Shopping District, late morning. Tall windows, hand?painted signs, everything polished but still a little handmade. The air smelled like dye and leather. As Aidan looked from store to store, he asked, “Who do you think made all this—or do you think they just found it?”

  Veyra was already having the time of her life, arms overflowing with bags. “I am not broke anymore!” she kept appearing, then vanishing into the next doorway and reappearing with more bags. “Twenty outfits for five kilos! Do you hear me? Five!” She hugged a bag of dresses. “I can finally rotate clothes like a normal, stylish woman!”

  Braen paced steadily behind her, the world’s most patient pack mule, bags hanging from both forearms and one shoulder, expression serene. “Now, boys,” she said without looking, “don’t wander too far.”

  Aidan and Milo walked in step, noses up. Aidan squinted toward a line of restaurants with linen in the windows. “Why does the food smell good here? Like… actually good. Not like when Caelan cooks.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Milo said. “Cap said he knows how to cook. Ooooh snap. I won’t be surprised if he tears the whole city apart when he finds out.” They giggled as they strolled.

  Veyra sprinted past again, deposited another armful onto Braen, and vanished into the next boutique.

  “What, you think we’ll lose you or something?” Aidan called after Braen, deadpan.

  Milo shot Braen a grin. “No offense, big dawg, but anyone can see you coming a mile away.”

  Braen smiled sweetly. “Boys, this is meant to be a nice day out. Let’s not ruin it with broken toes again.”

  Milo eyed the massive tower shield slung across her back. “Is that why you bring a shield while shopping? And we had to leave our weapons at the inn?”

  Aidan smacked the back of Milo’s head on instinct, then looked up into Braen’s unblinking gaze. He went instantly contrite. “Sorry, Braen. We love you.”

  She beamed and kept walking. “You’re lucky you’re as cute as puppies—and not that idiot Takeshi.”

  “Yeahhh,” Milo muttered. “Lucky us.”

  Aidan leaned in. “Is she still worked up from the other day?”

  Milo shrugged. “Can’t blame her. Everyone’s been on a bit of an edge lately. Even sis. That emerald thing rattled her some.” He winced. “Also—sorry for being on your case this morning. Just trying to keep her spirit up.”

  “And you don’t think you’d be eating dirt right now if I didn’t know that?” Aidan snorted. “It’s the deal. Always bounces her back. And Solara?”

  “That’s just funny,” Milo said, reverent.

  They turned a corner into Wardrobe Mile proper. Mannequins posed behind glass in everything from reinforced coats to gauzy festival skirts. Tailors chalked lines, cutters fed cloth to treadle wheels, steam rose from presses in clean little puffs. A bell chimed somewhere, faint and even.

  Veyra caught up at last, arms stacked to her chin. “Whoa—what a selection. I don’t remember a place this good, even before we woke up here.”

  “Yeah, there’s something weird about this city,” Milo said.

  Aidan nodded toward the long avenues. “We’re what—two hundred miles from our last setup? Whole different level. Just the resources it takes to keep this place running… is that why there were crowds at the front gate? Can’t be—there wouldn’t be enough to feed this many. What do you think, Braen?”

  “All I know,” Braen said, smiling, “is there’s finally a chance someone stocks my size.” She shifted her mountain of bags and hooked Veyra’s arm. “And you two? New clothes. Today.”

  “Auntie Veyra, you’re not dressing us, clear?” Milo warned.

  “Come on,” Veyra pleaded.

  Aidan leveled a look. “Clear, Auntie Veyra. Don’t make him say it again.”

  Veyra pulled a face. “Fine… but you’re buying something. I refuse to be seen with you looking like that.”

  Braen stopped so suddenly that the boys bounced off her like a wall. “Perfect for me,” she breathed, eyeing a storefront. “Custom orders. Hope they’ve got enough of the same material.”

  “We may as well go in,” Aidan said.

  “Sure,” Milo shrugged.

  They pushed into a shop stacked floor to ceiling with fantasy-cut coats, dramatic hems, and too many buckles. Veyra groaned. “No. No, no, no. You’re not dressing like this.”

  Milo and Aidan looked around, appalled and fascinated. “We can’t let Captain see this,” Milo whispered.

  “Or Keira,” Aidan agreed.

  Braen lifted a pair of cargo trousers between two fingers. “Think they come in triple size? So many pockets.”

  “Please don’t,” Veyra begged. “You know, Captain’s going to make us dress up from here. Just—humor me.”

  A blur burst from the back: a girl in huge glasses and a frizzy halo of hair, wrapped in an over-the-top mage outfit. She nearly tripped on her own tape measure and popped up grinning.

