Joseph

  After the Xeno Wars, humanity was no longer the same.

  Worlds once deemed inhospitable were now thriving, reshaped by technologies that bent nature to mankind’s will. It sparked an exodus unlike any in history—mass migration, mass birthing, expansion on a scale once thought impossible. What had once been the fever dreams of science fiction could now be held in the palm of one’s hand.

  That was how Joseph managed to put it all on the House’s card and buy himself a small transport vessel.

  It wasn’t much. Big enough to carry one or two Warcaskets, a crew of four—comfortable, if you weren’t picky. And, if they got lucky, it had a special little compartment just for stashing the booty.

  If they got lucky.

  Two days into the journey, and they were in the zone.

  Joseph’s fingers tightened on the control stick, steady as he maneuvered the ship through the asteroid field. The controls buzzed faintly beneath his grip, a constant vibration, like the ship itself was murmuring secrets to him.

  August sat beside him, staring out into the void, wide-eyed behind the milky-white lenses of his gsses. Starlight spilled through them, refracting like liquid silver, his gaze drinking in the abyss beyond the viewport.

  “How much longer?” August asked, voice hushed.

  Joseph gave a slight shrug, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. “We’re in the coordinates Bea gave us,” he said.

  August kept staring, his head slowly tilting as if trying to take in the vastness of it all.

  Joseph shot him a look. Then returned his gaze to the controls.

  Then shot him another look—this time, smirking.

  “You’ve never been out in space much, have you?”

  August jolted, stiffening as his hands curled into his p. “O-only twice. No—three times,” he corrected himself, counting on his fingers. “The Fall of Mars. Leaving. Then heading to the Academy. And now.” He looked to Joseph, smiling at the confirmation—only for that smile to waver.

  “H-how many times have you been out in space?” August asked.

  Joseph gave another nonchant shrug. “Same as you, more or less. The Fall of Mars, yeah, but I mostly stayed pnet-side. Henryk actually left his world a couple of times for bor work, so we’re not far off in numbers.”

  August exhaled, his head tilting back toward the viewport. “It’s so pretty… So vast.”

  Joseph nodded. “Not a bad trip.” He let a grin tug at the corner of his mouth, then pyfully jabbed a fist into August’s shoulder.

  August winced, rubbing the spot. “Ow—what was that for?”

  Joseph chuckled. “Just saying—we haven’t been attacked, robbed, or harassed. If we don’t find anything, at least it wasn’t a total disaster.”

  August blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait—you’re telling me you’d be fine if we don’t find anything?”

  Joseph’s grip on the controls loosened slightly.

  “These are just rumors, August,” he said pinly. “If Edward was here, he’d have sent me and a couple of others to check it out first. The photo was on the damn dark web—someone could’ve made it up. Happens all the time.”

  “Then why the hell are we here?” August asked, his voice edged with something dangerously close to doubt. “Are we really risking our lives over a hunch?”

  Joseph sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I get what you’re saying, but we needed to be sure it was just a rumor.” His expression darkened, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. “Martian tech in the wrong hands—military tech—it’ll spread like a pgue. Turn the universe inside out. If the mortals—”

  “Mortals.”

  August’s voice cut through the air like a knife. He rarely interrupted, rarely sneered, but this time, he did both. And for a moment, silence stretched between them like a drawn wire.

  Joseph turned to him, eyes glinting. “You got something to say?”

  August didn’t flinch. “You, Arthur, Isaac… Axel a few times too. I’ve noticed it. You call the others mortals.”

  Joseph tilted his head, almost amused. “That’s what they are, aren’t they? Human.”

  August’s jaw tightened. “…And what? You think we’re not? The Spikes changed us, sure, but we’re still human.” He pressed a thumb against his chest. “My mother is mortal. She’s human. Does that mean the woman who created me is less?”

  Joseph’s gaze narrowed. “She’s Martian, isn’t she?”

  August held his stare, his breathing slow, steady. “…That’s it, isn’t it? You and the others—you put people into these categories. Like—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t hear you call Henryk and the others mortals. Rarely. Only when you’re mad at them. Or when you’re trying to discount them.”

