The knock came again. Insistent. A little bit impolite. And far, far too firm to be a neighbor or a friend. Seven glanced at the pile of stolen corporate equipment spread across Emmet’s countertop. Keycards, bracelets, maps—plenty of evidence to get them both executed, or at least assigned to a shift that would act in the same way. She winced and glanced back at the door, which rattled with another set of knocks.

  “Pretend we’re not home?” she suggested.

  “That’s a terrible plan.”

  “Do you have a better one?”

  “Corporate welfare check!” A cheerful voice sang through the door—Cheryl’s, Seven was pretty sure. “Open up or we’ll assume you’re dead and liquidate your assets!”

  “I thought you owned this place,” Seven hissed. Emmet stared at the door, his face gone pale, his jaw tightening.

  “You know how you said you had to relinquish your company apartment to pay for the debt?”

  “…yes?”

  “Well…”

  “Emmet, for luck’s sake!”

  He whirled on her, his face gone pink. “You just did it yourself!”

  “And I have no resources to my name, no experience in the mines, and was thrown into Bonewake my first day. How was I supposed to—“

  “OPEN UP, PLEASE! OUR INSPECTORS HAVE A VERY BUSY SCHEDULE TODAY!”

  Cheryl’s voice only grew more shrill as the knocking continued.

  “We’re coming,” Emmet called out.

  “We?!” Cheryl’s voice gasped on the other side. “But this company-controlled home should only house one of our employees.”

  “I, uh, change of circumstances,” Emmet said, walking towards the door. Seven darted to the counter, trying to sweep the lot of evidence away, but the door snapped open, and she was left with her back to the door, damning evidence overflowing in her hands, and the booted footsteps of inspectors bursting into the room.

  Swearing, Seven shoved a keycard into Pocket’s mouth and sat on the counter to hide the rest. The bracelets dug into her thighs, but she crossed her legs, trying to look like she was comfortable.

  That gave her a great view of Cheryl’s awed face as the inspectors flooded in around her, taking dust samples, licking walls, and making a mockery of any sort of privacy laws in the kingdom. Still, Cheryl was nothing if not corporate—and well-trained to boot. She put on a beaming smile, though it flickered a bit when she saw Seven perched on the kitchen counter.

  “What a lovely home,” she said, rubbing her hands together. She stepped gingerly around the Emmet-shaped hole in the ground, and her smile faltered. “Have you looked into…?”

  “We have,” Emmet said firmly, his arms crossed. Seven had to admit he had an imposing figure—when he wanted to, anyway.

  “Well,” Cheryl said, “it’s just that, we wouldn’t want our assessors to think that the home isn’t being taken care of.” Her too-watchful eyes flicked up to Seven. “Especially if other employees are illegally inhabiting the place.”

  “Just a visitor,” Seven said, trying to smile.

  “A frequent one,” Cheryl replied. “Visitors are limited to one per month, I’m afraid. And, well, with your situation, we can’t be sure you wouldn’t take advantage of dear Employee #567095’s hospitality, now can we?”

  It took Seven a moment to realize that Cheryl was talking about Emmet of all people. “Too many visitors might be distracting from his quota, and #567095 is such a productive worker, now aren’t you?”

  Emmet’s smile went tight as the assessors stormed through his house. One drew too close to Seven, and she realized, with prickling fear, that a card was out on the counter. She shoved it up her sleeve. “Is there a reason for this visit?” Emmet asked.

  “Standard company protocol,” Cheryl said. “We received reports of potential abuse in the home.” Her eyes flicked to the floor again. “Reports that were apparently founded, given the state of your floor.”

  “Oh, that,” Emmet said, laughing. The laugh almost sounded genuine, but there was a highness to it that Seven hadn’t heard before. A sort of edge that sounded like he was on the verge of breaking. He trailed over to Seven, then, startlingly, took her hand, whispering in her ear too low for Cheryl to hear. “Trust me.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Seven stiffened as his hand found hers, then nearly fell off the counter in shock when Emmet kissed her passionately, his lips warm and soft. Seven practically couldn’t breathe. She’d had flings, of course—palace trysts, crushes, and the like. But no one had ever kissed her like this—and in front of an entire crew of assessors, no less.

  He broke the kiss, winked at her, then turned to Cheryl. “We had a lot of fun last night, you see. We’re getting married!”

  “Married?” Seven and Cheryl repeated simultaneously. Nearby, Pocket let out a sort of wild chuckle and bounced excitedly on the counter. Emmet turned back to her, and while Seven wasn’t stupid enough to believe that this was anything more than a show, the warmth in his eyes was strangely genuine.

  “Of course, darling. I was just asking you to come stay with me given your unfortunate circumstances, wasn’t I?”

  It took Seven several seconds to catch her breath. “I—yes, love, of course.” She turned to Cheryl, trying to dredge up old acting classes that she’d long since forgotten. “Surely that would be okay? It’s just, well, it’s my first week, and it’s so nice to have someone nearby to show me the ropes.”

