Suns under Wilson's tutelage to become a tattooist. Everyone was moving towards something. Except her.

She brushed the two spires of the tattoo on her stomach as she pulled down her shirt, imagining all of the ink her friends acquired. New spires circled their suns, but years had gone by, and hers was the same. She was running drugs, and her life had become a series of recurring dreams, following the same script every week. Sell in Sticks, pick up shade, sell in Banden, get more shade. The trajectory was a never-ending cycle. A leech feeding on a leech.

Suddenly it made sense. No one ever expected anything of Ramona. Hoss never demanded better, Ivy never pushed her, Ossie never encouraged her to take on more responsibility. Jean hated change, Silas didn't pay attention, and Ron couldn't say a word if he tried.

Caelan might've been the closest thing to someone who believed in her, but all his words rang hollow when he crawled back to Cassia every night. His endorsement meant nothing when he never leveraged his influence to pull her up, and it was her fault she never earned it.

She'd dreamed once. She could remember the night she'd stared at the ceiling of her childhood home and hoped to be something. The possibilities seemed endless. Her potential unexplored. At some point, she'd settled for familiarity and forgotten ambition. It was jarring to realize nothing was carrying her. No desires, no hopes, no nothing.

She walked to the standing mirror at the end of Keone's room. The woman staring back at her was still a girl, obsessed with having perfect braids because it was the only thing she could perfect. Her hair was undone, tangled around her shoulders, spilling to her middle thigh. This was what the rest of the world saw; a little girl who only knew to keep the status quo.

There was nothing in the mirror to be proud of. No one was proud of a whore.

Ramona bowed her head. The lumshade in her palm felt warm, but her hair was heavy, and burning. The mess was suffocating, and the prospect of spinning it into a braid again, with all the time it would take...

Ramona shoved the lumshade in her pocket and pulled out her knife. She gripped her hair behind her head and poised the blade under the nape. All her life, her hair was her pride and joy. Braiding it was her past-time. Her solace. Washing it was her peace. Combing it was her comfort. Her religion. Her obsession.

The blade was sharper than she thought. Her hair fell around her face as she brought the detached ponytail around, staring at it like a head removed from its body. One glance in the mirror removed her from her skin, because she stared at the face of her father in his prime. Her hair stopped at her chin, and she didn't know if she felt relief or regret. She looked more like him now than ever. Was her hair the only thing in the way of that?

The man behind her stirred in bed. She twitched and dropped her hair, turning around.

"Who are you?" he asked, sounding bewildered, but not angry.

Ramona pulled up a vacant smile. "To you?" she singsonged. "Just another bedfellow."

Keone sat up and rubbed his eyes. Ramona's headache was gone, and she floated to the door, high on elation. She had what she needed, and he needed nothing more. "Goodbye," she said to the ball of hair on the floor. It was his, now.

She wanted to get out of there.

Thankfully, the walk into Sticks was rejuvenating. The last of spring was turning bright green, and the air was fresh with a breeze. With her head held high, she let the simple touch of the wind wash away every night spent with someone new. She pushed the memories from her mind and set her thoughts on one thing she could count on: Silas would be happy to see her. Even if it was just for the lumshade.

Two nights ago, Silas had come begging for more. He'd always come asking about his special request, but his purchases were becoming infrequent. It was probably because his new life under Uriah's mentorship and fatherhood was suiting him. She could only imagine how busy he'd become, brought into a family with so much to catch up on. So many years lost. It was a story Uriah was eager to tell -- the reward of his suffering search was finding his long lost son.

She still didn't see Silas as a Sun, but that was only because he had no ink. She didn't know which ran deeper: the ink, or the blood - but it didn't seem to make a difference. Uriah seemed to care less. It made it odd, though, when Silas would hide away.

The pattern, though irregular, was predictable.

Silas found her, bought lumshade, then, no one would see him for three days. She always found him, though, because she knew where to look. Silas was a creature of habit, and when he wanted to feel safe, he went to the smithy.

It was a rust bucket, now. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the tree they used to climb - somehow - had died in the years past. It was a leafless husk, reaching over the pen where Kyle stayed, still moping around with his floppy ears and lazy eye. His fur was spotted with whites and greys at this juncture, and it was a wonder he still lived. She never thought about goat lifespans, or how hardy they could be. Especially considering the state of his pen.

Ramona stood at Kyle's gate, pursing her lips. It looked like Silas hadn't cleaned it in weeks, if that. The small enclosure was crowded with Kyle's dung, and his feeding trough was empty. So was the water. Poor Kyle was standing in the corner, unmoving, eyes fixed on some ghost in the distance.

Two ghosts, probably, with neither eye looking the same direction.

Pity ate at her, and Ramona picked up a shovel. She stepped over the fence and cleared away the goat poop, dumping it over the side in a pile. It took longer than she expected, and even longer to fetch water from the well, fill the trough, and find the bag of feed buried under the overgrown bush. When the feed spilled into the trough, Kyle finally came to life and waddled over, sticking his nose in it.

Sighing, Ramona dropped the bag beside the fence, sweatier than she wanted to be. Finally, she walked to the back door and leaned her head against the wood, whispering.

"Si," had always been enough to rouse him. But it didn't happen this time.

She gave it a few moments in case he was sleepy, or out of it. Another moment, if he was cooking. Another, if he was taking a shit, or in the bath, and needed to be presentable. Another, if he was working. But he hadn't worked the furnace in years, and it was outside. Dead.

The silence turned to alarm.

"Si?" she said, louder. There was nothing. Silas wasn't home. That had to be it. She fiddled with the doorknob.

Locked.

"Si?" she said, shaking the knob and fighting it. No amount of struggle woke him. She cursed and pulled out her lockpick.