  Joseph blinked, just once, and then—slowly—he shook his head. But he didn’t answer.

  August didn’t press. He already had what he needed.

  Joseph leaned back, voice level. “Back to your original point… it’s best to be sure.” His fingers tapped against the controls, absentminded. “And besides, you’re a Knight. You won’t be doing much. Just letting the grunts do all the sand pounding.”

  August swallowed. “I—I know. I know I’m not brave.”

  Joseph rolled his eyes. No shit. He’d heard the others call him Fleeboy enough times to get the picture. Frankly? He was annoying as hell. Always second-guessing, always looking for answers that didn’t exist.

  So Joseph scoffed. “Then why the fuck did you join a House of warriors?”

  The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

  August’s breath hitched, and for the first time, Joseph saw the shimmer of unshed tears at the corners of his lips.

  “Because I wanted to understand who my father was.”

  The words weren’t shouted—but they hit harder than if they had been.

  August’s voice cracked, raw and exposed, like an old wound torn open. “Is that really so hard to understand? He died when I was a toddler—I don’t have anything to hold onto!” His hands clenched, trembling against his knees. “I had no father to teach me. No brother. No man-at-arms. My mother did the best she could—do you lot get that? She took me to a Midworld, and I studied and studied, and now I’m back. With my brothers. Is that really so wrong?”

  Joseph was silent.

  Because August was right.

  And of all people, he had no pce to speak.

  He had a father—old, sure, but still skilled enough to train his son in the ways of the Knight. Unknighted, yet a master in martial prowess. Axel had his uncle. Isaac had the MilAcademy. Even Arthur—though Joseph didn’t know the details—had something.

  August had nothing.

  A bite of guilt gnawed at Joseph’s gut, coiling into something dark. Loathing, not for August, but for himself. He was one of the most skilled fighters in the House, yet he had never once considered the weight of what August carried. The boy was a Knight in name. He had the Spikes. But he and Kieren both acted the same—like normal kids, granted divinity by sheer circumstance.

  They didn’t understand the weight.

  But maybe that wasn’t their fault.

  Joseph exhaled, forcing his grip to loosen on the controls. The bme wasn’t on August. It was on them.

  His mind drifted back to Henryk. How many history lessons had he actually given the boy? Really given him? Before he even realized it, Arthur had been teaching him like they still lived in the feudal era.

  But Henryk had never cared for the history. Not the lessons, not the speeches. The boy cared about his music and his swords.

  Joseph’s mind jumped to the others—Kieren, the resentment he held for Henryk’s anti-magic blood. Wilbur, Franklin, Mateo—half the time, Joseph still got their names mixed up, despite knowing them for months. And hell, did Ed even know what they were doing? Joseph was 99% sure he didn’t. Worse, he had a gut-deep feeling that Ed didn’t care.

  They didn’t shine like Henryk. And now, with Kieren’s ascension… Ed was keeping pceholders. Warm bodies. Ill-trained, normal kids.

  They’d been pying favorites.

  Giving Henryk privileges—small ones, sure, but enough. And the truth was, Henryk didn’t even know the basics of chivalry. He knew the power of a rifle, but not the weight of his own history.

  That had to change.

  August. Kieren. Mateo. Wilbur. Franklin. Henryk. All of them.

  They had to learn who they truly were. How beautiful their culture was. The heroes who had fought and died protecting the weak and innocent. The pnets saved at the cost of untold knightly lives.

  But then Joseph’s thoughts turned to the Rubicon tapes.

  Was that all Henryk knew of their people?

  Not the martyrs. Not the saints. Not the men who had given everything in sacrifice. But their worst atrocities. Their darkest horrors.

  He turned, looking at August—really looking at him.

  They had failed him.

  They had failed all of them.

  They weren’t training the squires properly. They weren’t preparing them for what was coming. Kieren was leading Executor, or at least pying the role, but they needed to be ready. All of them.

  Or at the very least, they couldn’t be a fish out of water like August was now.

  Joseph opened his mouth, but—

  “Watch out!”

  August’s voice cracked the air, sharp with panic.