  “Hi! Welcome! Please don’t run away,” she rattled, laughing a little wildly. “Do you like what you see? Point at anything—I’ll measure you up.” She yanked the tape free and promptly wrapped herself in it, toppled, scrambled, then beelined to Braen. “I can customize anything. Don’t like it? I’ll tear it apart and start again. Wait—do you hate my clothes?” Her voice drooped. “I’m sorry. They’re not very good. Nobody shops here. Everyone’s all, ‘That’s not functional, why’s it there?’” She punched her palm. “Because it’s cool, that’s why!”

  Braen nudged Veyra forward. “Hi. Are you—okay?”

  The girl grabbed Veyra lightly by the collar, eyes huge. “Do you like anything? I haven’t had a sale in three months. Please—anything.”

  Veyra glanced around, flustered. “The scarves are pretty cute.”

  The girl’s eyes lit like lamps. She sprinted, snatched a scarf—then dragged the trailing end halfway back to the door. “These are my favorites! Perfect if it ever gets cold.” Her tone dipped, then popped back up. “Oh! Did you hear the goddess say we’ll get snow soon? These will be perfect. How many? Six? I’ll make you a deal—call it twenty, flat rate. What’s a girl gotta do to make rent?”

  A chalk-smudged sign on the counter read: LUMI FEN — ATELIER.

  “Hi, Lumi,” Veyra said, and lifted a scarf from the pile. Her eyes widened. “How long is this? It has to be… twenty feet?”

  Lumi lit up. “Thirty. Standard. How many can I sign you up for?”

  “Em… like a quarter of one?” Veyra ventured.

  Lumi wrapped herself in the scarf and slumped into a theatrical pout. “Who am I kidding—I can’t even get scarves right. Dumb scarf. What’s even the point of trying?”

  Braen drifted past Veyra, unspooling the fabric from Lumi with care. “And you’re supposed to be the cute one?”

  “I am the cute one,” Veyra protested. “As Keira would say: hashtag facts.”

  Braen measured the scarf’s width against her shoulders. “This is perfect for me. Normally, I’d need two or three. This one? Works.”

  “You don’t have to be nice,” Lumi mumbled. “I know I’m not very good at this.”

  Braen knelt, a steady hand on Lumi’s back. “Don’t worry. I like what I’ve seen so far. Bigger would help,” she added, laughing softly, “and I know a few people with deep pockets who might love this place.”

  Lumi peeked up. “Really? You mean it?”

  From the back of the shop, Milo yelled, “Have you gone completely insane?”

  “Why not?” Aidan answered. “Veyra’s always moaning about his jacket. It looks like trash. And the other day, I couldn’t move when I needed to, and just like always, he was there. So yes, it’s happening.”

  Milo sighed. “You know what that means.”

  “Yep,” Aidan said. “We get him one, we get sis one, we get both of them one, Sol wants one—”

  They turned—and nearly jumped out of their boots. Lumi had appeared behind them, grinning like a cat that had just discovered cream.

  “So,” she sang, “you’re in the market for the coolest jacket in town.” She tapped a sketch pinned to the wall. “Black field coat—long line, double back vent, storm collar, silver edge binding on lapels and cuffs, cuff tabs that actually work. Hidden pockets inside, a map sleeve at the ribs, a ring to catch a sling. Seasonal liner buttons in. Looks dangerous. Moves quietly.”

  Aidan and Milo stared.

  “I could let it go for a complete steal of… six hundred fifty grams,” Lumi said airily, then waved herself off. “But you know what—call it ten kilos for fifteen. Friends and family.”

  Aidan blinked. “Has anyone told you you’re a little creepy?”

  “I don’t think she’s talked to anyone long enough for them to say it,” Milo said. “Wait—did you say ten kilos for fifteen?”

  Aidan lifted an eyebrow. “That’s halves.”

  “Yeah—five kilos each,” Milo said. “Is everything here this cheap?”

  They shrugged off their rucks and dropped them with a solid thunk, then hauled out bars until two five?kilo stacks sat on the counter.

  Lumi swayed side to side, already spending it. “I’m going to buy food, then one of those fancy baths, then—holy stars.” She leaned in. “Where did you get all that? How are those bags full? How are you even carrying that?”

  “We had a big fight a few days back,” Milo said.

  “Stacked those monsters high,” Aidan added.

  Veyra called from the scarves, “What are you two on about? You messed around the whole time, then ran off to help the crazy one. And if you’re doing what I think—no. I’m not wearing it. If you give those two the idea, there won’t be a single safe space left in this war. Do you hear me?”

  “So she’s the crazy one?” Lumi asked, delighted.

  Veyra pointed at Lumi’s outfit. “You’re dressed like that, and I’m the crazy one?”

  “Your good old pal Lumi,” Lumi said, putting on a halo, “would happily accept a tip to help you not carry those clearly heavy bags.”

