Page 36 of The Alien in the Archive

“Wait—you and Page have the same birthday?” Lyn is talking to Riley, catching my attention with my name. “I have to be honest, I wouldn’t have pegged you for twins.”

“That’s because we’re not,” Riley says. “We uh…”

He trails off, looking away from his friends.

I cut in for him, because I always do. “We were both orphaned by the Pemberton Refinery Accident. Grew up together in Boston, and just decided to celebrate our birthday at the same time because the nuns said we were joined at the hip.”

“Yeah,” Riley says, giving me a quick, grateful look before he takes a long swig of his drink. “And you know what they say, trauma bonds are forever.”

“Jesus,” Orin breathes.

Riley shrugs. “What? It’s true. Besides, we turned out alright, didn’t we?”

“Speak for yourself,” I tease. “I’m still a work in progress.”

“Aren’t we all?” Thalara raises her glass. “To being works in progress.”

We clink glasses, and for a moment, I feel the weight lift off my shoulders. But now that the moment’s over, I’m back in my own head. Orin seems to notice, because he catches my eye.

“So how do two orphans from Boston end up on M’mir?” he asks. “Like…there’s gotta be some great lore there.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Nah, just a hell of a lot of hard work and stubbornness from both of us.”

“Page always talked about getting here, at first I tagged along…then it turned out I fucking loved robots,” Riley says with a half-smile. “So, we studied our asses off; she went to Harvard, I went to Berkeley…and we met back here. Right, sis?”

I nod. “Damn straight.”

Lyn nudges Riley’s shoulder. “Speaking of hard work, Riley…how’s your project for Professor Rhyss going?”

Riley groans. “God, don’t remind me. That guy’s a nightmare. He’s got me working on Nyeri’i neural interfaces, and nothing I do is good enough. It’s always, ‘Riley, you’re not thinking in enough dimensions,’ or ‘Riley, why haven’t you mastered Nyeri’i cyberdynamics yet?’ And I get it, I should know that stuff…but damn it, not even the hardasses at Berkeley prepared me for this.”

“That’s because your sob story doesn’t work on aliens,” I say, smirking.

“Hey, it’s not just my sob story; it’soursob story.”

Thalara tilts her head, chewing on her lip. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she says. “You’re learning something completely new, in a language most humans can barely grasp. It’s impressive, even if Dr. Rhyss can’t see it.”

“Thanks, Thalara.” Riley gives her a crooked smile. “At least someone believes in me.”

“Don't let it go to your head,” Orin adds. “Next thing we know, you'll be applying for Dr. Rhyss's job.”

“God forbid,” Riley chuckles. “One grumpy genius on campus is enough.”

I should say something, too. Offer some kind of encouragement, tell him he’ll figure it out like he always does. But my thoughts are drifting again, pulling back to the Obscuary, to Thorne. I reach for my drink, glancing down to make sure I don’t knock it over?—

I freeze. The glass is already moving.

It hovers an inch off the table, trembling slightly, as if caught between two opposing forces. My breath catches, and I jerk my hand back. The glass wobbles, tips?—

—then steadies. The drink inside settles as if nothing happened, the glass perfectly still.

But I know better.

Imadeit do that.

Which scares the hell out of me.

“Page?” Riley’s voice is sharp, pulling my attention back. He’s looking from me to the glass, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

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