  Joseph’s body moved before his mind caught up, hands snapping to the controls with vice-like precision. He yanked them back, smming the brakes so hard the ship lurched.

  “What the hell was that for!?” Joseph barked.

  August was breathing hard. His eyes glistened, wet tracks of tears slipping down his cheeks. “You didn’t see that!?”

  Joseph swore under his breath. “See what?!”

  He flicked on the ship’s forward beams, the floodlights slicing through the void.

  Nothing.

  Just empty, endless bck.

  But it felt wrong.

  Even the stars—faint and distant—looked dead.

  Like they’d slipped into the darker undercurrent of the universe.

  Joseph's gaze swept across the void until he spotted a chunk of debris, half the size of a car. He knew that if their ship hit it, the most it would lead to was a scratch. He let out a relieved breath. "That's what you were freaking out about?"

  August was about to respond, his eyes still teary and his voice stuttering, but instead, he looked down at his p, his hands covering his face.

  Joseph chuckled, relieved. "We're in a small ship, but this big guy is bulky. Small transports are no joke when we're talking about this kind of deep space exploration."

  He sighed again, realizing that August's reaction was just his nature. The kid was practically a fish out of water, and Joseph started to think maybe he was better off going solo.

  "W-what's that?" August stuttered, pointing at the debris. "L-Look, there are words on it."

  Joseph's eyes widened. August was right.

  "What do they say?" August pressed as Joseph's gaze traced the hunk of metal. They had thought it was just random junk, but in zero-g, it turned slowly, revealing spyed metal that still sparked from a recent tear, painted with a dull red hue.

  "It's Old Mars," Joseph murmured, his hands finding his chin, eyes narrowing. "Mars Invictus..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "My old man would kick me on my backside. Heck, I give Henryk shit for history, but I can hardly read..."

  "Invictus... unconquered," August said, and Joseph's eyes widened as he turned to him. "We know that Old Mars had its foundation in Roman Catholicism, Feudal Age Europe, and even the precipices of Golden Age Rome. Mars was the god of war, and he stayed as one, so... Mars... unconquered."

  "Mars stays unconquered," Joseph repeated, but August shook his head.

  "Mars unconquered," August corrected simply and deliberately. "Exactly like that, probably made before the fall."

  Joseph snorted, a wide, proud smile spreading across his face. Now, who was the trueblood? He might have understood combat, but August knew his history. "Where did you learn that from?" Joseph asked.

  August smiled lightly. "High School Latin," he admitted, averting his eyes with reddening cheeks. "I had to find a way to get into the academy somehow. Grades were just the easiest way, and hey... being a Martian had its perks."

  Joseph was silent for a moment, then he smirked and ruffled August's hair roughly. "You're a save, it's got to be here then!" he shouted, releasing August swiftly as the boy started to maneuver the controls.

  Joseph's mind was churning. Earlier, he had thoughts of diminishing Fleeboy... August. But he was wrong, just like his comrades. He would have bumped right into that piece of debris, shredded it beneath his machine, but August spotted it... read it. Now, they...

  Both young men's smirks widened as they saw a shadow in the distance, amidst a haze of lingering debris. The area around it sparked with wild, thunderbolt currents of electricity that bathed their smiles in rich purples and blues as the massive monolith emerged.

  A football field-sized ship, its damage evident, worn and torn. But even now, with electricity veiling it, Old Mars still reeked of power. Even out here.

  Piper

  The scent of fresh grass enveloped Piper, a comforting balm that made her curl the bnket tighter around herself. She sniffled, faint tears welling in her eyes. The farmhouse, the tractor, the grass—it all mirrored her world so closely. For a fleeting moment, caught between the haze of dreams and wakefulness, she saw her father and mother, smiling at her. She knew it was a dream then; her father never smiled like that.

  Her eyes slowly widened, the servos in her prosthetic opening a fraction of a second quicker than the other. A small difference, but telling. The gray mechanical eye, with its intricate, microscopic detail, was a top-notch camera, the pinnacle of prosthetics. Bionics reigned supreme now, no more pstic limbs. Yet, she was still just a normal girl.