  “Let’s see how the jackets turn out first,” Aidan said, nudging one five?kilo stack forward.

  “Yeah,” Milo added. “It’s already a lot just to make those two smile for five minutes before they’re bored.”

  Lumi beamed at the bars, temporarily forgetting the humans attached to them. “No more scraps for Lumi tonight. Easy street.” She clapped once. “Oh—swing back in about ninety minutes. The execution thing is in two hours, and I’ve got to close early—free month’s rent is a free month’s rent, you know?”

  “You already have that many made?” Aidan asked.

  Lumi flicked a bolt of cloth onto the table. “I’ve spent twenty hours a day in here for eight years—twenty?two when I’m chasing a design. I have patterns. Don’t worry about me. But Braen is it?—that might take a few minutes.”

  “Can you make one about twenty percent bigger than Braen’s—for Garron?” Milo asked, pointing to the sketch.

  “Are you dressing a tree?” Lumi blinked. “Why that big?”

  “Trust them,” Braen said. “We need it. And mine needs extra pockets.”

  Lumi’s face lit. “Extras come at a price.”

  Braen smiled. “Receipts.”

  Lumi saluted with her tape measure. “Deal.”

  She was already rattling off extras before the ink dried. “Reversible liners, hidden inside pockets, sling anchors that don’t bite—oh, and storm hoods that—” She looked up. The shop was mostly empty; the quartet had drifted to the door.

  “We’re off for food,” Aidan called over his shoulder. “See you in ninety minutes.”

  Lumi froze, then deflated an inch. “Oh. I thought they might hang out while I made them.” She lightly slapped both cheeks, rallied. “Right. Come on, Lumi. First big order. Bigger pockets. Show them who you are.” She grinned to herself. “Might even make a friend. The tall lady seems to like me.”

  —

  South Gate Garden Bar — noonish.

  They found a quiet place with a hedge and mismatched chairs. Takeshi had colonized their table with cogs, wire, and a gutted fusebox, muttering as he assembled something that looked illegal on three continents. Caelan leaned back, lazily nursing a beer, and watched sunlight flick through the clouds.

  “Why is beer the only thing that tastes normal here?” he sighed. “Of all the things—no coffee for me—fine. But beer? Sure. Makes sense.” He tipped the bottle toward Takeshi. “What’s got you wound up?”

  Without looking up, Takeshi said, “I’m tired of everyone acting like I just run around like an idiot. Sorry, I’ve only got half a brain cell to work with. I mean, I only have a PhD, but no—let’s spend all our money on junk and booze, so Takeshi can’t build the stuff that saves our asses.”

  “They do it for this exact reaction,” Caelan said, amused. “Nobody thinks you’re dumb. Chill. They poke, you spike, you build, we live.”

  Takeshi smirked. “I didn’t spend every weekend with my face in the books for nothing. I’ll show them.”

  Caelan swirled the dregs. “Need another?”

  “Nothing better to do.”

  Caelan pushed to his feet, glanced past the hedge toward the south gate. “This end feels off, yeah? This morning in the north, a small queue was bringing stuff in—barely enough for a town, let alone a city. Down here? Empty. So where are the resources actually—”

  “Do we have to do this again?” Takeshi said, still threading wire through a canister. “Every time you’re even a little drunk—‘let’s overthink everything.’ Get the drinks and breathe, Captain.”

  Caelan laughed. “You’re probably right.” He headed for the bar.

  He was halfway back with two bottles when a pair of guards peeled off the gate and called, “Captain! Mr Captain?”

  Caelan stopped, turned, and pasted on a smile. “It’s just Captain—no ‘Mister.’ And whatever you think I did, I swear it wasn’t me. If it were Keira, I don’t know her.”

  The older guard blinked. “No. Uh—just a heads-up. They were looking for you about an hour ago. Not often does someone get a priority request from the Director’s Office. It’s been called off now. Whatever your business is, keep it away from the south gate, or you’ll find my men more than capable.”

  Caelan frowned. “What are you even on about? I’m having a drink with my pal over there.”

  Takeshi, not glancing up: “I’m not with him. Never met the man in my life.”

  “Traitor,” Caelan muttered, then brightened at the guards. “How about I buy you and your people a round? You look worked to the bone. Pretty sure one of your guys was sleeping standing up. Let me demonstrate our good intentions. I’ll get a round; we’ll sit here quietly and be model citizens.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The younger guard looked suspicious. The older one’s shoulders slumped from parade rest to human. “Oh, screw it. Three days of doubles. I need a drink.”

  “Atta boy.” Caelan passed him a bottle and lifted his own in salute. “To the south gate—and to not bothering each other for the next… let’s call it two hours.”