"Si, come to the door. You only lock it if you're in there," she ordered, fiddling with the lock. Her heart began to pound in her ears, and she couldn't hear a click clear the lock. A roll of thunder passed through her, and her fingers fumbled with the pick, dropping it to the ground.

Shit. She scrambled to pick it up. She didn't have time for starting over.

She ran to the window and bashed it in with her elbow. The glass shattered into a million slivers, and some cut through her arm. She didn't care that the edges snagged her jacket when she crawled inside, jumping into the kitchen.

The world spun when she saw Silas lying on the floor by the furnace.

"No."

She rushed and fell at his side. His face was so pale. His eyes were closed. She ripped off his gloves, parted his fingers, and pressed his wrist for a pulse. Bending over his body, a smell ambushed her memory that she'd tried to forget.

Her father; stiff, and rotting. Two days beyond life, curled inside a tent, clinging to the drug that killed him -- and Ramona hadn't known. A dead body was familiar now in ways she never wanted. Cold skin. Bloated features. Bloodless extremeties. Staring into Silas's face was like looking at death itself, and she was the death-bringer.

She'd done this. She killed Silas. Ramona gave him lumshade at the start, dooming him to die just like her father.

And his father?

Uriah's wrath would burn like a thousand fires, and she would die a gruesome death of punishment. All of the world would see she was responsible for the death of his golden child, at fault for killing the only man she might've loved, if he'd only loved her back. The devastation of her shortsightedness was so great that she would become a cautionary tale her brother would add to his sayings.

She'd listened to him when he told her to never use lumshade. Why didn't that rule apply to Silas? What sickness afflicted her to make her so tragically stupid?

"Silas," she uttered. Her voice was shaking beyond repair. "Silas. Silas. Silas!"

If there was a pulse, she couldn't find it. Her blood was raging, and anything in comparison was still beside the storm. Ramona shook his shoulders, rocked him back and forth, and turned him on his side, begging -- pleading -- the gods to have mercy on him, because they never had before. She didn't even know the names of the dragons. Never cared to remember. But now she wept with more regret than words could ever bring to justice.

The gods wouldn't spare her. Wouldn't spare him. Not on her behalf. No one heard the prayers of a murderer.

"Please," she wailed, staring through tears at Silas's body, waiting for a miracle. "Please."

A noise broke through her ragged breaths. Her sob stopped abruptly, and she froze.

There it was again.

A groan.

"Silas!" she shouted, pulling his shoulders. Holding him upright. "Silas, please! Talk to me! Say something!"

The room felt cold as the morning light revealed all the dust in the air. Tears flowed down her chin as she hugged Silas tightly and the dead furnace stared back at her, coated in decades of ash. When she leaned Silas back to see his face, he fluttered his eyes, barely open.

"Mona?"

Her sob caught in her throat. She cupped Silas's face with her hand, searching his glazed eyes for life. This was it. The gods had mercy, and she couldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't give him lumshade anymore.

"I'm right here, Si," she rasped. "You were unconscious. I found you on the floor."

A clarity seeped into Silas' eyes as he slowly came to his senses. He heaved a breath that rattled like leaves. "Thirsty," he said, leaning away like he was about to pull himself up.

"No. No." Ramona swallowed her tears and wrapped her arms under his armpits. She dragged him to the bench with a heave and leaned him against it. He was heavier than she expected.

She let go with a huff. "You stay here. I'll get you water."

This stupid smithy was like every other house in the Sticks. Only the Suns base had running water, so they still had to fetch it from the well. It was to her relief that Silas at least had the sense before dosing to fill a pitcher on the kitchen counter.

Ramona poured a glass and kneeled beside him. She helped guide it to his lips as he chugged, voraciously, like he hadn't had water in days.

"Slow down," she said, trying to pull the cup away, but a moment later he'd emptied it. "I'll get you another."

It was three rounds of ups and downs before he was satisfied. Already his skin looked a little less sallow, his eyes a touch more bright. "Your hair," he croaked, reaching toward her face. His hand made it three inches in the air before falling limp in his lap.

Her eyes stung as she smiled. "Si..." But her throat knotted again, and as she held his gaze, she could still imagine his body, stiff, and lifeless. She bit her lip and turned away.

Silas cleared his throat and, somehow, managed a full sentence. "I like it."

Ramona's chest twisted, and she nodded, but her hand settled in her pocket, where the vial was waiting. Still warm, from sitting in the sun.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered. "Is that what you wanted? Were you trying to...?" Her throat collapsed in on itself, and she hid her face behind her hand.

"Gods, no!"

When Ramona peeked between her fingers, she saw that he meant it. His expression aghast, his eyes swept the dusty floor, looking for an answer.

"I've had a hard week. It was an accident." His voice was like sandpaper. "I'm sorry."

But sorry wasn't enough. "This can't happen again." She gripped the vial tightly. "I won't let it. I'm the one who should be sorry." She huffed as she got to her feet. "I started this. And I'll end it."

"End... what?"

Ramona pulled the vial out of her pocket, and let the purple hue catch the sun. The small stream cut through the room like a knife, igniting the weapon, the drug, and the curse with light. "Whatever you need this for isn't more important to me than your life." She raised her hand, ready to throw it to the ground.

"Wait!" He raised his hand again, and this time it steadied, outstretched, trembling.

"What?!" She held it over her head.

"It's not for me!"

"I know! It's for Morgan."

Silas' shoulders sagged as he sighed in exasperation, but the hand remained steady. "Ramona, it's not. I promise."

"Then what's it for, Silas? Why do you need it so badly?" Her heart was beating out of her chest. She waved the vial in front of him. "Do you have any idea what I did to get this?"

"I'm sorry," he said again. His outstretched hand curled into a weak fist and dropped to the ground. "I didn't... I didn't want..." He buried his face in his hands and groaned, and the words that followed were too muffled to make out.