  Piper yawned into her fist, her eyes fluttering open. All around her was a sea of green and tree trunks. She knew a river flowed behind her, but she y on her side, the remnants of a fire smoldering nearby. Above, gray clouds were pierced by the early morning sun.

  Yawning again, she pushed the bnket off and rose, pausing as she observed Henryk. He was nestled atop a rock, the butt of his rifle pnted in the dirt, his left hand gripping the barrel for bance. In his other hand rested a combat knife. His head was bowed, a mound of hair falling freshly across his face.

  "Hen...," Piper began, but then she noticed the beasts surrounding them. Three of them, scorched from ser fire or deeper bsts she couldn't quite pce. Creatures with multiple legs like centipedes or frog legs, some with wings, others slithering. And Henryk had killed them all.

  He had grown stronger.

  Piper swallowed hard. "Henryk," she called, her voice firmer. Henryk swayed slightly, his hands slipping off his weapons and onto his knees as he slumped forward, nearly toppling off the rock. His eyes snapped open as he fell onto all fours.

  His head turned sharply towards her, and Piper clutched the bnket. His eyes, his features, were tense—eyes narrowed, teeth clenched. She saw both the animal and the man.

  "Piper."

  And she saw the young man she had fallen for. Through the blood, muck, and mud, he looked at her, and through closed lips, he bore that smile she felt was reserved just for her, though Iman felt the same way too.

  "How did you sleep?" Henryk asked, breathless, using his wrist to wipe the fatigue from his eyes.

  Piper sighed, catching the sarcasm in his voice. "Peachy," she replied. "How long was I out?"

  Henryk sighed, rising to gather his scattered weapons. "Not too long. We crashed a couple of miles from the fortress. It was a hard nding, and you were out cold in your Warcasket when I found you..."

  Piper's eyes widened. The prototype—if it worked, she'd need to mainline it. Did that mean Henryk... he had to... She could see it in his face.

  Yet, Henryk didn't ask, not yet at least. But Piper knew him well enough by now. He didn't let things go half-baked; he finished the job, for better or worse.

  Henryk must have taken her silence as a cue to continue. "...comms are down for both our Warcaskets. I was poking around yours, trying to get it to work, but I couldn't... mine is completely fried."

  "Fried?" Piper echoed. "I thought I protected it well enough."

  Henryk shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "The damage was superficial at first. When we were breaching the atmosphere, somewhere along the line, my servos or whatever got fried."

  Piper nodded. "When I was testing the prototype, that was something the others in my squad compined about—entering the atmosphere with a Warcasket is a tough nut to crack."

  Henryk nodded, and for a moment, silence settled between them. Then he lifted his gaze to her and smirked. "Well, maybe you can tell me more about it," he said, extending a hand. "...it's quite the machine, and maybe you can tell me over breakfast."

  Piper's eyes widened, a blush creeping up her cheeks, but she sighed. "I can't reach out to my squadmates. Where are we pnning on going?"

  She took Henryk's hand, and he helped her up. For a moment, she swayed, and he was ready to steady her, but she smiled and held up a hand—she was fine. He smiled back.

  "There's a fortress, Martian-occupied..." Henryk hesitated, and Piper watched him with those doe-like eyes, her smile unwavering. He gulped. They hadn't spoken in a month, but another thought nagged at him—Ed's warnings about sharing house business. Piper was still an ace of House Mercury, friend, or whatever they were now after what happened in Biancia's...

  Henryk shook his head, causing Piper to raise an eyebrow. She was Piper, he reminded himself. He had maimed her, and she had forgiven him. They had fought side by side, killed side by side... and that time in the restaurant.

  "Let me cook you something nice," Henryk said, gesturing for her to follow. "Let's tear down camp and pack everything up. I'm sure you'll want to check out your mobile suit before we head over there."

  Piper nodded. "...and I'll be safe if I go there with you?" she asked.

  Henryk pced a hand on his chest. "With my life and honor," he decred.

