Chapter 11: Relief

Ashe's POV

His gray eyes are wide, fingers tapping restlessly on the edge of the table. At first, I'm confused. What reason would Kyre have to be so nervous? Unless…

And suddenly, it all makes sense: Kyre's apprehension when he saw me in front of the painting; the way he fumbled over his words when he said that he got his "someone he knew" to unlock the wall; the deft way his fingers glided over the surface of his watch, seeming to know exactly what to do; the fact that he lives in the Above.

Kyre is the one who stole my art.

Strangely, along with the anger, I feel… betrayed. Which shouldn't be possible, because to feel betrayed I needed to trust him first, and trust isn't something that happens in a matter of hours. I briefly think back to the hallucination, or flashback, whatever that was. A younger Kyre running after a younger Ashe, both of them laughing among the trees.

The question surfaces unbidden to my mind: Did I know Kyre before the Takedown?

Boss chooses that moment to walk into the room.

Oblivious to the tension, she speaks. "Kyre, when you're done eating, put away the dishes and clean up the kitchen." He nods stiffly, and she turns her focus to me. "Ashe, dear, you can come with me. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."

"Actually, ma'am, I'd like to stay and help Kyre. I did make part of the mess, after all." I try for an apologetic smile, and she nods, looking pleased. Taking that as a good sign, I continue. "Also, I left you some soup. It's in the refrigerator, you can have it whenever." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kyre's shoulders tense.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," she replies, her tone good-natured, then starts walking away. Midway out of the kitchen, she pauses and without looking at him, she says, "Kyre, Ashe will be staying in your room for the night. Maeva's room is too dusty, so I expect you to clean it. By tomorrow evening."

Maeva. The name sounds familiar. Why?

"Yes, Boss." His voice sounds defeated, toneless. She leaves, leaving me alone with him yet again.

"So. Kyre," I begin, coming up next to him by the sink where he is washing the dishes. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and his hands work steadily. "I know you were the one who stole my work. Why?" My words come out sharp, and he flinches. His lips move, but the rush of tap water drowns out his response. He tries again.

"It was an exercise."

"Please. Explain further." My voice comes out cold, hiding my pain.

Kyre turns the handle on the faucet, turning to face me. He looks tired, worn out, and I feel a little sorry for him. I had put him through a lot today. Made him go through the tunnel, despite him having nyctophobia. Made him come looking for me when I'd gotten stuck. He'd even given me dry clothes when my own were drenched from the rain.

But he was also the reason I'd come to the Above in the first place. My anger comes rushing back, pulsing through me.

"Before I begin, though, I want you to know that I did it for a reason and that I can fix it," he says. His voice is as weary as he looks. "I can't have Boss overhearing this, so let's go to my room. The kitchen is clean, anyway." I look around, and indeed, the kitchen looks clean--like I never splattered that tomato or sprayed black pepper everywhere. I nod and let him lead me out of the kitchen.

We pass the fireplace room--for lack of a better name--and climb up the staircase. Kyre tells me to wait, then he reaches up and pulls a ladder from the ceiling. He climbs first, pushing open a trapdoor with one arm and pulling himself through. I stare at the rickety-looking ladder with some uncertainty, my anger momentarily forgotten as I try to figure out how to get from Point A (the ground) to Point B (a trapdoor in the ceiling).

As if hearing my thoughts, Kyre calls down to me. "The ladder's stronger than it looks, and I'll pull you up the rest of the way."

I breathe out, resigned, then start climbing up. The wood feels smooth and worn beneath my hands, and the ladder creaks loudly under me. True to his word, Kyre reaches out, arms circling my waist. With a sharp inhale he manages to pull me up, but my weight throws him off and he lands hard on his back, I on top of him.

We lie there for a moment, breathing heavily, his hands resting on my back. I can hear Kyre's heartbeat steadying under my ear.

Then, registering my position, I roll away and sit up, taking in my surroundings.