"What? Didn't want to what, Si?"

After a moment, Silas raised his chin. "I think it's time you knew," he said.

The brief wave of fury fell like a tidal wave, and Ramona dropped her hands to her sides. Silas's shoulders sank so much, it was like the roof caved in on him.

"Knew?" she sat down. Slowly.

It took him several more moments to speak. When he finally looked up, there was fear in his eyes - fear of her. Twisting his hands in his lap, he took a long, shuddering breath.

"I am... a werewolf," he said simply.

The dust in the air stilled. Ramona stared and waited for more, but there was nothing. The truth didn't land until Silas looked down again, and she saw that he wasn't buffering the truth with a joke. The lingering apprehension held in his shoulders. His brows were a taut line. In all her life, she'd never seen him make himself so small, even when he was a boy.

"A werewolf," she said. "Like... you're also... a wolf."

It was bizarre to say. It was a distant story that never touched the Sticks. But if Keone could bring lumshade meant to harm mages and werewolves past their muddy borders, maybe mages and werewolves came here too.

"Also a wolf," he said with a small nod, his voice small.

But something wasn't fitting together. Ramona had known Silas all his life. When had he ever shown signs? Surely, he would've acted like a wolf, or done something suspect. He had keen senses, but so did some people. Ramona began to shake her head. This was some ruse, wasn't it? Just like the Morgan lie. He was trying to get more lumshade out of her.

"No," she said. "I'm not falling for this again."

"Again?"

"You only want lumshade. It's the only reason you come to see me. You always need something." She got up and paced to the wall. "You think I'll just believe anything, don't you?"

"Mona," Silas said, wounded, "I'm telling the truth."

"Then prove it!" Ramona wheeled around and pointed at him, up and down. "You're dry enough. If you really are a wolf, then show me!"

Silas stared up at her dumbly. "You want to see it? Are you sure?"

"What do you mean do I want to see it?!" Ramona sputtered. "Of course I want to see it! Dragons above, Silas, you've been lying to me for years and godsdamnit I deserve some proof if you're going to claim something like being a--" she stopped herself and snapped her mouth shut, throwing her hands at him with a strangled grunt. "Either you are or you aren't! If you can't do it I refuse to believe you!"

"Okay, okay! I get it! Just give me a second." Silas shifted to his knees. "I almost died just now, remember?"

"And you think I wanted to bury another body?" She stomped her foot. "Stop stalling!"

"Brace yourself," he said, on all very much human fours. "It's gonna be bright."

Ramona counted the four long seconds that passed as Silas remained on his hands and knees, concentrating so hard she thought he was going to push out a turd. When she thought he might soil his pants, instead, there was a brief flash of light, gone before she could blink.

When stars left her vision, Silas was a wolf.

A real, fuzzy, four-legged wolf with black fur, brown eyes, and the most innocent canine face she'd ever seen. Like a dog begging for scraps, Silas stared at her in anticipation with the same eyes she knew in his human form: dark, earnest, and powerful enough to ruin her.

Her laugh turned to a sigh as she knelt back down, levelling her eyes with his.

Silas was a man and a wolf, all wrapped up in one, and suddenly, everything that shouldn't have made sense made sense. It was why Silas excelled at hide and seek, when they were children. It was why he could always find her without trying. It was why he always heard her whisper, through the walls, the doors, and windows standing between them. Worst of all, it was why he must have sought her out for lumshade in the first place.

She was an idiot, but even she knew. A werewolf had no life among humans except in hiding, and if lumshade hindered magic, it would hide the wolf, too. It had been so many years, Ramona didn't want to imagine the kind of fear he carried everywhere he went. Forever, all the time. It made the fear in his eyes wound her all the more, to think he thought she could ever find it in herself to betray him.

"Silas..." was the only person she'd ever wanted, and she couldn't help but smile with sorrow. He trusted her, only now, when he had to. For lumshade. She shouldn't have let herself say: "Do you know you're cute in both forms?"

Silas looked away, flicking his tail. "You're not afraid of me?" he asked, side-eyeing her and cocking his head.

She was sure from the jump of her eyebrows, he could tell it was hard for her to reconcile what she thought was true with reality. It was jarring, hearing his voice from a wolf's face, but she huffed. "I've always felt safe with you, Si. I still do."

"That's good to hear." The tension in Silas' face eased and his ears relaxed. "That's... that's really good."

Ramona couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah. I guess it is."

Simiarly, it seemed Silas couldn't help but wag his tail.

"Do you want a hug?" she asked. "Hands or paws?"

The wolf plopped down on his butt and shut his eyes. After another dazzling flash of light, human Silas was back, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a lopsided smile.

He lifted both arms toward her. It was the most welcome invitation she'd ever received from him to come close, and she threw herself at him, still thanking the dragons that he wasn't an empty husk on the floor. Ramona clung to him with the vial in her hand, squeezing tighter. He squeezed her back.

"I should've told you a long time ago," he murmured.

"Why didn't you?"

He pulled away from the embrace and shrugged. "How would I know you'd respond like... like this, and not run off and cry wolf to all the Suns?"

"I guess I understand." She sat back and held her hands in her lap. "Have you told anyone else, though?"

"Well..." Silas stared at the vial, almost hungrily. "Someone found out. And let's just say... I won't have peace until he's dead."

A heavy pause filled the space between them. "Are you in danger? Is this man after you?"

He nodded. "And that--" He pointed at the vial. "--is my only way out. Until then, the wolf - the truth - is a ticking bomb."

Her heart sank, and she held up the vial, still guarding it by her chest. "Is lumshade really the only way?"

"It's not just any lumshade." Silas raised his chin. His eyes had turned steely and dark. "I'm going to use it to subdue him, and then I'll slit his throat."

