I bark a laugh. “That’s exactly what I thought! But he’s serious. Before you handed the vials off to me earlier, did you notice anything weird in one of them?”
Remi zones out for a moment, leaving Jaesin to watch the ground in front of them for obstacles. After a moment, Remi shakes their head. “I mean, maybe? To be honest I wasn’t really paying attention. I was kinda focused on going to Nova tonight, so I zoned in to the job and went on autopilot.”
I wince and breathe through the sudden surge of fear in my stomach. They’re fine now, obviously. “Right. Well, one of the vials of obscuraz had something else mixed into it, a few strands kinda bonded to it like magnaz would do, but bright violet instead of the usual dark purple. He only paid us half for that vial because he was paranoid about it being contaminated. Turns out it was contaminated, but not with the spellplague—with a totally new kind of maz.”
Remi stares me down with an intensity I only ever see turned on their maz experiments. Got the hook in now. Come on, Remi. You know you want to.
“It’s not real,” they say after a moment, slow and reluctant. “It can’t be. If there’d been a new maz discovery, it would have been announced. There’d be research.”
“It does seem suspicious,” Ania adds, but without much heart behind it.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. Yes, step into my web. “Well, if it’s not real, then he just paid us eight thousand credits up front to go ghost hunting, which I’m also fine with. But I saw the stuff for myself. So did Ania. There was definitely something in that vial. Maybe they figured out how to make synthetic maz or something. If it’s a new strain, though, don’t you wanna be one of the first to work with it? We’ll get this guy his eight vials, then pull a little extra for you. Golden opportunity, right?”
Jaesin sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched in. My heart sinks.
“Why would you do this?” he asks. “Especially without talking to us. That last run almost went really bad at the end. You almost got caught. They’ve probably increased security there if they think someone got their hands on this secret brand-new maz. So why, Diz?”
“Because . . .”
I bite my lip. Danger and trouble aren’t normally a big issue for him. He’s going to make me say it.
Because you and Remi . . .
Ugh.
“Because money is good?” I snap instead. “Because we need it? Wouldn’t it be nice to start off our new adult lives with some cash in our pockets? Enough for that shiny flat in Jattapore you were looking at last night?”
“Hey, you stay out of my browser history,” he snaps back.
Ania and Jaesin do such good disappointed-parent faces. It’s truly unfair.
The next bit catches in my throat, my brain frantically trying to stop me from saying the rest. Too transparent, way too close to . . . everything. But I push the words out.
“Enough to cover what Remi’s scholarship from Kyrkarta University couldn’t.”
I purse my lips, then force myself to look at Remi. “It’s not too late to accept their offer. You could study Professor Silva’s work at the archives there, in the department he founded, like you wanted. With this money, it would be possible.”
Remi’s eyes go wide, and they press the pad of their thumb to their lips, the way they always do when tears are imminent.
The silence falls back over us as the Cliffs come into view. I do my best to fade into the background, make myself small and quiet so I won’t do or say anything to dissuade them from considering my proposal. Ania is trying to send me some kind of heartfelt sad look that I dodge resolutely, and Jaesin, for all he cares about Remi and wants them to have the world, still seems deeply skeptical.
But then Jaesin stretchs his arms high overhead, lacing his fingers together and flexing in a way that draws intense staring from Ania and eyerolls from Remi and me. My heart lightens a bit. Jaesin loves to get his hands dirty just as much as I do. He craves a reason to use those enormous muscly arms. And the money is amazing. It’ll help Remi. It’ll be dangerous. It’ll be fun. It’s exactly the kind of thing he normally loves.
It’s only a matter of time before he breaks.
Jaesin heaves a put-upon sigh and runs a hand through his hair, looking to Remi as he holds the front door of our building open for us all. “What do you think?”
“You know what I think about them keeping maz all tied up in those pipes,” they say, inspecting their fingernails with studied innocence as I summon the elevator to our floor. “If they’re hiding a brand-new strain of maz from the world, I must liberate it, no matter the risks.”