  “Make it ninety minutes,” Takeshi said, still crimping wire. “Then we go watch you try not to start a riot.”

  “See?” Caelan told the guards cheerfully. “He does know me.” He clinked bottles, dropped back into his chair, and, for once, tried not to think.

  By the third round, Caelan and Takeshi had collected half the south-gate detail. Laughter rolled under the hedges; Takeshi was demonstrating the world’s least OSHA-compliant “grenade” to a chorus of “don’t pull that” and “pull it.”

  “…and we made him run out of town naked,” the head guard finished, wheezing. “Groper learned his lesson.”

  Caelan clinked him a fresh bottle. “Doesn’t seem like too bad a place you’ve got here. Shifts must be brutal, though. How do you do it, Bob?”

  Bob swayed in his chair, half-drunk, half-proud. “Don’t get me started. It’s only been the last few days since Mr. Vallis sent the big push. Seven hundred men to chase that beam and bring back whatever it was.” He rolled his eyes. “Stars know what he’s thinking. Seven hundred. For a light in the sky.”

  “And you’re holding the fort?” Caelan asked.

  “Two hundred, maybe,” Bob said. “We’re all on doubles till they crawl back. Bet you they’re out there getting a tan.”

  “That beam,” Caelan said, easily. “What’d you find? Anything fun out there?”

  Takeshi blinked at him. “Captain, what are you— we—”

  Caelan steamrolled him with a grin. “Hey, did you tell anyone about the guild in Final Destiny yet? Wait till you—”

  Takeshi cocked an eyebrow, then pivoted. “Right. Different question: any of your worlds have digital games?”

  Caelan turned back to Bob. “Is the South side always this quiet? North had a few carts this morning. Here feels… empty.”

  “Timing,” Bob said, taking a long pull. “Normally, we’re swarmed. Since the light—dead slow.” He squinted. “You said you came through the north? What’s it like? The only region we haven’t built out yet. Some madman and a gremlin basically made it impassable.”

  “Huh,” Caelan said blandly. “Didn’t see any of that. If you do deal with it, give me a shout. Sounds like fun.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Bob leaned in. “Day shift is just for looking pretty. Nights we swat a few monsters. If it’s serious, they’ll send that peacock Ravon Dask and his boys. Entitled asses—‘my boss knows your boss, out of the way’—bleh.”

  “Ravon?” Caelan passed him another drink. “Weapon-grade name. Did he go beam-chasing too?”

  “Are you kidding?” Bob snorted. “He’s been hunting the red demon for years. Won’t shut up about it. He’s the one who beat the white beast a few months back, and he’s caught the demon now. That’s the execution today. Not sure if it’s to show off or just because he can make Aurex do it.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Might be the latter.”

  Caelan sat back, grimacing affectionately. “What a dick.” He lifted his bottle to the table at large. “Boys—who’s for another?”

  A ragged chorus: “Nothing better to do.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Caelan stood and flashed a salute. “I’m buying.”

  He headed for the bar, and the guards drifted back into their stories as Takeshi, still not looking up, murmured to his fusebox, “Please don’t explode while he’s gone.”

  Wardrobe Mile — Brighthall Restaurant, early afternoon.

  White linen, tall windows, a soft clatter of cutlery. Plates kept arriving: skewers, stews, a tower of pastries. Braen was methodically clearing plate after plate, serene as a monk at a feast.

  A waiter hovered. “Is there anything else we can get for you, and again—my apologies for the earlier comment.”

  Aidan waved it off, cheeks full. “Don’t mention it. We’re good.”

  Veyra cut a sandwich with a knife and fork, prim as a duchess. “He wasn’t wrong,” she said mildly. “You two look like you’ve spent the week rolling in mud.”

  Milo slid a few bills to the waiter. “Here’s an extra kilo, my good man. Keep the desserts away from piggy here.”

  Aidan swallowed hard. “Dude—Keira isn’t even here to hear that joke. The hell.”

  “Who’s joking?” Milo asked, deadpan.

  Aidan kicked him under the table.

  “Will you two behave?” Veyra said, eyes flat. “Do not get us kicked out. Or, like usual, wreck the place.”

  Another server arrived with drinks. As he set two beers in front of Aidan and Milo, Veyra slid across the table and swapped them, parking both beside Braen’s fresh mug. “Nope. Too early for you two. What was Caelan thinking the first time he let you try beer?”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You do know we only look fourteen. We’re at least thirty.”

  Milo snorted. “Well, one of us looks it.”

  Veyra leaned in, low: “Just you wait, Milo. Your time is coming.”

  They snickered. Braen set down another empty plate and leaned back with a pleased sigh. “That was amazing. Thank you for lunch, boys. Really lovely.”