Ramona pressed her lips together and stared at the vial.

Silas was talking about murder. If this drug could subdue the man trying to kill Silas, like she knew it could anyone, then killing would bear virtually no struggle. It was why the guilds used it to hunt mages... and people like Silas. When she thought about it, the plan was as spiteful as it was foolproof, so long as Silas got the lumshade in the man's system before the man could strike him with the same thing.

She didn't like the danger, but she knew she'd only get in the way. Ramona didn't have the stomach for fighting like her brothers did, but still, she worried. Even if this worked, Silas was tied to the drug he hoped would set him free.

"This is going to be the last lumshade I give to you," she said, holding it between them. "But only if you promise you'll give it up this time. For good."

"I promise."

His fingers brushed her hand, and her fingers uncurled. Gingerly, he took the vial from her as she dropped her head. All of this, and it still ended in a transaction. Lumshade for trust. Lumshade for everything. After this was over, and the danger was gone, Silas would have nothing left to find her for, and she'd be truly alone. Ivy had her bombs, Caelan had Cassia, Ossie had Uriah's favor, and Silas had his freedom. In a way, it was like Silas did die. She was breaking the only ties she still had to him, and when he held the vial to the light, she closed her eyes and sighed, ready to go, because everyone always left when they got what they wanted.

Silas had what he wanted.

Then out of nowhere, a touch. Silas's coarse fingertips took her chin and lifted her face towards his, where his eyes met hers with concern. Her heart raced to a hammering pulse, and she swallowed, hoping and praying that Silas couldn't possibly be this cruel to tease her again.

"I mean it. I promise." And, tilting his head and closing his eyes, he kissed her.

Every part of her heart flooded with light. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned into the first kiss she ever wanted. She dug her fingers into Silas's hair, held his neck, and didn't want it to end when Silas pulled away, noticing her tears.

"Mona!" he said, leaning back to search her face. "I'm sorry, was that not okay?"

Ramona smiled softly, trying not to lose herself entirely in his gaze. She brushed his cheek with her thumb. "Si... I've never been more happy." Despite her tears, she meant it.

He exhaled in relief, leaning into her hand and cupping it with his own. "You sure know how to turn a bad day around."

"You have no idea how much you've done the same for me." She brushed her thumb over his lips. "I'd like to kiss you again."

Silas smiled shyly, averting his eyes. "I'd like that, too."

If her heart could fill the room, it would. Ramona beamed and pulled him in.

It was early in the morning. Saoirse had been up most of the night working on the fishing lures Riley had brought home. Some were salvageable, others not so much. It was tedious work that had left her hands aching, but she could at least use the reclaimed materials in her traps.

Silver linings, or whatever.

She left the house not long after sunrise. Later than usual, though it was still earlier than Saoirse would have liked. She was tired. Between the nightmares and the fishing lures, Saoirse hadn't been getting much sleep.

The forest helped, a bit. Saoirse didn't need to think to check her traps.

"Do you resent it?" Uriah's voice came out of thin air. She hadn't heard him approach, and when she whipped around, his black fur blended in with the shadows. From them, his yellow eyes glowed.

All the color drained from her face. To her credit, Saoirse didn't flinch.

"Of all your siblings," Uriah continued. "You look the most like Celia. Do you take pride in it? Or does it pain you, to be reminded, when you see your own reflection?"

Whatever response Saoirse might've had died before it reached her throat. Uriah had to be lying, but was he? Saoirse's eyes burned. She dug her nails into the flesh of her palms. She hated that she didn't know.

It was difficult to tell if Uriah was smirking or baring his teeth.

"I suppose I shouldn't expect you to remember her. You were the youngest, after all," Uriah said, pacing forward on light paws. "But you seem to have come a long way, since I last saw you. Less sickly. Though you always reek, to some degree, of despair."

Saoirse narrowed her eyes. It wasn't like Uriah smelled like roses either -- not that she was brave or stupid enough to say that.

Her uncle began to circle her, like a predator to prey. "You think I don't recognize that scent on my son?" he said, voice laced with a threat. "You have no idea how much I've tolerated your influence. Like poison in his blood."

Saoirse's hands were shaking, now. She could feel tears on her cheeks.

"Fear is good," his voice became smooth, in the most disquieting way possible. "You'll stay away from him, now. He doesn't need your 'protection' anymore. Besides, don't you think the Carvers have suffered enough for his sake? I'd be more worried about your own.."

Saoirse grew paler still. She wouldn't do that to Silas. She couldn't.

"Have I made myself clear, Saoirse?" Uriah asked. He stopped in front of her, staring up with slitted pupils.

She thought of her sister and her step-father. Of Riley, still visiting home. "Yes," Saoirse said, gaze unflinching no matter how much her voice shook.

Uriah bowed his head. "Good. I'd be more careful in these woods," he said, turning to leave. "You never know what might be watching."

He didn't wait for her response as he darted off into the trees, disappearing into the underbrush with silent steps.



The sun had not yet reached its peak when Saoirse arrived home. The house was full but mercifully quiet, with all but Riley working on the latest batch of laundry in the backyard.

Saoirse watched them through the back window. Uriah had run off so fast she'd been afraid of what she might come home to. Seeing them alive... Saoirse had cried on the walk home. She cried harder now.

Then, the familiar sound of footsteps behind her.

Riley.

"Hey," he said. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Saoirse wiped at her face. She was crying louder, now. She couldn't have gotten the words out if she'd wanted to.

Riley put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said, turning her to face him. "Breathe, Saoirse. Are you hurt?"

Saoirse shook her head.

"Okay," Riley said, looking her up and down. "Let's just focus on breathing then, yeah? In and out." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Just like that."

Saoirse dragged in a breath. She didn't know how long it took her to calm down, but Riley didn't leave -- just stayed and helped her breathe, a hand on her shoulder to ground her.