“Yes, and the irony of that position from someone who’s spellsick never fades. You just wanna play with the shiny,” Jaesin says, stomping onto the elevator like a frustrated teddy bear. “But what about this job specifically? It’s so close to our time to leave. Do you really want in on this?”
Remi laughs and leans on the wall opposite Jaesin, leveling him with a frank stare. “What I think is that you want to have one last amazing job where you get to hit things and take home a big paycheck, but you want me to be the one to say yes so you can act all noble and resigned to your fate.”
Hell yes, call him out. I bark a laugh, then slap my hand over my mouth. Wouldn’t do to ruin this beautiful moment. So close. Just say it, Jaesin.
Jaesin slumps in defeat just as the elevator dings our arrival to the top floor.
“Fine. Fine. You win, both of you. I’m in.” He looks to Ania, his voice lowering to something smoother, softer, as he holds the elevator door open. “What about you? You’ve been suspiciously silent through this whole thing.”
Ania opens her mouth, then closes it again, flicking an evaluating glance over Remi, assessing their current condition. I catch her eye and shake my head ever so slightly. Don’t say it. You’ll regret it.
She sighs.
“Fine. I’m in too. But I want my protest on the official record. This is a bad idea.”
Despite himself, Jaesin grins like a kid about to jump off a roof. Not that I’ve ever seen that exact expression on his face before, and certainly not when we were eleven and living in our second group home together, with the headmistress looking on in horror. I stick my tongue out at Ania.
“Your protest is noted and discarded, princess,” I say.
Remi nudges me out of the way and sticks their thumb on the door lock, then throws our front door dramatically open.
“Okay, Supreme Overlord Dizmon,” they say with a sweeping gesture. “Step into my office and tell us your grand plans. If there really is a new strain of maz out there, I demand to play with it.”
I grin and step over the threshold with my arms spread wide, credit signs and plans for the future crystallizing in my mind.
“Unicorn Sparkles McSunshine,” I call to the flat’s computer. “Play my Badass Illegal Funtimes playlist, please.”
The bass drum kicks in, and I meet Remi’s gaze, remembering their body against mine in the club, the beat and the tension and the promise of so much more.
Maybe the possibility was real after all.
It is on.
Six
I WOULD LOVE TO GO back in time and slap Past Diz for her terrible life choices. Two days for a job like this? I must’ve been high. It’s the only explanation. Or, at the very least, too dazzled by credit signs and decimal points in good places to take into account the fact that this is our grand farewell week, and we have plans every single night. After we talked over the job last night, we somehow thought it was a great idea to stay up and rewatch the entire first season of our favorite series, then celebrate with 3:00 a.m. ice cream. Remi slept through 90 percent of it and passed on the ice cream, but my decisions were not nearly so healthy.
Thanks, Past Diz. You’re a jerk.
Jaesin is obviously hung over and doing a terrible job of pretending otherwise, and I’m still mostly unconscious. The number of unanswered notifications in the corner of
my lenses ticks ever upward, but caring is just not in my arsenal right now. I know I owe Davon a message, and a thank-you for his gift, but that’s going to require some serious emotional energy, and I’m tapped dry.
Not that I can complain about energy. Remi slept in way late and had to be dragged to the clinic under duress to go to their monthly appointment with their care team. Blood draws to check cell counts, prescription adjustments as needed, gold stars for daily cardio (some of which comes in the form of running from cops, not that the doctors need to know that)—all the usual maintenance care, plus a little extra poking and prodding in the name of science, since the spellplague is still so little understood.
Ania is out too, probably stress vomiting at the tech division of the Department of Maz Oversight over her A-level certification final exam. At least she isn’t around to see her late-night protests proven right.
One night down, six to go. Six more things we’ve always meant to do or see together in Kyrkarta. Six more days with all four of us.
I’ll be sleeping even less than usual. Worth it, though.
