Page 60 of Silent Lucidity

Lifting his arms, he took her hands in both of his, squeezing them gently. “You may make it. Your people have an embassy here, and you’ve only acted in self-defense. But me…”

He has no one.

“If you don’t have a chip, how could they know who you were? What you’ve done?” she asked.

“They wouldn’t. Not immediately. But they would detain me and start looking. I am careful, Abella, but I have worked for the Order for many years.”

“So they’d eventually find something, and it wouldn’t be good. And the Master is searching for you, too.”

“His web is wide and tangled,” Tenthil said, his voice hoarser with each word. “He has many contacts and connections in the Eternal Guard. He’d ensure I was dead before I revealed any of his secrets.”

Abella opened her mouth, meaning to ask if he’d take her home, if he’d go with her, but she stopped herself. She’d wait until they were closer to having a means of escape, until she knew if what they shared was more than lust or a passing infatuation.

She was already almost certain itwasmore. Far more.

“Why didn’t we get IDs when we came here?” she asked instead.

“We were brought here illegally. When someone comes here legally for the first time, they go through a Consortium checkpoint and are given three things—a universal translator implant, a mutative compound that allows their biology to adapt to conditions their race would not normally survive, and an identification chip that registers them within the Consortium systems.

“The organizations that traffic alien beings onto the planet usually administer the first two because they are necessary…but if people like us get an ID chip, it gives us a tool to get help. To escape. Property doesn’t have an identity.Petsaren’t people.” By the last few words, his voice was so raw that it was little more than a raspy release of air.

Abella pressed her lips together as a flash of anger swept through her. That was what she’d been, what Tenthil had been—property. Pets. Creatures used to perform their master’s bidding, punished harshly whenever they disobeyed.

With a sigh, she pulled her hands from Tenthil’s and knelt before him, leaning forward to press her lips to his throat.

“No more talking.” She kissed his neck again.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back just enough to lower his face and slant his mouth over hers. She’d never thought it possible for such a simple action to hold such meaning, but those few seconds with their lips against each other’s spoke volumes of what he felt—he was there, he cared, he appreciated her, and he’d do anything and everything for her.

And Abella swore to herself that she would do anything and everything for him.

A small part of her mind whispered that this was too fast, that she shouldn’t have allowed herself to grow so attached to him so quickly; it couldn’t have been much longer than a day ago that she’d left him behind in her attempt to find her way back to her people. She quieted that voice; fear had driven her away from him. Mortals could not dictate the speed of life, and the last few days had felt more like years. What she and Tenthil had been through could bring anyone together. As though the shared trauma of their respective kidnappings weren’t enough, the violence and fear they’d endured together had forged a tight bond between them—and that bond was solidified by his genuine caring about her.

Soul mates.

She hadn’t believed in such a thing since her youth, since back when she used to read fairytales and romances and had spent her time daydreaming. Life had a knack for eventually killing all the magic and wonder it promised during a person’s childhood. But now?

Abella slipped her arms around Tenthil and held him closer.

Now she desperately hoped that soul mates were real.

* * *

Tenthil raiseda hand to adjust the hood of his new coat, dropping it a moment later to shift the mask covering the lower half of his face into a more comfortable position. His other arm remained around Abella, keeping her against his side as they walked so he could project his bioelectric disruption field around her.

Their first stop after leaving the safehouse that morning had been to purchase new clothing; he should have done so long before. Traveling around Arthos dressed in Order clothing wasn’t the best strategy for avoiding the notice of the Master’s acolytes.

Tenthil’s new clothes brought his mind back to the night he’d first encountered Abella. His current attire was similar to the gang clothing he’d worn then, though this was a bit less colorful. His black hooded jacket was accented in several places by strips of silvery metal and lines of glowing blue. It was long enough to keep his gun belt hidden, but not so long as to hinder his movement.

Abella’s attire was the same style, though she’d opted for lighter colors and pink accents rather than blue. Tenthil wished she didn’t have to keep her hair pulled back and hidden beneath her hood; he wanted to see the contrast between the pink light on her clothes and the blue-black of her hair. But just as his scars made him easily identifiable, the combination of her two-toned hair and distinctly human features would make her stand out.

The shred of anonymity provided by their change of garments hadn’t much eased Tenthil’s concerns; he kept alert as they moved through the Undercity, discreetly seeking the criminal contacts he’d used during his time in the Order. He would’ve been able to move faster alone, but he wouldn’t chance leaving Abella on her own. She’d been lucky so far in her dealings with the Order’s assassins, but she would’ve been captured had he not intervened during the last encounter.

Obtaining information on the forger proved difficult, and Tenthil’s worn, ragged voice was little help. Fortunately, Abella took over when Tenthil’s words became too weak to understand. Despite having never dealt with such elements directly, her time following Cullion around as he met with various less-than-legitimate characters had instilled her with discretion and confidence that went a long way with the often uncooperative and evasive informants.

They’d eventually been directed here—Nyssa Vye, the Under Market, considered by many to be the border sector between the Undercity and the Bowels. Its flashy neon lights clashed with exposed pipes and duct work and set the countless puddles—each comprised of unidentifiable runoff and leakage from those pipes—ablaze with vibrant color. This was a place where the infinite worlds represented in the city collided, the place where anything could be obtained—this was the black market where smugglers and thieves peddled their wares.

The Eternal Guard largely kept away from this sector, entering only to address extremely serious matters—always in force. So long as the city’s overlords received their portion of the profits, they seemed little concerned with operations that technically violated their laws.

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