She sniffled. "I'm okay," she said, when she finally trusted herself to speak. Her voice was quiet and not-quite steady. She hated lying like this. "There were some Suns patrolling closer than they normally get. Freaked me out."

"They see you?"

Saoirse shook her head. "No," she said. "I hid."

Riley's eyebrows were knit together in concern. He didn't seem entirely convinced. "...that doesn't usually scare you this bad."

Saoirse looked at the ground. She drew in another ragged breath. In and out, just like before. "They were talking about their plans for the solstice. Seeing their families 'n all that. Made me miss her."

Riley let out a small sigh.

"It's stupid. I don't really remember if we even had any solstice parties. I just wish she was here so we could." Saoirse wiped at her eyes. She was crying again, though not as hard as before.

Riley sniffled.

"D'you think we could have one? It won't be the same but--"

"I think that'd be nice."

They were silent. Saoirse watched the rest of the family out the window, working and moving about the wash-tubs and lines of laundry. It was a moment before Saoirse spoke, "...maybe we could invite Aunt Delia?"

"I don't even know how we'd get in touch, Saoirse."

Saoirse said nothing. She didn't have to.

"Riiiiight." Riley said, drawing out the vowel. "I almost forgot."

"We'd just need a letter," Saoirse turned to look back at Riley, who reluctantly met her gaze.

"...fine." Riley didn't sound happy about it, but he agreed. "Just-- fine, but I need you to be careful. Deal?"

Saoirse nodded.

Riley sighed.



The forest felt different than it had before. Each rustle or snap of a twig set Saoirse on edge. It chafed at her nerves, and a sense of unease settled over her not unlike a sweater shrunk in the wash, worn soft in all the right places and still just as uncomfortably tight.

Saoirse kept to the outskirts today. The trees were thinner here, and while it was impossible not to feel like she was being watched, Saoirse could breathe a little easier knowing that there were fewer shadows where Uriah could be lying in wait.

Her traps hadn't been messed with -- at least not any more than they usually were. Saoirse took what she'd caught and started to reset one. A thought occurred. She hesitated.

If Uriah knew where to find her...

Saoirse let out a quiet sigh. The patrols would probably be changing up their routes. Probably. She couldn't know for sure. A part of her felt like she didn't know anything for sure. Just that she was tired and afraid and angry.

Saoirse was so, so angry.

One by one, she started to dismantle her traps. They'd been in the same spot for too long -- she'd have to be more cautious. None of what she caught here was worth it. Saoirse coiled the wire and set it in her bag. Riley was right, they had enough stores that her family wouldn't starve.

A branch snapped. Saoirse was half-way through taking apart a snare when she heard it. Hidden by the brush and brambles around her, she didn't flinch. Just turned her head, slowly, tracking the sound.

"Silas?"

This time, blessedly, the younger Pretorius stepped out through the branches, in human form. "I was hoping I'd run into you," Silas said. He wore a rather goofy grin, but it didn't hide the sallowness of his face. It reminded her of what he always looked like a few years back, when he was still chained to lumshade.

"Me too, actually," Saoirse said. She stood up and brushed some of the dust off her clothes. "Is, uhm. Are you alright? You don't look so good. No offense."

"I wasn't. But I'm great now!" Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial. He extended it to her without a word, still smiling.

"Is that--" The concern for her cousin was put on the back-burner. Saoirse took the vial. She looked at it for a moment, eyes wide, before tucking it away. "This is incredible, Silas!"

"You think it's gonna work?"

Saoirse nodded. She was a little stunned to finally have it in her hands. "Yes," she said, after a beat. "Yeah, I think it will."

"And Delia and Cari? Did you think of something?"

"About that," Saoirse said, before pulling a piece of paper from her bag and passing it to him. "My family's having a little Solstice get together this year. I managed to get Riley to write an invitation. He said he wrote it like we want to mend things, but I can't check. Figured you'd want to look it over."

Silas read the letter out loud.

Dear Aunt Delia,

I hope this letter finds you well. I will try to keep this brief.

I know it has been some time since we have celebrated the solstice together as a family, but we would be honored if you would join us for this year's festivities.

We will be beginning our preparations around noon. You are welcome to come and help decorate. Otherwise, feel free to arrive whenever is convenient.

With all that being said, I understand that you are a busy woman and may have other plans. Please know that, whatever your answer, there are no hard feelings on our part.

(Also: Please accept my apologies if this letter arrives a bit late. I am away from Sticks often for work and have not had time to write until now.)

Best wishes
(and an early happy solstice!),
Riley Carver

Saoirse said nothing, just took in the letter as Silas read it aloud. Well, she thought. There were certainly hard feelings on her part. But it wasn't like Riley could put that in writing.

Silas nodded and carefully folded the letter in half. "I'll have to ask her to bring Cari. Riley shouldn't have a problem with that, right? She's family too, now, and your place will be a sight more appropriate than the party at the base."

"I doubt he'll mind," Saoirse said. "He'd love to have someone else to dote on."

"This'll work. It has to."

"It will," Saoirse said, a little too quickly. Silas was right. This had to work. Failure just wasn't an option. Not for her, not for any of them. "And then we can do what we want." Saoirse, for one, was going to take a very well-deserved nap.

The apprehension in Silas' shoulders sharpened into a wince, like he remembered something painful. "Yeah. Whatever we want."

"What're you gonna do, d'you think?"

Silas was silent as he folded the letter in half a second time, running over the crease with his thumb again and again. "Gods, I'm an idiot," he finally said.

"You're not an idiot," Saoirse said. Then, after a beat, "...Why do you think you're an idiot?"

"Because I didn't have the common sense to break her heart." He threw a wild gesture back toward town, his voice fracturing. "I couldn't do it. It'd break mine too."

