find something, Cal?”
“Maybe? It might be nothing, but—”
On the way up, my foot slips on a step, and my ankle rolls, tugging scabbing and scar tissue tight. Allen catches my arm to steady me, and even lets me lean on him for the rest of the trip. “Leg still bothering you?”
Maybe his grin is intended as sympathetic, but I can't trust it. “Just a little,” I say. Better for him to believe I'm more affected by it than I am, just in case I need that element of surprise later.
Allen's facial scars have healed cleanly, barely a few burned indents left in his face and neck. I honestly hadn't paid attention; they were still somewhat raw when I made my disappearance. But seeing him in person again, it underscores how much time has passed since I started work on this. How long Calder's drawn this out.
“What is it?” I call to Calder, as we approach.
He's looking up at a grate just above his head. “The nails on this thing aren't screwed in.”
“So?”
Calder jumps, and hits at the grate like he's serving a volley ball. It bounces up and back, exposing an opening into the vent.
Allen grimaces, likely remembering Marquel. We all stare at that opening, riveted. No doubt Calder and Allen are wondering what lies beyond it, but my preoccupation is with which of us will go. I'd rather not make the offer to go myself, but it might look out of place if I don't.
“You want to lift me up there?” I ask Calder. As the smallest one, it’s not my first time being the scout sent to explore small places. Even affection doesn’t come between Calder’s judgment calls for our welfare.
His face falls, concern and egalitarianism warring. Allen's the one to close the door on my offer, though. “No way, Millie. Your leg—”
I sigh. “It's mostly healed. I can do it. I'm the lightest.”
Calder seems relieved to have the out, knowing now that Allen won't accuse him of playing favorites, holding me back. “No. I can pull myself up the ledge. If I have issues, you two can boost my legs.” He sweeps me close for a quick kiss, but I pull back.
“You just want the excuse for me to grab your butt,” I grumble, acting put out at being sidelined.
Allen claps my shoulder, but ignores me, talking directly to Calder. “That sounds good.” The two men exchange a loaded look. I can only assume it's an apology for all the times Calder let him go ahead, when he was in mourning.
I hover anxiously in the background while Calder counts down his jump. Though Allen and I close in to shove his feet upwards, he doesn't need the help, so I settle for an affectionate swat on his rump as he hauls himself up.
The vent clangs dully as he clambers forward, seeing where it leads, through the wall in front of us. I strain my ears as the noises fade, waiting for the verdict. Allen mistakes my intensity for anxiety, and puts an arm around my shoulders in solidarity. I want to glare at him, tell him to get his damn hands off me; there doesn't seem to be anything sexual in it, but I'm also not at all comfortable with him touching me, and I don't know if I should be.
As the seconds stretch on, it becomes harder and harder not to chew my lip. Is this it? Is the hardest part over? Is Calder gone or going? Can I casually disappear myself tonight and wait for Allen to die, or seek out my next targets?
I try to black out the memories of Calder touching me, laughing with me, defending me. I try to think only of the crimes he's facilitated, or at the least turned a blind eye to. It's out of my hands. I can't fuck this up. I can't second guess myself. Maybe when it happens, I'll steal away to attend his funeral, a shrouded figure in the background, but probably the only person who came close to knowing him. Only then will I let it all sink in. His caresses, his gentle words, his leadership, his willingness to play any and every role needed-
Muffled swearing accosts us, and before I've consciously thought about what reaction I should stage, tears
“Maybe? It might be nothing, but—”
On the way up, my foot slips on a step, and my ankle rolls, tugging scabbing and scar tissue tight. Allen catches my arm to steady me, and even lets me lean on him for the rest of the trip. “Leg still bothering you?”
Maybe his grin is intended as sympathetic, but I can't trust it. “Just a little,” I say. Better for him to believe I'm more affected by it than I am, just in case I need that element of surprise later.
Allen's facial scars have healed cleanly, barely a few burned indents left in his face and neck. I honestly hadn't paid attention; they were still somewhat raw when I made my disappearance. But seeing him in person again, it underscores how much time has passed since I started work on this. How long Calder's drawn this out.
“What is it?” I call to Calder, as we approach.
He's looking up at a grate just above his head. “The nails on this thing aren't screwed in.”
“So?”
Calder jumps, and hits at the grate like he's serving a volley ball. It bounces up and back, exposing an opening into the vent.
Allen grimaces, likely remembering Marquel. We all stare at that opening, riveted. No doubt Calder and Allen are wondering what lies beyond it, but my preoccupation is with which of us will go. I'd rather not make the offer to go myself, but it might look out of place if I don't.
“You want to lift me up there?” I ask Calder. As the smallest one, it’s not my first time being the scout sent to explore small places. Even affection doesn’t come between Calder’s judgment calls for our welfare.
His face falls, concern and egalitarianism warring. Allen's the one to close the door on my offer, though. “No way, Millie. Your leg—”
I sigh. “It's mostly healed. I can do it. I'm the lightest.”
Calder seems relieved to have the out, knowing now that Allen won't accuse him of playing favorites, holding me back. “No. I can pull myself up the ledge. If I have issues, you two can boost my legs.” He sweeps me close for a quick kiss, but I pull back.
“You just want the excuse for me to grab your butt,” I grumble, acting put out at being sidelined.
Allen claps my shoulder, but ignores me, talking directly to Calder. “That sounds good.” The two men exchange a loaded look. I can only assume it's an apology for all the times Calder let him go ahead, when he was in mourning.
I hover anxiously in the background while Calder counts down his jump. Though Allen and I close in to shove his feet upwards, he doesn't need the help, so I settle for an affectionate swat on his rump as he hauls himself up.
The vent clangs dully as he clambers forward, seeing where it leads, through the wall in front of us. I strain my ears as the noises fade, waiting for the verdict. Allen mistakes my intensity for anxiety, and puts an arm around my shoulders in solidarity. I want to glare at him, tell him to get his damn hands off me; there doesn't seem to be anything sexual in it, but I'm also not at all comfortable with him touching me, and I don't know if I should be.
As the seconds stretch on, it becomes harder and harder not to chew my lip. Is this it? Is the hardest part over? Is Calder gone or going? Can I casually disappear myself tonight and wait for Allen to die, or seek out my next targets?
I try to black out the memories of Calder touching me, laughing with me, defending me. I try to think only of the crimes he's facilitated, or at the least turned a blind eye to. It's out of my hands. I can't fuck this up. I can't second guess myself. Maybe when it happens, I'll steal away to attend his funeral, a shrouded figure in the background, but probably the only person who came close to knowing him. Only then will I let it all sink in. His caresses, his gentle words, his leadership, his willingness to play any and every role needed-
Muffled swearing accosts us, and before I've consciously thought about what reaction I should stage, tears
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