Jaesin and I hover over the latest traffic and policing reports in the back of an empty train car, the city racing by below us. I liberated them from the police database during a fit of insomnia after the others went to bed last night. Not even a 3:00 a.m. sugar crash can knock me out, apparently. Red icons litter the three-dimensional map of the city projected in our contact lenses, marking contained ruptures, collapsed buildings, blocked-off streets, and every other problem we could possibly run into.
The city is an utter mess. Yesterday’s earthquake might have been one of dozens we’ve had this year, but it was the strongest we’ve had in months. So many things that were on their last legs have finally given way, and the city is aching and sore, slow to bounce back the morning after.
It’s awful to watch, but it might also work in our favor. People are home from work, avoiding certain areas. Police have their hands full redirecting traffic and maintaining safe clearance around buildings deemed to be structural threats, weak enough that they might give way during an aftershock. Kyrkarta is a minefield.
Perfect for doing a little light snooping.
“So, it looks to me like the spot where we pulled our last job is isolated from the rest of the city right now,” Jaesin says, tracing a finger through the air to circle a spot near the western edge of town. “The trains aren’t running to the industrial sector today, and all the major landing zones are closed to the public. Essential personnel only at the factories and plants.”
I nod, chewing on my nail in thought. “Good eye. And there are lots of underground access points around there,” I say, my finger leaving behind cheery blue markers on the diagram everywhere I touch. “I think it makes sense to just tap the same point we hit last time. We’ve never encountered maz-15 anywhere else, so it might only be in that one area.”
“Could be. Seems odd we’ve been pulling these jobs all over the city and never run into it before, but the first time we hit there, we find it.” He tosses back the last of his coffee with a grimace and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Also, can we talk about how awful the name maz-15 is? Can we please give it a new one?”
I snort. He’s right. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugs. “I dunno, Supreme Overlord, you’re the one with a talent for naming things.”
“Super Magic Ultra Plum? Special Sparkle Dream Power? Fancy Ultimate—”
Jaesin cuts me off with a finger pressed to my lips. “Shh. No. Just . . . I have regrets. Please stop.”
“Whatever you say, Awesome Strongman McDad Friend,” I say around his finger. He throws his empty plastic coffee cup at me (totally uncalled for, and definitely worthy of some internet revenge) and slumps back against the seat, gesturing to the map again.
“Right.” I trace my finger from the marker on the map to the nearest MMC junction station, leaving a green line on the image pointing straight to station twenty-nine.
The station where my dad worked, when he was alive. Ground zero for the spellplague outbreak.
Over the past two years, we’ve had a silent agreement to avoid doing jobs in this part of town. Remi visits the memorial site near the station there several times every year, and Jaesin and Ania always go with. I refuse to go, other than at the new year and on Midsummer Remembrance. We broke the rule for the first time on what we thought was our last job. Now we’re back again. It puts a weird creeping feeling under my skin.
I shove the thought aside and continue. “The place we hit yesterday is right near that downed building on Vin Street, though, so there might be too many eyes there. Workers and police and all that. The next access point up the pipe might work—by the bakery, right?”
“That’s the one, yeah,” Jaesin says. He glances at the route map on the wall and runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s check that one out. As long as the earthquake didn’t mess it up, it should be our ticket. Off at the next stop, go the rest of the way on foot?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” I say with a salute, and he rolls his eyes, then winces at the pain in his skull. The train blinks its notification onto our lenses: next stop, Montague Street Station. As the train begins to slow, we stumble to our feet and pull ourselves down the aisle by the vertical bars, which I of course have to swing around on. You can’t be in an empty train car and not. It’s just not right.
The doors slide open and we slip onto the platform, which is unusually quiet for the time of day. This stop is typically busy from the morning commute through last call at the nicer bars, but it seems the whole city has taken an earthquake vacation day. Only those who can’t afford to miss work still hustle along in their uniforms, wearing name tags and harried expressions.