Okay, maybe he was a bit of an idiot. Saoirse wasn't going to say that, but what could she say?

"Ah. That's... Hm."

"You know what?" Silas gripped her shoulder, desperation shining in his eyes. Seeing him so up close, she again noticed the strange but familiar pallor of his skin. "It's for the best. I'll have my Blue Suns girlfriend, I'll keep up the werewolf training, and no one will suspect anything's wrong."

Saoirse frowned but didn't argue.

"It's okay, right? That I love her? Just for a little bit."

Gross.

"I-," Saoirse started to say, only to pause mid-sentence. She said nothing for a moment, only letting out a quiet sigh. "I can't be the one to answer that, Silas. It's a good cover, I'll give you that."

"Yeah." Silas scratched the back of his head. "Sorry. I know you have more important things to worry about right now."

"Always have."

Silas rolled his eyes and tucked the letter carefully in his pocket.

"Well," Saoirse said. "It'll be over. Soon. We've got this."

Silas nodded. "Practice your knife-throwing skills, will ya?"

"Gotta stay sharp somehow," Saoirse said, moving to pull Silas into an awkward hug before she could think the better of it. "You take care too, yeah?"

Silas hugged her tight, and then pulled away. "Always have."

Summer always struck Sticks by surprise. This year, it felt even earlier.

Ironically, the night before the busiest day on the base was by far the quietest: the Suns had set out for an early rest, preparing to go sleepless for the evening ahead. For all her planning, Ivy couldn't have dared dream of it happening this easily. No one was there to witness her, creeping through the halls like a vine over cobblestone, leaving behind the seeds of its destruction as she went.

She almost wished there was someone to see it: it was the only thing possible that could have made this more satisfying. But she could be patient. They'd all be taking notice soon enough.

The fuse string, barely thicker than a strand of her hair, blended invisibly in the seams and cracks of paving, corners, and where the walls met the floor. Ivy had taken note of over a hundred places where each bomb would be at once perfectly hidden and poised to do as much damage as possible, and she'd spent the night completing the pre-planned circuit, winding through each space one at a time. Uriah's floor had received extra attention; the underground network of tunnels had, too. Only the main courtyard, the Hub-- the same place she'd found her opening, thanks to Saoirse-- remained before her.

Ivy curled her lip in open disdain at the tables as she pinned the wire under one of their legs, picturing them laid out for a feast. That sneer tore into a smirk as the image in her mind shifted into those same tables burning, all merging together into the perfect bonfire. Gods, it was such a relief not to worry about controlling what her face was showing. She'd bided her time for years now. It was finally time to reap the benefits-- no, to be the reaper. She'd earned that right, that title.

And somewhere in the flames, Juni's ghost would be smiling for the first time in nine years.

The last of her bombs went stashed in a crevice covered by a wine barrel-- twice as hidden, twice the element of surprise. Each of them had been fitted with a small yet concentrated batch of red dye, the same kind she'd gotten from Ramona, ready to turn the firestorm into a bloodbath upon detonation. Ivy stood, turning in a circle to verify that she couldn't find any traces of her work. She wasn't finished yet: she still had to rig the workshop, and there was the matter with Hoss to see to. But at least for this hour of the night, she could rest on her laurels.

"I can think of a few kinder offerings to bring to a day of celebration."

Ivy bit back a hiss of surprise as she whirled around, already knowing who it was she'd be facing. Adonis stood in the archway, arms folded over his chest in the way he'd reserve for when she'd disappointed him. She'd never seen that as a kid, certainly not paired with that hard stare, not until she'd grown up and started making a habit of it.

If she was meant to get caught tonight, it should've been a guard. Some hapless scout, with no idea of the magnitude of what they'd stumbled into. Anyone but him.

"Why are you here?" Ivy demanded, though she couldn't fight the tremor of fear from her voice. She was hardly in a place to be asking questions right now.

Adonis shrugged, with strange calmness. The slow rise and fall of his shoulders suggested that the weight of an invisible burden hung there, too heavy to name.

"Call it a sixth sense," he said. "The kind you only develop as a parent. The kind you get when your child's about to make a terrible mistake."

Ivy clenched her jaw. So he was walking into this thinking he had everything figured out, then. Never a good sign.

"Don't pretend you don't know what this is for," she said in a low tone.

"Oh, I can tell, alright. I'd worried you'd meant for something like this. I just wish I'd been wrong." Adonis gestured around the courtyard. "I won't play the fool-- this is revenge. And I know who it's for. Now, with that out of the way: what is this all for, really?"

Ivy stared back flatly. "I believe you answered your own question before you even asked it."

"Revenge, merely for the sake of revenge." Adonis shook his head. "When did you get so narrow-minded?"

"Narrow-minded?" Ivy balked, now glaring. "I've been planning this for close to a decade now."

"That's exactly what I mean. You've been looking at life through a scope, focused on a single purpose, shooting to kill-- you've forgotten what lies outside of it." Adonis nodded towards a table. "Now, can we sit and talk about this, please?"

"No, we cannot," Ivy snapped. "Not if this is you trying to talk me out of this. I've made up my mind. I've had it made up for a very long time. And I'm leaving."

"Then at least leave with me," Adonis insisted. "We can agree on one thing-- you can't be seen here."

Ivy watched him through narrowed eyes. Part of her was strongly considering dashing out a different exit-- it certainly sounded better than being stuck listening to him on the way back. But she'd received no assurances from him that he wouldn't rat her out.

His loyalty to her should've been greater than his loyalty to a gang he no longer served. He should've understood her reasons for doing this, better than any person in Sticks. But it wasn't, and he didn't.

She couldn't trust him.

Silently, Ivy picked up her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder and joining him at the archway. The satchel was almost empty now, save for the weight of the gun hanging heavy with a bullet it had yet to fire.

