by K. T. Flores
Her hair had long since fallen out of the twin braids. It brushed slightly beyond her shoulders, but the auburn curls were already beginning to frizz. She met skeptical, copper eyes and sighed at the darkness smudged below them.
She needed sleep.
Reluctantly, she yanked off her jacket and turned away from the mirror. She tried to find the wood buried in her palms, but the bark looked like freckles complimenting the warm bronze of her skin.
She found the clothes he had left her on the counter and grumbled as she peeled off her overalls and shirt. The pale, yellow silk shirt fell lightly to her thighs, and she shivered. The sleeve must’ve barely hit his elbow, but it nearly went to her wrist. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the pants to stay around her waist, so she threw them at the door, hoping he could hear.
She pulled her hair back with a tie from the vanity’s top drawer, and then picked up tweezers. She plopped onto the seat in front of the vanity and turned on the holopad.
Tauri sat for nearly three hours, carefully removing splinters from her hands, legs, and face, but she became overwhelmed with the last five. They were deeper, and she’d made a red, bleeding mess of the areas around them.
She stomped to the door and hit it once more. “You mean to tell me you have this fancy ship, and it can’t even help remove splinters?” she shouted.
The door slid open easily as her fingers grazed the side, and she stumbled back a few steps. One hand tightly gripped the hem of the shirt as the other gripped at her chest. She was wrinkling the fabric, but she didn’t care.
“I… could’ve opened that this whole time?” she asked uncertainly.
He turned to her and sighed. “You aren’t a prisoner,” he said, stepping away from the monitors and into the room. His eyes stayed trained on her face. “Bunny can handle bigger medical operations, sure. Splinters are too small for her to work on without the risk of hurting you. I can help, if that’s what you want to ask.”
From his tone, she didn’t think he wanted to help.
Before she had a chance to deny him, he was in her space, forcing her back step after step until the vanity bit into her hips. He tapped a long, graceful finger against the marbled top. They were so close that his chest brushed against hers as he spoke.
“Jump up here for me.”
Her cheeks flared, and she wanted to say no. She didn’t like being ordered around. She gaped at him a moment too long, scrambling for excuses and reasons as to why she didn’t need his help.
But then he plucked the tweezers from her hands and tapped the vanity again. “Please,” he murmured.
Her heart thundered, and her throat tightened. This wasn’t a man used to saying please or asking questions. The tightness around his eyes and lips told her as much.
She hopped onto the counter carefully. Her teeth clenched painfully at the coolness against her thighs, but she pushed her knees as close together as possible.
His attention turned to the holopad, and he counted the tacks on the generic body model. “There’s only a few left,” he said softly, more to himself than her.
“Yeah, but I can’t get to them,” she said, anxiety ebbing away as frustration settled in its place. “I ran my hands under warm water, but these just won’t budge.” She brought her arm closer to her face and frowned. “I think some of these might have even gotten deeper.”
He grabbed her hand, and she was surprised by how gentle he was.
“I apologize if it hurts,” he muttered, breath against her skin causing goosebumps.
She looked up, gasping and jerking away from his face. He was too close. But his grip remained firm, pulling her palm.
“It’s fine. I want them out,” she said. “Look, I need to know what’s going on.”
“You tell me.” He glanced at her as he poked into her index.
She didn't have much to say. Strangers kept coming into her life and ruining her plans. If she told him everythingshe knew, he still might turn her over. Then what would she do?
“Why should I trust you?” she snapped.
“I never said anything about trust.” His words were clipped and business-like.
That wasn’t what she had been expecting. Some of her anger slipped away. “I don’t know your sister. I’m just a mechanic from the underworld.” She hadn’t meant to sound so defeated.
He exhaled forcefully from his nose, almost a laugh. “It doesn’t matter. The guardians know you two met, and that’s all they need. But something isn’t right. You and my sister aren't on the wanted list. Your profiles aren’t even on the Navarian public database, but you're on the galactic one. I double-checked. It’s almost like someone had erased them.”
That wasn’t normal. What the hell had Tauri stumbled into?
She sniffed and looked at her reddened knees. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think you can help me find Kira before they do.” He held her gently, shifting her position and pulling her closer. “She must’ve left something useful behind with you. At least, I hope.”
She rolled her shoulders back, wondering when they had gotten so tense.
“And what about you? Do you think I’m innocent? I had her racer and her units.” Maybe she looked more suspicious than she had previously thought. Her teeth sunk into her lip, and her gaze fell to the top of his head. His hair had blue undertones, sparkling as moonlight filtered in from the few windows in the ship.
“My sister called me before she lost her racer. But it wasn’t a very helpful call. It was, however, enough to clear you of any crime in my mind.” He glanced at the holopad and let her go. “Unless you consider being in the wrong place at the wrong time a crime.”
“Your sister came to my shop. My home. I wasn’t at the wrong place.”
He dipped his head forward in acknowledgement. He gripped the back of her knee, and she kicked his hip with the ball of her foot. His other hand wrapped around her ankle, pushing her leg up. His fingers dug slightly into her lower thigh, his thumb rubbing her skin.