  Cheryl smiled, but her eyes narrowed. Still, she recovered well. “Company protocol doesn’t have anything on file for a circumstance like this one,” she said carefully, “but I’m sure we can find something that applies. After all, your performance has improved significantly by associating with Employee #567095. We do love to see that kind of improvement from our new miners.”

  Another assessor drew far too close, and it was everything Seven could do not to tense up where she sat on the counter. She tried to smile, forcing some sort of sincerity into it. “Thank you,” she said. “LMC really is family, isn’t it?”

  The words nearly made her throw up, but Cheryl seemed satisfied with them. She studied Seven for a moment, then smiled, some of the tension gone from her face. “How lucky we are to have employees like you!” she chirped, seemingly satisfied with Seven’s facade. Nearby, an assessor measured the hole in the floor. “Oh!” Cheryl said, her face lighting up. She dug in her pink blazer for a piece of paper and walked over to the countertop as Emmet left her side with a kiss to the cheek that made her face far too hot.

  “That reminds me,” Cheryl went on, “You’ve got new promotion papers! How lucky for you—and on your first week, no less!” Seven took the hot pink envelope from Cheryl, but she didn’t dare open it. Not with the keycard up her sleeve. Cheryl leaned close, then gripped her wrists, leaning in to whisper to her. “Congratulations,” she squealed. “What a catch! A romance for the ages—certainly one of the many miracles of working for LMC!”

  “I, uh, thank you.” It was all Seven could manage. The situation was truly absurd.

  Emmet emerged from the bedroom, now shooing out the assessors. “If that’s all,” he said, “my wife and I would like some time alone before the next shift.” His wife. Luck above, the man was diabolical. Cheryl smiled tightly, but looked at her assessors, who mostly seemed to find nothing of note. One had taken a few squares of toilet paper from Emmet’s bathroom for ‘evidence’. Of what, Seven had no idea.

  “I believe we’ve investigated sufficiently for today,” Cheryl said, then waved to her group of assessors. “Please, while you frolic, try not to put any further holes in LMC-owned floors.”

  “We’ll certainly try,” Emmet said, shooting Seven a wicked smile that made something melt inside of her. “But sometimes things get out of hand, especially in certain positions, you know.”

  That, at least, seemed to cow Cheryl, who went wide-eyed and pink, her high heels clicking to the door at a rapid rate. Seven couldn’t blame her. Emmet knew what he was doing. He’d send any woman into fits with that kind of look.

  “Well, have a lovely time!” Cheryl said, and shut the door behind her last assessor.

  Seven didn’t move. Didn’t dare to breathe. Emmet, standing next to her, seemed to think the same. Would they lurk at the door, listening for more? How far would they have to continue the charade?

  Then, Emmet deflated next to her, and Seven let out a shaky breath.

  Then whirled on him.

  “Married?” she hissed. “Certain positions? Are you out of your mind?”

  Emmet went pink, and, while he’d practically been ready to plaster on a romance novel not five minutes before, he now seemed returned to his previous awkward—and slightly argumentative—form.

  “Well, you needed a place to stay, didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.” A half-lie. She’d wanted to, of course. Just hadn’t worked up the courage yet to do so.

  “Where else were you going to go?”

  “It wouldn’t be my first time being homeless.”

  Emmet went silent at that, and Seven hopped off the counter, trying to clear her head. She was far too close to Emmet, and now she’d have to live with the man, no less. She didn’t have time for romance, nor did she have time for whatever ‘activities’ she secretly wanted to get up to. She had a mission here. She was a criminal, and the very man who had framed her had gotten away. That was the focus. Not this fluttering in her gut from Emmet’s charades.

  Several of the bracelets clattered to the floor, and Seven bent over, picking them up. She reached for the card in her sleeve, then froze.

  “It’s not here,” she whispered, then frantically searched for the little card that had been in her sleeve not moments before. “It’s not here.” She swore faintly, then remembered where Cheryl’s hands had been. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Cheryl’s not just an employee—she’s a master pickpocket. She took it right out from under my nose.”

  “You’re joking,” Emmet said. “Which one did she take?”

  “The wrong one,” Seven said glumly. “The all-access pass is still there. I sat on it.” She moaned and flopped onto the couch. “We have to go back for it.”

  “Why?” Emmet asked. “So what if she has one of the passes?”

  “Because they’ll check them for prints, or trace them back to us somehow. We can’t let them keep it—even if we have the good ones.”

  “But we still have the good one?”

  “Two of them if Pocket didn’t—“

  Pocket burped from inside the flour jar. “It tasted terrible, by the way. Very papery. Zero stars.”

  “So one of them,” Emmet said, groaning.

  “That’s all we need,” Seven whispered. “Time to see how far we can get.”

  “I’m beginning to hate when you say that kind of thing.”

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