  Piper chuckled. "With your life, yes, your honor..." She ughed, pressing a finger to his forehead. "Your honor, you're no knight, Henryk Brown. Just some normal man." She smiled, blushing at the contact, then shoved her hands into her pockets, turning her face away to hide her reddening cheeks.

  She started to walk toward the matted, destroyed trees, then turned back. "Well then, lead the way, Sir Brown," she said, her voice smug but tinged with vulnerability.

  Henryk took a deep breath, reminding himself to py it cool, repeating it a million times in his head. Yet, he could hear Piper's ughter as she realized just how quickly he was the one chasing after her.

  Marcus

  "Real sad to see the old pce go down like this," Marcus said somberly to Margaret, loading the st of her posters into a cardboard box.

  Margaret's sigh was heavy, her hands coming up to cover her face. "This is what happens when the ace gets demoted."

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You mean what happens when people freeload off the ace," he said, giving her a gentle nudge. Margaret stayed silent for a moment.

  "I get Zephyr’s problem," Margaret finally spoke, "but sending Piper to deal with the rejects is just a waste of her talent and skills. Why is she out there dealing with the Oceana cleanup crew when we have enemies at the academy and out in the gaxy?"

  Marcus whistled. "Man, you really don’t want to give up this room!" he hollered.

  Margaret rolled her eyes. "I was getting really used to our private bathroom and not having to share with two other people," she said, her hand going to her face. "It was so nice, not having to worry about other people’s opinions and other matters. Me and Piper just click, you know."

  "Yeah, I feel ya," Marcus said, his eyes widening as if he was about to say something more, but he held back.

  Just like me and Lucas...

  Margaret sighed. "When is Henryk going to come back?" she asked.

  Marcus scratched the back of his head. "W-why does it matter?" he replied.

  "Aren’t you guys friends or something?" she pressed.

  Marcus shrugged. "Henryk is a cool guy, but he can be busy and he’s got his own things going on. I don’t really want to..." He shrugged again. "I don’t really want to bother him. I know he knows about Lucas and..."

  The door clicked open behind them. Both Marcus and Margaret fell silent, and Marcus was grateful that Margaret caught the vibe.

  Anderson walked in, carrying his own cardboard box in one hand and a luggage carrier in the other, a wide smile on his face. Behind him trailed someone else.

  The newcomer was dark-skinned, with short, faintly afro-textured hair. He was short but very muscur, his uniform hugging his frame tightly. A small beard framed his mouth.

  "Oh, you guys are still moving out?" Anderson asked.

  Marcus shook his head. "Nah, we just finished up the st of her stuff. I'm just going to take this st box, and you should be good to go."

  "Thanks, man," Anderson said, his gaze drifting toward Margaret. He scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes. "Listen, Margaret, I really hope there’s no..."

  "Water under the bridge," Margaret said, waving both hands dismissively. "I’m happy and proud that you got this promotion."

  Anderson beamed. "Listen, I’ve led a couple of successful operations. It’s no big deal."

  Marcus smirked. "If you weren't so good at leading people, they probably would've given you the room as an ace."

  Anderson didn't ugh, but his smile lingered. "Much appreciated, Marcus," he said, lifting his gaze with a fire of determination in his eyes. "But there can only be one ace for House Mercury, right?"

  Both Marcus and Margaret fell silent, then nodded—Margaret with determination, Marcus with a hint of hesitation.

  "Who's your friend?" Margaret asked.

  "Oh, you haven't met him," Anderson said, pcing a firm hand on his friend's back. "This is my boy Jamar."

  "What's good," Jamar greeted, fist-bumping both Marcus and Margaret.

  "Where did you guys come from before the promotion?" Margaret inquired.

  Both Anderson and Jamar's expressions darkened. Jamar answered, "I know Anderson was crammed in with eight to ten guys in one room on the first floor."

  "Christ!" Marcus excimed, his ughter a mix of disbelief and amusement.

  "Marcus!" Margaret scolded. "This is not the time or pce..."

  "It just gets worse every year," Marcus said, throwing his hands up. "We're not even supposed to have that many people in one room," he gritted out.