She didn't wait for him to catch up, but he followed anyway, trailing after her like the shadow she lost when they ventured far enough from the dim torchlight of the base. Thankfully, he waited until they'd reached the forested paths on the outskirts of town to speak-- even then, it felt too soon.

"You know you can't take this back, Ivy," Adonis said quietly at last. "The damage, the burned bridges, the lives you'll steal--"

"Not like they'd be my first." Ivy hung a right around a darkened tree where she should've taken a left to get back to the house. She was gambling on his distractedness, and sure enough, he didn't notice.

"I know. I heard about the couple at the lumshade farm--"

"Earlier," Ivy interrupted. "Three years before that. When I was singed, age fifteen. The man piloting the caravan Uriah had me intercept died too."

She didn't look back at his face, but his stunned silence said enough. She knew he had to see it: the Blue Suns, perpetuating a cycle that had made Juni a victim and Ivy a killer, both too young. And she was the one about to put an end to it. Why couldn't he get that?

"Alright." Adonis's tone was considerably more hushed now. "Let's say you're comfortable with blood on your hands, as means to an end. But those three were strangers. What about hundreds of people you've worked with, shared meals with, grew up as friends with?"

"They all chose to be there," Ivy retorted. "And unlike me, they weren't doing it to strike from within."

"Ramona's among that number," Adonis urged. "Caelan, Silas, Ossie too. You mean to tell me you're ready to kill them all?"

"Hoss was in Juni's friend group, and that didn't stop him from putting a bullet in the back of her head!" Ivy spat out the words, coming to a stop and whirling around to face him. His expression was even more desperate in the faint moonlight bleeding through the trees than she'd imagined.

"It should stop you, if you're to be better than him!"

"Better? Forget better. I never said I was-- if someone's hands have to get dirty to make sure him and everyone behind him get what they deserve, then they might as well be mine. I'll invite those sins on my head."

"And what if I'm not willing to watch you make those I still call family pay the price?" Adonis stepped closer, sweeping a burly arm out in the direction of the base. "What if I want you to be above this?"

"You know what your problem is?" Ivy asked instead. "You're angry. You've been angry just like I have, this whole time-- possibly even before then. By all means, you should be foaming at the mouth to rip them up by the roots. But you've done nothing-- and now, when you're finally presented with a chance to hit them where it hurts, you beg for me to stop. Why's that?"

"Because I've seen what anger like yours does to people." Adonis's eyes were shining silver with anguish, and so was something on his cheek-- was that a tear? "I saw it kill your mother, and I can't stand to watch you fall into the same trap."

Bait. It was so obviously bait-- bait she should've been able to resist, given it surrounded a person she couldn't even remember. Why did the silence that followed demand something of her, then?

"Explain," she said coolly. "But make it quick."

"How-- how am I supposed to do that?" Adonis shook his head, blinking rapidly. "Your father-- your birth father-- got by on rage. He was angry, and then he was alive, in that order. Your mother was the target of it. I tried to save her from it, first by trying to convince her to leave, then by attempting to deal with him. But I lacked the wisdom for the former, and the courage for the latter. On a day like any other, he killed her, then himself. I've spent nearly two decades since, wondering, hoping, almost believing that if I were in the same situation again, I'd have grown enough to do it right this time."

A single teardrop slipped from the bridge of his nose, falling to the forest floor at his feet. Ivy found it easier for her gaze to linger there than on his face.

"Please, Ivy," Adonis whispered. "Could you find it in you to prove me right?"

The gun weighing her bag down, the same one he'd taught her to shoot with, had been his at first. Had it once belonged to a notion of vengeance, the one he couldn't go through with? It sounded like a waste. One she couldn't allow herself to imitate.

She closed her eyes.

"If you were wrong," she said quietly. "What would it come to? Would you turn me in to stop me?"

"You're my pride and joy, Ivy. You always have been." The sorrow in Adonis's voice made some hidden part of her ache, even now. "But you are not my only living child. The only way you could be is if those bombs went off-- and that is not something I can let you do."

His words dipped into a well of bitterness simmering in her chest, one she hadn't thought existed a moment ago. This was what he finally got a backbone for, then? Standing up to her instead of standing with her? And who among her former friends was he choosing over her?

It had to be Caelan, at the very least, for sure. It was always him. He'd made her mission harder by winning the war of favorites with Uriah, and now he'd swayed Adonis too, whether he knew it or not.

There was no chance Adonis was bluffing. Even if he was, that wasn't a risk she could take.

She'd known she'd have to burn this bridge. She was preparing to do that tomorrow. Doing it a few hours earlier shouldn't have made a difference, and yet the weight of what she knew she had to do felt almost impossibly heavy. Almost.

Ivy took a deep breath, opening her eyes. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, but that worked in her favor. He expected shame, and that's what he'd be seeing in her. He'd just get the cause of it wrong.

"I'll... I'll go back," she murmured. "Make sure everything's disarmed. It'll take a minute... We'll have to keep talking in the morning."

Even if she hadn't been able to see Adonis's shoulders relaxing in her peripheral vision, she could feel the relief radiating off him in waves. Even now, he was easy to fool. She found no victory in it this time, however.

"I'm proud of you." It didn't seem like it was the last thing Adonis had to say-- she could tell, by the way his breath caught meaningfully in his throat afterward. But it seemed to be enough for him, for now, trusting in the promise of tomorrow, as he finally turned and started making his way in the direction of the house.

Ivy couldn't even reach for her bag until he'd taken twenty paces, couldn't open the flap and grip what was inside for another ten. The metal was cold against her palm, a far cry from the fires she'd start tomorrow.

This was the last act of kindness she could offer him. He'd die thinking he'd won against the torment that had haunted him so long. He'd die with the belief everyone would be saved. He'd die without ever knowing it was his daughter's doing.