Once we descend to street level, the difference is even more noticeable. The sun shines cheerily overhead—it obviously hasn’t gotten the memo; feel the room, bro—and the pale ghost of the moon hangs in the bright daytime sky over largely empty streets. Jaesin and I set off, getting a good distance away from the station before activating our gliders. A quick subvocal command to my deck clicks on the tiny power source in my shoes, and we’re off, gliding near-frictionless over the cracked streets in the shadow of the hulking gray factories of the industrial center.
Ania and Remi think we’re childish for still ordering shoes with glide tech, to which we say a kindly “Fuck off.” Jaesin was on the glide team at school for years and he’s wicked fast, and I love exploring the city, which is much easier with frictionless speed. I don’t wear them on jobs because the sewage would ruin them, though I really could have used them on that last one, at least. I shoot a quick look at Jaesin from the corner of my eye—and he looks back. We drift to a wordless stop at the next intersection.
“Ready?” he says.
“Steady.”
“GO!”
We explode off the line, racing across the intersection and into the street beyond, piled high with debris. As far as improvised obstacle courses go, it’s a good one, full of holes to jump over, piles of rubble, and heavy machinery abandoned for morning coffee breaks. I kick off the wall of a run-down sandwich shop with a bright red awning and throw myself into the next alley over, bouncing from pile to pile with a little assist from my boots on each push.
Another corner, then Jaesin goes sailing past me like always, middle fingers turned up at the end of each outstretched arm as he kicks off a parked bulldozer. At the apex of his jump, he grabs a flagpole standing straight out from some city building and uses it like a gymnast to propel himself into the next intersection. Asshole. But the world doesn’t give him many chances to show off the things he’s good at, so I let it go. The whining is just for effect.
“Oh, come on, jock,” I gasp, trusting my deck to transmit my complaint via my throat mic. I’m well used to running and climbing all over this city, but I’m more a marathoner than a sprinter. “Have mercy on this poor computer nerd. I bow to your superior strength and speed.”
“Oh, do you, now?” Jaesin turns back and literally runs circles around me, first forward, then backward. Guess his hangover has been miraculously cured. “So, you’re admitting defeat?”
On his next pass, I reach out and yank him to a stop by the wrist. “Yes, I surrender, have mercy, Awesome Strongman McDad Friend. For an elderly man who complains about bills constantly, you’re surprisingly spry.”
“Oi!” he sputters, indignant. “I’m like three months older than you! And someone has to buy food so you don’t die of malnutrition in a pile of your own instant noodle cups.”
“There are worse ways to go,” I say with a shrug, and an awful silence immediately ensues.
Neither of us mentions the spellplague. No one has to. The thought is never far from our minds, inescapable in this city.
“How long until Remi’s done at the clinic?” I ask, subdued.
His stare goes distant, as it does when he consults his lenses. “About two and a half hours.”
I nod. Not much time. But enough, maybe. “Guess we should get to work, then.”
We fall silent and make our way, side by side rather than chasing each other, toward our potential pipeline. First up, though: the bakery. We can’t afford it often, but they know us well enough there that it’s never suspicious for us to be hanging around. Good excuse to be in the neighborhood. And to shove pastries in my face.
As we approach Ginny’s Boisterous Baking (a name I thoroughly approve of), the rich scents of sugar and warm bread overtake the neighborhood’s smell of dust, chems, and metal. It figures Ginny’s hard at work when everyone else is shut down. I have no idea why she set up shop in this part of town, but all the factory workers adore her and her creations, lining up around the block for breakfast and lunch. Actually, maybe Ginny (age forty-one, widow, secretly wealthy, beloved fanfiction author) is a genius after all. Everyone loves a little spot of brightness in the middle of the bleak.
We wander in, Jaesin first because he comes here a lot more often and she knows him better. Ginny thinks he’s “just so pretty,” and he loves the attention. His hair always manages to land in the perfect intersection of proper professional and casual handsome bedhead, and Ginny never can keep her hands off it. Ginny claps her hands in delight when she spots us, sending a cloud of flour billowing into the air. “It has been far too long! Where’ve you been, young man?”
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