  Jamar sighed. "You think that's bad? Anderson's my best bud," he said, pausing to give Anderson a reassuring fist bump. "He got me out of the basement and is moving me up. Thanks for being his comrades and looking out for him in battle."

  Margaret and Marcus exchanged a stunned gnce, then nodded with a smile.

  "Thank you, but Anderson carries his own weight in battle. We just support," Marcus said with a smile, and Margaret's smirk mirrored his sentiment.

  The door closed behind them as Marcus carried the cardboard box, maneuvering through the top floors of the House Mercury dorm.

  "Is it spoiled to say I'm going to miss it?" Margaret asked.

  "You're only human. It's natural to be disappointed that it's ending," Marcus replied, his vision partially obscured by the box as he tried to keep track of Margaret's bck hair, but he lost sight of it.

  He always lost track of her.

  "He wasn't wrong, though," Margaret's words echoed in his mind. "About Piper. When her disciplining ends—and it will end soon—she's going to come back here and run this pce better than it was before."

  "Run this pce better than it was before?" Marcus repeated. "Piper isn't a leader. A warrior, maybe, but..."

  "And that's where you're wrong," Margaret interjected. "Piper has the potential to be a leader. That's what Zephyr wants from her, why he put her in that position after Lucas passed away." Her expression darkened. "She's going to come back. And I know she'll be twice as strong."

  They descended the stairs in silence for a moment before Marcus broke it. "What's your opinion on Anderson... and Sarah, if you don't mind me asking?"

  Margaret chuckled. "If I mind you asking?" she repeated. "Whatever," she waved off.

  She took a deep breath. "Sarah's an alright girl. She was trained at a military academy, but it wasn't one of those messed-up ones, so she didn't come out messed up."

  "Just enough to mess things up," Marcus finished with a grin.

  Margaret cracked a smile as she continued. "She's good in a Warcasket and knows how to move people around. Anderson, he seems like a pretty good guy," she paused, counting on her fingers. "He's skilled in a Warcasket, well-trained, but he had a normal life on a MidWorld. He's funny, good at ordering people around, managing them, and..."

  "Well, maybe I should be a bit more specific..." Marcus began as they made their way to Margaret's floor. She opened the door for him. "It's just, the way Anderson talked about Piper just now. I didn't realize he was so..."

  "He looks up to her a lot," Margaret said, not turning, leading the way. "He knows a lot about her exploits, but I also think..."

  She paused, turning, and Marcus saw those beautiful brown eyes of hers. The ones that seemed to see every fw and love them all the same.

  "I-I... I also think it's love," Margaret said with a smile.

  Marcus sighed, shaking his head slightly. "So, we've got another suitor for Piper," he chuckled, moving to walk beside her.

  Margaret made a face. "What do you mean by another suitor?"

  "Come on, Marge," Marcus said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "Piper isn't superstar famous, but she's quite well-known. There have been guys from our house and others... and she's turned them all down. I don't think she swings that way... but she's definitely got her priorities on her Warcasket."

  Margaret was silent for a moment. "You've got a point. Piper was always more interested in her machines. I know, after the issue with her dad she..."

  Marcus turned to her.

  "It's nothing crazy. I think Piper just wanted to avoid forming retionships, especially intimate ones. The only person she was open to was..."

  Margaret's voice trailed off, her mind's eye filled with the image of the Druid of House Mars, the only young man her best friend had ever set her sights on. A young man whose destiny was littered with the corpses of enemies and great beasts, of an order that would turn him into something beyond human. Could that man be a husband to her best friend, a lover, a father to her children? In that feudal society... he could break her...

  But Anderson, he was tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered. Could he be a... Henryk?

  "So, you wouldn't think it would be cute if Piper came back and had someone? Like, after losing Lucas, we got together to help us... maybe Piper needs someone to ground her," Margaret said, opening the door to an empty room.

  Margaret smiled as Marcus id the box on the bed.

  “T-That wasn’t exactly…” Marcus’s voice trailed off, his hand running down his face. “We did things at the party. I know that you really like me…”

  “I do!” Margaret spoke as she pressed herself into his arms, forcing her way there. She gazed up at him, fluttering her shes. He tried to avert his eyes, but she knew he never really would.