  Aidan gestured to the waiter. “Another round of the menu for our beautiful big dawg, please.”

  Braen smiled—and the smile slid into a memory.

  Seven years earlier — Braen’s starter zone, dusk.

  For ten years, she’d lived alone in the ruins: every passerby wanted one of two things—to kill her or to cage her. Some made offers to recruit her for her size alone. So she stayed inside, in a dark second-floor room, listening to the wind through broken rafters.

  Laughter drifted in from the street—light, quick, unfamiliar. Braen curled tighter on the bed. “Best keep hidden,” she whispered. “Don’t scare them off.”

  The laughter drew closer. Stopped.

  “Did they see me?”

  The door exploded inward. A blur crashed across the floor and skidded to her feet.

  “Fuck—Sis, not so hard—je—”

  Braen’s fist hit the boards beside his head with a thunderclap. The stranger rolled, scrambling to the wall, eyes bright and stupidly happy.

  “Got something to say, little man?” Braen asked, dead flat.

  He grinned wider. “Holy fuck, guys, you’ve got to see this. So damn cool. Sis, you’re gonna love this!”

  Two heads popped around the splintered doorway—Milo and Aidan in perfect stereo: “Damn.”

  Then Keira shouldered in, blinked once, and lit up. “What—holy fuck, she’s massive. Yo, beautiful, do you do rides?”

  Veyra drifted in behind them with a sigh. “What are you even—how are you that tall?”

  “Auntie Veyra—not cool,” Milo said.

  “So not cool,” Aidan echoed.

  Keira and Braen stared at each other.

  “What do you mean by beautiful?” Braen asked.

  “Well, duh,” Keira said. “Look at you. Tall and beautiful. Some girls get all the luck.”

  Caelan snorted. “You’re just jealous—you’re flat as a board, Sis.”

  Keira’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t know you wanted to be eliminated today.”

  “Try it,” he said cheerfully. “I’m waiting.”

  Veyra tilted her head, suddenly assessing. “I see it too, Keira. Brush the hair up a little, touch a few things—and she’ll crush hearts the way she crushes men.”

  “So dumb,” the boys chorused.

  “Why did I agree to join you again?” Veyra muttered.

  Braen’s heel cracked the floor. “Get out. Leave me alone. Go anywhere. Just—out of my room.”

  Caelan’s voice softened. “We apologize. Come on, guys.” He paused in the doorway. “Mind if we set up in one of the buildings? It’s almost night. We’ve been traveling all day.”

  “Do what you want,” Braen said to the wall. “Just leave me alone.”

  “You heard the lady,” Caelan told the others. “I’ll get dinner going.”

  “Please, miracle of miracles, let him cook dirt again,” Milo said.

  “It’s the goddamn food in this world,” Caelan yelled back.

  Keira lingered, hand on the shattered frame. “See you around, beautiful,” she said, and followed them out.

  The fire crackled outside. Voices rose and fell—laughter, bickering, the sound of life. Braen sat with her hands clenched in her lap.

  “Maybe they wouldn’t mind if I… No. Why would they want to talk to me? I’ll just scare them off. Why do I even—”

  A head poked back through the door: Keira again, grinning. “Hey, beautiful.”

  Braen tried to summon the scowl; Keira caught it mid-form.

  “What are you doing sitting here alone?” Keira asked, strolling in with hands behind her back. “I know the food sucks, but come join us. Be nice to mix up the conversation for once.”

  “Why?” Braen asked. “Trying to keep the giant freak happy?”

  Keira stepped close and looked up, eyes bright. “Quit staring,” Braen muttered, uneasy.

  Keira wrapped her arms around her. “You’re beautiful,” she said into Braen’s chest. “That’s that. Call yourself a freak again, and I’ll beat you up and down this block.”

  Braen hesitated—then carefully put her arms around the tiny menace. “Something as small as you? Good luck, little cutie.”

  A heartbeat later, Braen burst through the second-floor wall and landed by the campfire in a plume of dust.

  Caelan flinched. “What the hell is going on today?”

  Milo laughed. Aidan sighed. “That’s Sis, alright.”

  Veyra shouted up at the hole Keira had just stepped out of: “Are you insane? Enough! You’re spending way too much time with Captain Idiot!”

  “What did I do?” Caelan asked, wounded.

  Keira hopped down from the breach as if it were a curb. “Make my new bud a plate, assholes. And stop staring.” She glanced up at Braen. “What the hell’s your name?”

  Braen—still sprawled in the dirt—started laughing.

  Caelan handed her a bowl. “First round’s for our new bud. Don’t worry—we have plenty. Eat as much as you like.”

  Milo and Aidan offered hands. Veyra smiled. “They’re harmless.”

  Braen took both hands and let them pull her to the fire.