“Stop,” he said absently, staring intently at her leg. “Don’t fight me.” He pushed even higher, and her back fell against the mirror.
She slammed a hand down against the vanity between her legs, trying to calm her racing heart. “What are you doing?” she snapped, eyes wide. Her hands ached from how tightly they were clenched.
He pointed to the anatomical model’s knee as he continued to observe her skin. She glanced at it, and an innocent point blinked back at her. That was the last splinter on her leg. The area was crimson. Small spots of blood formed along the various breaks in the skin where she had poked too deeply.
She could hear the faucet dripping, the wind around the ship, and the tweezers scraping against her. It was too quiet.
“What did you say your name was?” she asked, struggling to remember if he had told her.
He gazed up at her, and her breath caught. His pupils constricted, and she swore they began to glow brighter. His smile was dangerous. Sharp canines accompanied that dimple she disliked. It made him look too smug.
His lips nearly brushed the skin of her leg as he said, “Cyril Oich-Ru. Nice to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she mumbled, unable to turn away from his gaze. "Hurry up.”
There was something in the way he held himself and the way he talked. Even his gestures were controlled and precise. He was unlike anyone she’d met. It made her unbalanced and uncomfortable and frustrated. She had never wanted to be in the safety of her shop so badly.
My shop!
Was it okay? The guardians must’ve torn it apart in search of information. As far as she knew, they wouldn’t find anything.
Frustrated tears pooled in her eyes, and she furiously blinked them away.
She was grounded again.
Tauri had been so close. Moments away from the starlight. Her gaze turned to the window longingly, the moon soft but bright.
“I hate this,” she grumbled.
&
nbsp; He shrugged, getting back to his feet. Cool fingers pressed into her jaw, urging her face towards the light. He examined her intently. “We only have two more.” His sigh against her cheeks and chin sent a shudder down her spine.
He hadn’t realized she wasn’t talking about the splinters.
“Do you have to be this close?” she gritted, focusing on him once more. She wrapped a hand around his wrist and tried to pull him away from her face.
“Two more,” he repeated, and she jumped from the metal prodding her jaw. “Don’t move.” His grasp around her jaw tightened slightly.
“So, we can’t go to the guardians for help,” Tauri mused, hoping to distract herself from his looming presence. “Then where do we begin? I—”
He pulled a splinter from her face and then stepped forward, finding his way into the space between her knees. He inched closer until the vanity stopped him. “Stop talking, or you can take this last one out by yourself.”
She narrowed her eyes, ignoring him. “What did your sister say? On the call. Was it helpful?”
“I’m going to end up hurting you. Give me a moment,” he huffed, pulling back slightly to frown at her.
She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. She snipped, “I can give you two moments if you’re quick about it.”
“Good.”
“But—”
“Tauri,” he admonished, wiping some blood that had formed along her cheeks.
“Cyril,” she mocked back. “Do you have a recording of the call or not?”
He shook his head, unable to wipe the annoyance from his face. “Bunny, play back the last voice message from Ki.”
“Playing the last voice message from Ki.”
The Dagrian woman’s voice filled the ship as he moved to work on the final splinter once more.
“Ril, Ril! Someone—oh gods. They killed Helden. I went t-to talk to him about the thing I’d found and-and… Shit,” she cried. “Someone killed Helden, and they think it was me. I need to figure out what’s going on or else I’m dead. I’m ditching the racer. Please don’t look for me. I’ll contact you when I’m somewhere safe. Tell—”
The call abruptly stopped as Cyril tilted Tauri’s chin back down. A beat passed before he turned away. “Food will be ready in ten minutes.”
He walked out of the restroom, and she hurriedly slipped her overalls on. They were torn and still damp, but it was better than wearing nothing. She followed him.
“Now what are we going to do?”
He fell into a large chair before a group of ten monitors. He pointed at one without looking, instead reading a message pulled up from another holopad. “I have people monitoring Navar for my sister. I have her last location before she gave you her racer—”
“Sold,” Tauri interrupted tersely. “She sold it to me.”
“Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Before she gave you her racer and her weekly spending budget—”
“That was a weekly budget?” she breathed, trying not to think about all the things she’d do with three million units every week.
He scoffed, “Self-imposed. She could be spending tens of millions a day for some time before I worried about her. But that’s not what matters.” He stood up, leaning down to her eye level. “Let me at least finish talking before you interrupt again. Or am I to expect commentary for everything I say.”
It wasn’t said like a question, but she answered. “You can expect commentary. And get used to it, too, Sparkles.”
She crossed her arm and planted her feet. His size didn’t intimidate her. Other things did. Like the way his eyes seemed to soak in every detail of her face.
He raised a skeptical brow at the nickname. “People don’t talk over me.”
Her tone was overly saccharine as she gave his shoulder a pat. “They do now. So, you have her last location. Do you have the exact address?”