  “Retionships at the academy can get messy,” Margaret murmured, her expression softening as she dipped her head. “When you were gone, I was so sad, so worried and scared…”

  “We weren’t dating, Margaret. There was no commitment. If I died, I didn’t want you to—” Marcus began, but Margaret’s head shook wildly, flinging tears across her face.

  “No, I don’t want that!” she shouted. “I knew you’d come back. There are people like you, Anderson, Piper—people that can go out there and come back.”

  She took a heavy breath, lowering herself to her knees as she started to unbuckle Marcus’s pants.

  “Piper got drunk when we all thought Henryk was going to leave. What a liar,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  “H-Hey,” Marcus started to protest, ready to defend Henryk, but Margaret’s tantalizing touch along his shaft killed the words in his throat.

  She adopted a different kind of voice, innocent and high, like a storyteller about to begin a tale.

  “She tried to initiate, but Henryk practically pushed himself off of her.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t know that. I figured that Piper and him… like, the way she looked at him sometimes, I thought—”

  Margaret slobbered along his cock, tracing her tongue along the curves of the tip as Marcus colpsed breathlessly onto the bed.

  “I’m Piper’s best friend,” Margaret murmured through a mouthful. “She needs a man to ground her, and that man isn’t going to be Henryk. Look at how she acted after he rejected her—she crashed out. She needs someone else. Someone better.”

  Marcus exhaled a heavy breath. “M-Margaret, I get what you mean… Iman and Henryk were on each other.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened, a smile darting across her lips. “I didn’t know that…”

  “Yeah, but Piper is her own person. And if she was drunk… Henryk didn’t do it to Hannah. It was just a rotten freaking rumor,” Marcus sighed. “You can’t get mad at him for rejecting Piper when she was drunk. He did nothing wrong by not taking advantage of her.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes, but she kept going.

  “…Listen, Henryk is probably into Iman, and Piper has this strange hyperfixation on him, so…”

  Margaret released his cock from her mouth with a loud pop. “Before, you told me you wanted to come in my mouth… I didn’t want you to, but…” She took a deep breath and went back to it.

  Marcus’s head sank into the pillow, his mind wrecked with bliss.

  “So help me save my best friend… and get her with someone that will really, really care about her.”

  And then, Marcus released.

  Henryk

  Breaking camp didn’t take long. It had been thrown together in a rush after Henryk pulled Piper from her Warcasket—a model he was certain he’d never seen before.

  The walk had been longer than he expected, but he’d learned a thing or two from the Sons of Mars—chief among them, water was the backbone of any good campsite. So, he moved them another five minutes up, closer to a thin stream that cut through the rock.

  “How you feeling up there?” Henryk called out.

  Piper’s Warcasket was still in that strange, belly-down position, its mechanized limbs folded beneath it like a discarded shell. The damn thing looked like it had colpsed mid-stride, now serving as a makeshift perch. Piper stood atop it with no real support, her only anchor the steady grip of her own two feet. Her orange pilot suit ruffled in the wind, zipper slightly undone at the top, a small break from its usual airtight seal. Her mismatched eyes—one green, one grey—were locked on the machine’s surface, staring at it like she could read something in its metal skin that Henryk couldn’t.

  For a moment, she said nothing. Then, shaking whatever thoughts lingered from her head, she gripped the handrails and started to descend.

  Halfway down, she stopped.

  From up here, she had a clear view of the ndscape below—bckened skies, a horizon smeared with rising smoke.

  “Is that…?” Her voice trailed off.

  Henryk followed her gaze, then tipped his head back down to the pot, stirring its contents with the scrape of his knife. “Oh, that?” he said, voice easy, like he was commenting on the weather. “Like I told you, we’re close. Half a day’s walk, maybe a full one if we’re careful. And best believe we should be. When night falls, those things come out.”

  Piper gulped. “What… things?” She finally hit the ground, dusting off her hands as she made her way over.

  Henryk shrugged, setting out two bowls. “Nothing I’ve seen before. Nothing I’ve heard of either. But they don’t look like GrimGar, so I’m assuming they’re just… animals.”