  Back to the restaurant.

  The waiter set down another wave of plates. Braen blinked back to now and reached for a skewer, smiling without quite meaning to.

  “Another round for big dawg,” Aidan told the waiter, smug.

  Braen rolled her eyes and demolished a pastry. “You two are a menace,” she said warmly. “Don’t change.”

  Milo wiped sauce from his lip, grinning. “Can’t wait to see Cap’s face when he learns food here doesn’t have to taste like cardboard. Think he’ll leave the place standing?”

  Aidan turned to the waiter. “How do you make it taste good?”

  The man’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Unfortunately, sir, that’s a secret of the Aurex Corporation.”

  Aidan sighed, fished in his bag, and slid a small stack across. “Five kilos to buy my curiosity. And while you’re at it, why be a waiter in the middle of a war? How many of you work for Aurex?”

  The waiter palmed the bars with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times and leaned in. Voice low: “It’s the upgrade system. Put the bars beside something—food, fabric, gear—the bars dust out, and the thing gets better. Flavor, durability, you name it.” He straightened, normal tone again. “As for the job, most of us in Virelith don’t think we can win this war. We also don’t fancy getting eliminated. Can we even trust the goddess to wake us on our home worlds? So we follow Mr. Vallis. In return, we live… as close to normal as we’re likely to get.”

  Aidan nodded, thinking. “Figured as much. Still, how have we not heard of upgrades yet?” He glanced at Milo. “Captain’s not going to like that.”

  Milo lifted his glass to the waiter. “The immortal waiter recites the eternal specials.”

  Veyra kicked him under the table without looking. “Stop being an ass, Milo.”

  He winced, then flashed the waiter a contrite smile. “Kidding. Please don’t spit in the food.”

  “I wouldn’t undersell it, sir,” the waiter said, sincerely. “For many of us, this is better than what we had before Virelith. Can I get you anything else?”

  Aidan glanced around. “Anyone? …No? We’re good. Thanks.”

  Veyra lifted a hand. “Actually—four to-go meals, please.”

  “Very good, miss. I’ll let the kitchen know. And—thank you for the generous tips, gentlemen. Your custom is always welcome.”

  “Wait.” Aidan slid over another two kilos and thumbed at Milo. “That’s for him being an ass.”

  Milo beamed innocently. The waiter nodded gratefully and drifted away.

  Braen finished her plate, sat back, and let out a satisfied burp. “Boys, that was amazing. Thank you for lunch. Ooh—more beers. Just how I like em—three at a time.”

  “Please don’t get drunk,” Veyra begged. “I bought too much to carry it all alone.”

  Braen lifted all three, tilted, and drained them in one smooth go. She smiled, perfectly steady. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be great. Promise.” She softened. “And you—what a little sweetie. I was scared back there, and you turned into some evil version of Keira. Good that you’re trying.”

  Veyra exhaled. “Yeah. I know it’s not my taste. I just… Hope she’s alright. I know what it’s like to spend day and night in a shop by yourself.”

  Milo reached across and took her hand. Veyra blinked at the grime on his fingers. “What are you doing with that dirty thing?”

  Milo kept the grin, but his voice went gentle. “Don’t worry, Auntie Veyra. You don’t need to lie to us. You’ve never worked a day in your life.”

  Her eyes went sharp. She squeezed. Hard.

  “Accidents happen,” she said pleasantly. “Isn’t that what Braen says when she’s angry?”

  “Ow—— ow—ow—let go, Auntie Veyra,” Milo hissed, trying to gut it out.

  “What was that, my sweet little brother? Didn’t quite hear you.”

  His pride lasted one more squeeze. “Please, big sis.”

  She released him, all smiles. “Right. Let’s get a move on. Better find the others before either of those two does something stupid.”

  “Good point,” Aidan said, standing and flexing his fingers. “Grab the jackets, head to that plaza—or whatever’s left of it when we get there.”

  They settled the bill, scooped up their bags, and stepped into the street. The flow of foot traffic had flipped: crowds were pouring toward the plaza now, a slow tide moving opposite their path as they cut back toward Lumi’s shop.

  Milo bumped Aidan with a grin. “Race you. Last one there tells Sis she looks fat.”

  He took off.

  “Screw you—not again!” Aidan sprinted after him. “I had a black eye for a week!”

  Braen trudged along under Veyra’s spoils, bags stacked to her ears. Veyra drifted a few steps behind, dragging a little, muttering to herself. “Why’d I walk in there acting all high and mighty? I know exactly what it’s like to be her. I should apologize. —think Lumi would want…”

  She looked up.

  No boys. No Braen.

  The crowd pressed. Veyra stopped dead, throat tightening. “Braen?… Aidan?… Milo?” The words came out small. “No, no, no—not again.”

