Page 98 of The Sunlit Man

“I…” He looked back to them, expecting to see anger and dismay at this betrayal.

Their expressions of resignation hurt even more.

“You tried,” Contemplation said to him with a nod. “You did everything we asked of you and more. Zellion, there is no need for that look of sorrow. This was the direction we’ve been pointed for many rotations.”

“It was a fond dream,” Confidence said, taking Rebeke by the arm and pulling her back. “It’s not a sanctuary at all, is it? These are offworlders, like you?”

“Yes,” Zellion said. “I’m sorry. They’re here to study your sun. This ship isn’t that big.”

“Ship,” Rebeke said. “It’s…a ship.”

He nodded.

That seemed enough to explain it to them. They knew; they had heard. They retreated to the elevator. He wanted to go with them, but he hesitated before entering.

“What do you think, Aux?” he whispered.

I think, the knight says, that we have gotten exactly what we deserve from this exchange.

Wisely put. He met Contemplation’s eyes and knew he wasn’t going with them. What point was there in going up to die? He needed to keep running. That was what hedid.

This was why it was better not to get involved. A part of him had been preparing for this all along, had tried to keep a distance between him and them. The realist in him took charge, insisting that it was time to be done.

“Stay,” Contemplation said to him in a heartbreakingly soft, caring way. “Stay with your kind.”

The door closed, then carried them back up to the surface. On a monitor, Zellion watched the Cinder King’s forces creep closer, and this time no blast from beneath rose to frighten them off.

The Beaconites were out of power, out of resources, exhausted, and defeated. It was over.

Zellion…Nomad…sighed, then settled down in a place by the wall, closed his eyes, and—for once—let himself rest.

Sitting was tooeasy. And that made it hard.

Head tipped back. Eyes closed. Breathing even. It let Nomad hear the small sounds: the persistent, ubiquitous—yet oft inaudible—sounds of life. Fingers tapping on touchpads. The deep, musical voice of the ship’s Awakened Steelmind giving a status report. People chuckling softly—the aftershocks of a joke that had been too quiet for him to hear.

But there was no motion. No place to run, no place to be. In moments like this, when he wasn’t solving some problem or scrambling from one disaster to the next, Nomad could hear his own thoughts far too easily.

“Am I a coward, Aux?” he asked.

For being traumatized? I’m not the greatest expert on humans, but I hardly think that’s an appropriate way of looking at what has happened to you.

“Even so,” he whispered. He couldfeelthat jar of pure Investitureon the desk nearby. He’d settled here, just within reach of it—but knew he’d be watched at first. He hoped his slumped posture, his tired features, his lack of vibrance would put them at ease.

He couldn’t steal it yet. Notquiteyet.

“Report, sir,” a voice said halfway across the room. “That ship in orbit earlier? Night Brigade.”

Another voice, cursing softly. “Why are they here?”

“No idea. Shall we…ask?”

“No, don’t reveal us. Hopefully their purpose is unrelated.”

Tensely Nomad waited, wondering if they’d put it together. He listened for the telltale sounds of people turning toward him, of someone making the connection. Mysterious Rosharan mercenary. Night Brigade in orbit.

Nothing. Nomad wasn’t surprised; the Night Brigade didn’t like people to know why he was important. The Dawnshard was a weapon too valuable to sell. If you knew about it, you either hunted it yourself—or you ran far, far away.

When are you going to go for that power source? the hero asks.

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