His lips kicked upward. “You little bully. I don’t have her last location, but I have the general area. We need to figure out which building and room Helden was killed in. Search for something to help us.”
“I’m not a bully,” she said, shooting him a look. Leaning against the doorway, she thought back to the previous week. Kira’s panic and all the blood on her dress. “Kira told me she didn’t do it. But that doesn’t help much—Wait!”
She hurried over to her jacket, pulling out the clump of receipts she’d meant to throw away. She offered them to Cyril, wincing at how fuzzy the writing had become. “I don’t know the numbers, but there was something about the West Snowgate on these.”
He squinted, fingernail digging in between the damp receipts to separate them. “Snowgate. That’s one of the high-rise buildings in the overworld. But it’s for apartments, not business if it's the West one. She had to have a reason for going. I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell me…” He ran a hand through his hair and furrowed his brow.
“It means you have a start. Can you figure out those numbers?” Tauri asked.
“Of course, I can. But the ink has bled together which makes it difficult. This is why no one writes things on paper anymore,” he griped. "It's so archaic."
Tauri happened to like using paper, but she let his comment slide.
“Well, that’s about as much help as I can give you. Drop me off at the nearest docking station, so I can leave Navar.”
“The guardians aren’t going to let you just walk out of here.”
“You said I wasn’t wanted on the public database,” she defended, crossing her arms.
“That doesn’t mean you’re free.”
The words stung more than he could ever know because it was the same thing she’d worried about for years.
No matter what we do, we’re stuck here, T. But you might have a chance. As soon as you do, take it. You can always come back. It’s walking away that’s the hard part.
The echoed words arose, unabidden. Orn had been gone a long time, but thinking about him still hurt.
Her shoulders slumped, and her retort disappeared.
Cyril continued, “I already ran your credentials. It looks like you’ve been put on a no-flight list. So you can risk it. I don’t really care. But I guarantee you’ll end up in prison.”
“I could be smuggled out,” she countered.
“You could.”
But then there was a chance that her smugglers would get caught and killed. Was she willing to jeapordize other people’s lives like that?
A massive bang outside shook the ship and threw her backwards. She gripped the headrest of the chair nearest to her and looked at the monitors with wide eyes.
“Heat-seeking missiles detected.”
Cyril groaned. “I can see that, Bun.” He placed his hand along her lower back and ushered her toward the passenger seat. “Prepare for takeoff.”
“Preparing for takeoff. Interior morphing initiated.”
Tauri quickly strapped in and watched as the bedroom and bathroom began to shift apart, realigning to become pipes and other mechanical pieces before the door shut. The couches fell into the floor and the monitors sunk snugly into the wall.
“Interior morphing completed. Ready for takeoff.”
Another missile slammed into the root to their right, and she noticed his jaw tighten. “Hang on,” he told her tersely. “We’re not safe yet.”
“I don’t care. Take me to a docking station,” she responded as he sped through the bottom of the mangrove forest. She quickly strapped in after losing her footing.
He stayed silent, and she punched his name into her holocomm. He appeared in the first result. Her eyes widened as she read the article. She glared daggers into the side of his head, willing him to meet her gaze.
“You didn’t think it important to mention you’re a fucking prince?” The sharp words sounded strange to her ears.
“I’m not a prince. Just part of Pythagorian aristocracy.”
“They’re the same thing,” she snapped, scanning across the next article.
&
nbsp; He waved flippantly but still didn’t look at her. “They’re not the same thing. The prince and I are different people—”
“And you control most of the taminite market? You didn’t think that was also important to tell me? Because it feels kind of important.”
“I don’t see how my job changes anything.” He reached for his water bottle, taking a few swigs as he effortlessly weaved between trees.
Her eye twitched, and she pointed at his face on her screen. “I don’t want to be involved with murder and guardians and taminite princes. Take me to a docking station where I can get on a ship and leave. Now.”
"Again, I'm not a prince. Give me your credentials.”
She tensed but retrieved the card from her pocket, she offered it to him, and he swiped it across his screen. Immediately, red indicators popped up, and he gave her a smug smile.
Only a few hours ago, the credentials had flashed green in the triterrain racer.
Shit.
“Looks like your credentials aren’t cleared anymore.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she deadpanned, trying to remember the last time she had felt so hopeless. Nothing had felt so cruel as coming close to the stars and being torn away.
“Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault,” Cyril said, offering her the card back.
“It’s not my fault either!” Her throat tightened, and she swallowed a few times.
“I never said it was. My sister got us both into this mess.”
“She told you not to come after her in the call,” she reminded him.
“And if I hadn’t, you’d either be stuck with the guardians or dead. I didn’t save you so you could run off and die.”
“Then why did you save me?”
“You called me.”
She glared at him and shook her head. She was in a bad spot, and she knew it. “You don’t want to protect me,” she said. “You want to find your sister, and you think I’m useful for that. Fine. I’ll help you if you help me get off Navar once we find her,” she finally said.
His eyes glowed, and he offered her his palm.
She slid her hand into his and gave a firm shake.