  Someone shoulder-checked her. “Watch it.”

  Another voice: “Move, lady.”

  She backed up to a wall, slid down it, curled her knees up, and laced her hands behind her head. Breathing went thin and tinny. Tears blurred the street.

  “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “I’ll be nicer. Please.”

  —

  Memory — a shuttle window, long ago.

  Her parents smiled on the pad below. “We’ll be right behind you,” her mother called. Her father, hand to heart: “See you soon, my brave princess.”

  Engines flared. The shuttle lifted. A wash of light swallowed the pad—then a crater where her parents had been. Little Veyra slid off the seat onto the deck, rocking.

  Memory — a station, nowhere.

  A bored official shoved her through a door. The woman who answered wore yesterday’s clothes and a lifetime of smoke. “You Veyra? Right. Come on.”

  She rolled up a shutter on a cramped supply kiosk. “From now on, you work here. Someone wants something, you get it. I’ll do the inventory. You keep it clean. Don’t bother me.”

  “When I’m done… can I go home?” tiny Veyra asked.

  The woman wheezed a laugh. “You don’t get it. I said Don’t bother me. What did you think, Mama? If you need a bed, that scrap pile will do. If I don’t find you in this stall, there’ll be consequences. Don’t try to run. Half the station’s on the payroll.”

  Tears pooled. The shutter rattled down.

  Memory — Year nine of the War.

  Mud. A tarp. An arrow clutched white-knuckle. She killed what came near, then crawled back under the tarp and rocked, whispering apologies to no one. Some nights, she wished something would finally end it for her.

  Hands snapped the tarp tight over her head and lifted. Two men laughed while they carried her. “Boss’ll love this one.”

  “Think he’ll share?”

  Then the weight shifted. She dropped—only a foot—and landed in someone else’s arms.

  “Get that thing off her, bro,” a girl’s voice said.

  The tarp peeled away. Four faces, backlit by little golden orbs drifting off into the dark: Caelan, Keira, Milo, Aidan.

  “You alright, buddy?” Caelan asked, voice gentle. “Sorry. We’ve been chasing those assholes for days.”

  He set her down. Veyra sobbed once, then couldn’t stop.

  Keira glared at Caelan. “Look what you did.” She wrapped Veyra up. “Hey, hey—Keira’s here, not that dumb idiot.”

  “What did I—” Caelan started.

  The boys laughed at him. Veyra hung on and didn’t let go until morning.

  —

  A warm hand found Veyra’s knee.

  “Hey,” Milo said softly. “It’s alright. I’m here. Sis, I’m sorry—we got carried away.” He crouched, offered his hand. “I’m here now.”

  She reached up, trembling, and pulled his hand from behind her head to her lap, holding it hard. “Can we… sit here a minute?”

  “As long as you want,” he said, sliding down beside her and leaning his head against her arm. He didn’t pull away when she squeezed.

  Her breath slowed. The ringing backed off. She laid her other hand over his.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Milo grinned without moving. “Don’t mention it. It’s all good with me, big sis.”

  A block away, leaning on a wall.

  Aidan watched from the corner while Milo sat with Veyra on the curb.

  “It’s hard to watch sometimes,” Braen murmured beside Aidan. “Wish there was something we could do to help.”

  “Lucky for us,” Aidan said, eyes on Milo, “my hyperactive mirror always knows what to say. I’m just glad this place hasn’t changed him.”

  “It won’t,” Braen said. “And if it tries? Your sister will beat him back to his senses.”

  Veyra and Milo rejoined, hands still linked. Veyra wiped her eyes, a shaky laugh escaping. “Sorry. Got a little lost. We should move—need to get Lumi this food before it’s cold.”

  Aidan pointed at the bag. “Eh… might be a little squished.”

  Veyra’s smile dipped. “Darn it. Just my luck.”

  “If it bothers her, we’ll get more,” Braen said, squeezing Veyra’s shoulder. “Come on. I’m sure Captain’s going to buy half the city dry tonight.”

  “Let’s go then,” Veyra said.

  Lumi Fen — Atelier.

  Milo burst through the door. “Happening!”

  Aidan followed, deadpan. “Do you need an entrance every time just because Sis isn’t here?”

  “Sorry, we’re early,” Braen told the room. “Hope you don’t mind, little wizard.”

  Veyra slipped in last and eased the door shut. From the back, a pointed hat and a frizz of hair poked out. “Be a minute!” Lumi sang, humming.

  Aidan elbowed Milo. “Bet she hasn’t finished one.”

  “I’ll give her one,” Milo snickered.

  A sound like a hailstorm of needles rattled the floorboards. Everyone froze.

  “Lumi, sweetheart, you alright?” Braen called.