  Piper frowned. “Animals?” she echoed. “More like freaks.”

  Henryk shrugged again. “I know you’re from a real comfy MidWorld—”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Henryk only smirked, leading her back toward the fire. Piper followed, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself.

  “So, what did you make, chef?” she asked.

  Henryk chuckled. “Tonight’s menu features a special: ‘Spagatto’ with ground beef, courtesy of our MRE survival rations.”

  “Peachy,” Piper muttered.

  “Yeah, real interesting that both the Mercurians and the Martians get their MREs from the same supplier.” Henryk dled a portion into her bowl, then lifted the lid off the pot. Steam billowed up, carrying the smell of over-processed tomato paste and salt.

  “…And now, for a little magic,” he said, grinning.

  Piper’s eyes widened.

  “Bad joke?” Henryk tested.

  But Piper’s grin only stretched wider, wicked and wild. “Show me magic, druid,” she challenged.

  Henryk chuckled as he dug into his pocket, and Piper’s mind fshed through all the moments of magic he had conjured before. The fight with Jose. Her fight. That wonderful bst of yellow electricity—was he going to zap it? Delectiso! Would he cast a spell?

  But when he pulled out two small vials, she nearly doubled over ughing. One was half-full of fine white powder, the other packed with something dark and grainy.

  She already knew what they were.

  Henryk sprinkled a light dusting of salt and pepper into the pot, then reached for a third vial.

  “What’s that one?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “A bit of garlic powder,” Henryk said, tearing open a crumpled piece of aluminum foil. He tapped a small amount into the pot and stirred.

  The moment the scent hit her, Piper was reminded—painfully—that she hadn’t eaten in over a day. Her stomach let out an audible groan, and her mouth filled with saliva.

  “How’d you learn to cook?” she asked.

  Henryk’s eyes widened. “First of all, I have no idea why you burst out ughing like that. Secondly, my boss taught me.”

  “At Biancia’s?” Piper asked.

  “Biancia,” Henryk confirmed.

  Piper giggled. “She named the pce after herself.”

  Henryk nodded. “That’s what I figured, but there’s always a story behind restaurants. Maybe I’ll ask her one of these days.”

  Piper ughed as Henryk started scooping food into their bowls. “Honestly, if I had to deal with running a restaurant and putting up with customers’ bullshit all day, I’d name the pce after myself too.”

  She shoveled a big chunk of food into her mouth—then immediately spat it back into her bowl.

  “Oh my God, it’s so freaking hot!” she coughed, nearly gagging. “Water, please, water!”

  Henryk colpsed onto the ground, howling with ughter, nearly knocking over the pot in the process. Still chuckling, he tossed her a cool bottle.

  “Rex,” he said, still grinning. “It’s filtered. I fvored it with one of those electrolyte drink packets.”

  Piper grabbed it, chugging it down in seconds before gasping for breath and wiping her face.

  They waited for the food to cool.

  The silence settled between them, comfortable, as they sat under the sun with the wind whispering through the canyons. The light hit Piper just right—warm and golden, catching the curve of her cheek, the way her hair shifted in the breeze.

  She had never looked more beautiful.

  No.

  She had looked more beautiful that night, with her breasts spilling from her bra.

  Henryk had thought about it every night for the st thirty days.

  He hadn’t watched a single second of pornography. Instead, he had burned that moment into his memory, pying it over and over in his head. He had relived it in the shower, letting the water wash over him as he repyed the scene, over and over again.

  Rewinding. Changing details. Imagining different endings.

  But deep down, he knew it was wrong. Piper had been drunk. Sure, she might have wanted it in the moment, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  He had made the right choice.

  But a different part of him—the part that craved—still wanted to fall.

  Not just for Piper.

  He took another bite of food, chewing thoughtfully. “You know, you’ve got a point,” he said through a mouthful.

  Piper’s mismatched eyes flicked up at him.

  Henryk looked at his spork, then at her.

  “Piper’s,” he said, twirling the utensil between his fingers. “I’d eat there every day.”