Katya never wears them, preferring her suits, something to make her stand out. Something to show that, no matter what, she’s there for business, and anyone who thinks otherwise is in for a rude surprise.

Because she is nothing if not professional, and her suits are her own uniform, like her BDU’s before them. And uniforms need to mean something.

The man climbs out of the Subaru to totally unnecessarily help her load her carry-on into the trunk. “Hey, I’m Andrew Ollo, friends call me Ollo,” he says, extending a hand.

He’s just an inch or two taller than Katya, his hair a blond mop on his head, but he’s well built, built like the sort of man who gained his muscle by lifting logs in the forest rather than someone who lifts weights.

Despite herself, Katya shakes his hand. “Katya Rinne, pleasure.”

He smiles, and it’s such an honest smile. “Great, awesome, we’re just waiting for one other guy and then we can get on the road,” he says, sticking his hands into his jean pockets. “Sorry about the ride, my work car’s in the shop.”

She sees nothing wrong with the Subaru, but she shrugs anyways. “Where are we going?”

“Well I have to drop Feketer off at the main Loveland office, so you’ll get a chance for a drive-by before we head to Estes,” Ollo says, and there’s at least an impressive pocket knife tucked into his jeans. “You need coffee?”

“Not really,” Katya says, and she can’t see any other weaponry on him. “Do you know if they moved my stuff in already?”

“Don’t think so, last I heard we’re to expect that in two days. Do you have enough stuff? We can stop by the Target in Longmont on the way.” He’s being so helpful, so friendly, and all Katya wants to do is run away and do everything herself. “There’s another office car at the cabin—we take turns staying there and using it when we need to do anything up there, so you won’t be stranded, but...” he shrugs, then his face lights up as he spots someone behind her. “Hey!”

Behind her, the Pixie from the plane swoops up and gives Ollo the most enthusiastic hug, dropping his bag on the pavement at his feet. He even slaps his back, such a clear show of friendship Katya rocks back on her heels.

It’s clear they’re close, and Katya just misses Miri a little bit more.

“Feketer, this is Katya from Los Angeles. She’s staying up at the cabin up near Moraine Park,” Ollo says, as if everyone knows the location of this cabin. “She’s gonna look into the mountain stuff.”

The Pixie nods at her again, a more reserved greeting. “I thought I saw someone who knew on the plane.” His voice is guarded, but kind. “Welcome to the area. It’s a nice cabin.”

“Great,” Katya says, as Ollo loads the bag right next to hers. “Do you work with the Organization?”

Feketer shakes his head, completely unbothered. “I mean, I consult.” His eyes flicker down, to her service pistol, but it’s not the same look that she gets in Los Angeles. “M9?” He rocks on his heels, before opening the door to the Subaru. “Mind if I sit upfront? I get carsick.”

There’s some minor movement as they figure out their seats, some joking that suggests a long and lively friendship, and Katya leans her head against the cool window and resists the urge to shut her eyes.

Until Ollo climbs into the driver's seat and starts the car, and then she does shut her eyes, squeezing them shut until the sunlight turns her eyelids pink, as they drive out of the garage and into the Colorado light.

The first thing she sees is a giant statue of a blue horse with fire red eyes, and she stares at it, unblinking, until it disappears behind a building.

Colorado is...immediately green in a way Los Angeles rarely is. Despite it being close to autumn, the grass shines, and the trees are beginning to turn colors, and there’s a small river right next to the freeway, so close that it would cause irreparable erosion if it was a California road.

Instead, here, there are just a few ducks.

Ollo and Feketer are chatting, and she tunes them out as they turn onto the toll road, just staring out.

Ahead of them, looming, the Rocky Mountains jut out of the horizon, like serrations on knives, stark and white-gray, but the prairie rolls out before them. A soft, gentle rise and fall of grasses and the tenacious few wildflowers still clinging to life decorate as far as she can see, a view that makes it difficult to swallow.

Give her the desert and the concrete jungle any day.

She registers a lull in the conversation ahead of her, and she shakes herself and looks up.

Both Ollo and Feketer are glancing at her through the rearview mirror, expectant.

“Sorry, long flight,” she says, in lieu of explaining herself.

“You ever been here before?” Ollo says, casually, like this is a normal airport pickup on a normal day for him.

She shakes her head, careful to not let any distaste or frustration eke its way into her expression. “Never in this corner of America. Nearest I’ve been is Texas.”

Feketer’s eyes watch her as she gives the answer, as if he can tell what’s deep in the subtext, what she’s not saying. “More of a coast person?”