  Lumi barreled out, wrapped in fabric, tripped, and thumped to the floor. “Ow. Hey, guys! How was lunch? Sorry—thought I had more time.”

  “We can get the rest later,” Aidan said. “Please tell me you’ve got at least two ready. If not, we can come back.”

  “Pfft. Finished those twenty minutes ago,” Lumi scoffed. “I was working on something else.” Her grin flipped on. “Veyra—I’ve got something for you.”

  She rolled backward into the workroom, chaos clattering, then hustled out and stopped nose-to-nose with Veyra. “I’m sorry you didn’t like the thirty-foot scarves—what was I thinking. First, I thought ‘bigger,’ then I thought ‘maybe… not flashy.’ You don’t have to take it if you don’t like it, but—”

  She held out a green scarf: soft merino weave, narrow and long enough to wrap once and trail; moss-green shot with a faint herringbone, tiny hand-stitched leaf motif at the ends, a hidden button-loop so it could anchor in crowds.

  Veyra blinked, then smiled. “It’s perfect. I’d love to buy it, Lumi.”

  Lumi bonked it gently into Veyra’s chest, glasses slipping down her nose. “You don’t pay for a present, silly.”

  Her gaze snagged on the takeout bag. She leaned to one side and began to drool. “So how was lunch. Bet it tasted great.”

  Veyra looked at the scarf again, then bowed her head. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. I… might have squished it a little, but I brought you something. We can get more if—”

  The bag was already gone. Lumi was inhaling food between words. “I honestly thought I was gonna die. Haven’t eaten in forever. Oh, stars, this is good. Best day ever—food, an order, new customers, and finally people who can keep me on my toes.” She paused, eyes up, suddenly small. “You’ll come back, right? Even just to hang out?”

  Veyra knelt, resting a hand on Lumi’s shoulder. “How can we be friends and not see you again, silly? Also, we really have to talk about your designs.”

  “Friends is a strong word,” Aidan said, dry.

  “She’ll run the minute she meets Sis,” Milo added. “One hundred percent.”

  “Boys,” Braen said pleasantly—then cut them a sideways glare. “Let’s not have any accidents. Apologize.”

  “Sorry, Lumi,” they chorused.

  “If she likes looking cool as hell,” Lumi said, bright again, “we’ll get along great.”

  She glanced at the clock and yelped. “Darn it—late.” She sprinted for the back, reemerged with a half-dozen garment bags, and slung them at Aidan and Milo. “Jackets—done! I need to go. Plaza. Execution. FREE RENT!”

  Braen caught her by the elbows and eased her to a stop. “Breathe, little one. Walk with us? Show the way?”

  Lightbulb. “If you all say you work here, I can get five months free rent.” She clasped her hands, pleading. “Please, please please tell them you work here—pretty please—I’ll do anything.”

  “If we find the rest of our group,” Braen said, smiling, “you won’t have to worry about rent for a long time. Let’s go.”

  Lumi locked the door, then popped it open again. “Almost forgot.” She dragged out a wizardly staff of polished wood with a little satchel tied near the head. “Right. That’s me.”

  On the street:

  “We can’t let them see the staff,” Aidan muttered.

  “Like we can stop it now,” Milo sighed—and then grinned. “Those two’ll be entertained for days. Better set boundaries early on the dress-up thing.”

  “You say that like you’ve ever said no to Sis.”

  “Fair. Hopefully, she and Captain haven’t leveled the place yet. I can’t believe Solara let him wander off alone. Rookie move.”

  “She’ll learn,” Aidan said.

  Plaza — East entrance.

  Crowds poured past them toward the center. Lumi practically hopped. “Five free months! Best day ever. Thanks, friends!”

  “Friends don’t call each other ‘friend,’” Aidan muttered. “Where did we find her?”

  “Braen!” Veyra yelped, suddenly aghast. “What have you done?”

  Braen blinked. “What do you mean, our little cutie?”

  “My shopping,” Veyra said, gripping Braen’s arm. “Promise you won’t get mad—where is it?”

  Braen smiled at Lumi. “Oh—I left her bags in the shop. Hope that’s alright.”

  “Anything for my big friend,” Lumi said, thumbs-upping. “Which side did you say you’d meet your friends—ugh, can’t see anything. Why is that standing there?”

  A cheer rolled, then fell flat as a single bang cracked the air.

  Milo caught Veyra’s hand. “Stick with me. Lots of people.” She squeezed once and nodded.

  “Aww, look at him,” Braen said fondly. “What a cutie.”

  “What’s happening? I can’t see,” Lumi asked, bouncing.

  Aidan sighed, already knowing. “I know where we’re meeting. That idiot.”

  The plaza’s roar fell away under a single, unmistakable laugh.