As it turns out, Kyre's room is not so much a room as it is an attic. The floor is made of cold concrete, smooth and bare. There is a tattered black blanket in the corner, folded neatly. Next to it is a silver laptop, a sleek device with no logo. A square window lets in some starlight, bathing the room in the faintest light. A small lamp, casting a soft white glow, is plugged into an outlet. No one uses those anymore, and I wonder how old this house is.

"You said you wanted to know why, Ashe." Kyre's voice catches my attention, and I look back at him expectantly. The stars and lamp cast faint shadows across his face, and the lighting makes his hair look more blue than black.

"It started when the Government issued the Takedown and pulled my mother out of business. She slowly ran out of money, and as a single mother, she couldn't take care of me or my sister. She left me with Boss when I was five, and soon after gave my sister away to the Government because it offered her regular money.

"I started teaching myself how to hack when I was six, a little after Boss gave me my first laptop. I was always fascinated with the way my mother sewed, the way she could create beautiful garments with simple flicks of her hand and the sewing machine. I knew it wasn't easy, but she made it look like it was. As a kid, I missed her so much, and when I messed around on the computer, I could forget, even for just a few moments, that she was really gone.

"When I turned nine, I hacked into a Government database. By hitting the right keys, I found my sister's name. Elena. One of the Government's experiment teams had found new ways to project virtual reality directly into people's minds. They're testing the VR on my sister." His hands clench into fists, knuckles turning paper-white. I feel a ghost of his horror and loss, and I shiver involuntarily.

"I must have left a trace on the documents, because the next day, the Government issued a warrant for me. I had been anonymous when I ran the search, so they don't have any identifying details besides my IP address. The warrant lists the prize of two million lunae if anyone finds me and turns me in. I installed a spoofing software into my laptop--" he notices the blank look on my face, and hastily backtracks.

"An IP address is an Internet Protocol address, and it's basically the address that a computer uses when it's connected to the Internet. An IP spoofing software is a software--or program--that can hide the true IP of a computer when it's connected to the Internet. Make sense?"

"Yeah. But what does that have anything to do with you stealing my life's work?" My tone is harsh, and I almost want to tone it down. This was someone who's lost his sister, been left by his parents. Who am I to be so angry with him?

But then again, who is he to ruin my life?

"I needed to learn how to hack without leaving traces on the sites I visit and documents I see. It's illegal, but it's all I have. And I wasn't really stealing your life's work. I just hid it behind a layer of code. I made it so that the code runs through and finishes in three days, but I could take it down." Kyre reaches over and picks up his laptop, pushing the lid open. Its soft blue glow adds to the pale light in the room. His fingers dance over the keys, the rhythmic clicks and taps filling the air.

Kyre didn't actually delete my work.

It feels like a weight is lifted from my heart, and my anger with it.

*-*-*

I'm sitting across from Kyre in his room, holding my tablet against my knee and sketching on it. My laptop is open in front of me, the familiar blue glow of our screens bathing the room in an almost eerie light. We work in what feels like a comfortable silence until Kyre decides to break it.

"Am I forgiven?" His voice is soft, almost shy, and I can't help but smile. My drawing starts looking strangely like him, a blue-haired boy in a black hoodie, but I pass it off as a coincidence.

Still, it would be fun to tease him a bit. Especially after what he put me through these past twenty-four hours. "Maybe."

Kyre sighs, sounding defeated, and I glance up. His expression is a mixture of sadness and tiredness. I hurriedly change my answer, watching his reaction closely. "Yes, Kyre. I forgive you."

His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks up from his laptop, fingers freezing on the keyboard. A sudden smile overtakes his features and my breath catches in my throat.

His smile is beautiful.

But then my smirk returns, and I decide to ask one more question. "Anyway, why did it take you so long to tell me? It could have saved me a lot of pain."

His smile falls, and inexplicably, I feel disappointed. "To be honest, Ashe, I was scared. You looked to determined in the store after you bumped into me, and I didn't want to know what would happen if you found out."

I smile at this, and we lapse back into silence, each in our own bubble--his in hacking, and mine in art.