But he would still die.

Keep a steady hand, and a steady breath. Even the murmur of your heartbeat can throw off your aim.

Adonis's teachings echoed in her mind as she drew the pistol, holding it out in front of her. The woods seemed utterly silent with her finger hovering over the trigger.

Aim for where the target's going next, not where it is now. Always stay one step ahead.

Even in the low moonlight, without a scope of any kind, she found herself lining up the shot like she'd taken it a million times before. The barrel stared directly into the back of Adonis's head.

And most importantly, when it's time, don't hesitate. Because they will not hesitate when it comes to you.

When the shot sounded, it didn't seem to stop. Not after the body ahead tumbled lifelessly to the ground, not after the gun finished rumbling in her hands. The gray, black, and deep green of the trees melded together into a blurry canvas in her vision, and Ivy raised the back of her hand to her eyes to wipe away the first surge of tears. She couldn't see any better, but it seemed to help her think.

She didn't have to move the body. They were far from town, on a trail that soon branched out of Sticks, with not one witness around. It'd be hours into daylight that it was found, at the earliest, and beyond the wound itself, any evidence would be too slim to piece together. With a note in his own handwriting addressed to her, explaining he was planning to travel for a few days, it'd be even harder to pin down. She wasn't a forger, at least not like he had been, but she knew enough to imitate him convincingly. She was still her father's daughter, after all.

Or at least, she had been.

Ivy tucked the gun back in her bag-- it felt one bullet lighter, and one life heavier. Drawing a breath of the night air into her lungs, she turned away. She'd have to take the long way back, but it didn't matter. After all, she was almost at the end of the road.



Ivy had forced her eyes to dry by the time she'd finally staggered back to the shed. It had taken her a while for her to be satisfied with the quality of the forgery, and laying the trap for Hoss by the hideout had been no small matter either. Her late night had almost become someone else's early morning, but she knew sleep wasn't for her. Not with the importance of what lay ahead.

What she really needed was to be alone. But that didn't seem to be in the cards for her either, with the silhouette of a familiar figure hovering by the workshop's door, barely visible in the darkness.

It was, of course, Ramona. Why did it have to be her?

Resisting a sigh, Ivy adjusted her bag over her shoulder, adopting an confused expression as she walked up. It was a reasonable look in this circumstance, at least.

"Mona," she said, failing to come up with any other greeting. "You're up early."

"So are you," Ramona said with a lopsided grin. "Early morning walk or something?"

"Needed to loosen up some back pain. I keep finding myself hunching over at work." Ivy glanced been her and the door. "What's your excuse, sleepwalking?"

"Excitement, actually," Ramona said. "It's the Summer Solstice. That means we all get the day off. Even you, workaholic."

"Really?" Ivy paused, as if the date had entirely escaped her memory. "Wait, you're right. What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, I was hoping I could spend the day with you," she said. "And we could go to the party together. It's been so long since we've had a chance to hang out."

Ivy hesitated. Of course Ramona would be at the party-- why wouldn't she be? She'd fully expected it. And yet hearing it confirmed twisted a new knife between her ribs, like some part of her had actually been hoping that when it happened, Ramona would be somewhere far away, safe. Safe, and oblivious as always.

"You know I don't really do parties," she said, which at least was true.

Ramona's grin wilted. "Right," she said, already defeated. "I... don't know why I thought you might. Sorry."

"It's alright. I'll find something else to do. Don't let me keep you from having fun tomorrow." Ivy's fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag. "Tomorrow, or... any other day, for that matter."

"I mean, it's okay," Ramona said. "I don't think I want to go if you're not there, honestly. I've been to enough of the celebrations. We can do something else. Something that you'd enjoy, too."

Ivy fought the urge to grit her teeth. Did she have to go and make this harder? She didn't think Ramona was cunning enough to be doing this on purpose, which meant she was just being clueless. In a way, that was even worse.

If Ramona insisted on not getting it, the only thing to do was to spell it out, and strike close to home in the process. The tired pity Ivy watched her with was real emotion, for once.

"But you don't even know what I really enjoy anymore, do you?" she asked.

"I... well, that's why I'm asking," Ramona said, slower. "What would you want to do?"

"Like I said, don't worry about me. I've been doing my own thing, and you can keep doing yours." Ivy fished through her bag for the keys, turning to face the door. "You like doing that, don't you?"

Ramona dropped her gaze to her feet, and she bit her lip, nodding. "Yeah," she said. "My own thing. I guess I'll do that. Who needs friends, anyway? It's not like anyone wants me at the party. Or here." She stuck her hands in her pockets and huffed, turning away. "I won't bother you again."

It hurt. Ivy couldn't pretend it didn't-- not to herself, and maybe not to Ramona either.

She allowed the moment to hang in the air silently. She couldn't completely control how Ramona interpreted it-- as a wish to take it all back, or a solemn but not guilt-free determination-- but whatever she saw in it, Ivy hoped she could look back on it later and see some shred of humanity left.

Ramona paused, a few steps away, and stopped moving, like there was more she wanted to say. She stood still for a few second too many, and then let out a sigh.

With a sense of finality, she walked away.

"Goodnight, Ramona," Ivy said quietly, just before she would've left earshot.

It was really a goodbye, though. And for once, Ramona might be able to read through the lines there.

Ramona hesitated, and looked back. Her eyes caught the light, brimmed with tears. She said nothing, but offered a pained, forced smile before she turned away once more.

Ivy didn't look back as the key found the lock and she shoved through the door. There wouldn't be any looking back, period. For all of her intentions of leaving everything behind, this was the first time she truly felt like there was nothing left to go back to.

It was the plan. It had always been the plan.

She just wished she'd known there was no planning for heartbreak.