With an overdramatic flourish of his wrist, he activates the implant in his index finger again. It releases a thin, glowing strand of aeraz, which he weaves into a simple breeze pattern with exaggerated gestures like some kind of flailing, spell-casting octopus. Then, with a sharp snap of his forearm, he pulls the final thread taut and flings the spell in my direction—sending a gust of humid, sweat-scented wind straight at me, like jet-propelled dog breath to the face. The fragile strands of the spell crumble a moment later, but it’s too late for the poor bartender. The spell wasn’t that strong, but it was enough for the bottles lined up neatly on the bar to rattle, tip, and start a tragic domino effect.
I leap back as the bottles hit the floor with a loud clink, but thankfully don’t break. A notification pops up in my lenses, letting me know that particular brand is two for one tonight, but I blink it away irritably. Thought I had ad notifications disabled. A quick glance around reveals two security guards pushing their way through the crowd, their eyes fixed on Nash . . . and me. I’m not about to be Nash’s collateral damage. I quickly scoop the bottles up off the ground and deposit them back on the bar, hold up my hands to show no harm done, then step back into the crowd.
And bump right into Remi.
They stumble a bit when I knock into them, but then their eyes light up, and they start babbling something about the maz effects over the bar, a complicated weave mimicking a night sky dotted with bursting stars. The light dies out as Remi visibly remembers they’re supposed to be mad at me, though. They look away, their lips pressed tight together, and start to turn their back to me with a muttered “Never mind.”
Before I can really think about it, my hand darts out and catches one of theirs.
“I don’t want to fight,” I say in a rush. “I just . . .”
. . . don’t want you to leave?
I drop their hand and make a fist to keep myself from reaching out again. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell anyone until after they were gone anyway. “I haven’t taken the job yet, okay? I can still turn it down. I’ll look for something else. Can we not spend our last week together mad at each other?”
I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance so it’ll hurt less. And I need that job. But their expression softens as they look me over, probably seeing way too much. This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have bothered, I should have—
But then one of our favorite songs comes on, and Remi finally meets my gaze again, their frown morphing almost against their will into a small smile. Not quite forgiveness, maybe, but a truce at least.
I’ll take it.
“Come on,” they say. “We gotta.”
I let myself give a faint smile in return.
“Yeah. We gotta.”
It might only be one or two songs, unless they’re feeling really good tonight, but it’s a gift either way. I’m happy to accept.
Remi drags me out to the dance floor, yanks me close by my belt loops, and then their body is against mine, moving to the beat, warm and lithe and there. My arms wrap automatically around their neck, my hips matching their rhythm on instinct. Over their shoulder, I see Ania and Jaesin pressed together, leaning in close to talk over the music as they dance.
When I draw back just enough to see Remi’s eyes, they looked almost determined. Like there’s something right on the tip of their tongue that they just can’t quite say, but they’re daring me to guess. We’ve been here before, lived in this exact moment, stood right on the cusp and challenged each other. Back away, move closer, what’ll it be? Are you feeling brave tonight?
Am I?
The music pounds in my ears, rising and falling, the smell of drink and sweat and perfume overwhelming. My breath comes too fast, my vision hazy at the edges, and Remi must notice, because they go stiff under my hands, losing the rhythm.
Losing it all.
I pull away, turn my back on them, and flee the room.
This was supposed to be an amazing night. We were supposed to all be together, enjoying our last bit of time in the city that raised us.
So of course I’m alone on the roof.
The bathroom was too obvious. The second-floor catwalk wasn’t far enough. But some of the employees love to smoke on the roof, and they’re bad at keeping the access stairwell locked. Just what I needed.
The view is awful up here, honestly. I spend a lot of time on the roof of the Cliffs, and from there you can see the whole city spill out before you in all its false neon glory. From the roof of the club, it’s walls to the left, walls to the right, a disgustingly overpriced shopping district to the front, and a bunch of rooftop storage pods behind me. But there are a few stars above, shining through the light pollution. The one constant. No matter where I am, I can always leave the ground behind and climb into the sky.
The rooftop access door opens behind me, and I drop my head onto my knees. I’ve been found, apparently. Too predictable. Time to fight with Remi again. At least it means they aren’t down there dancing with someone else. In my head, Ania lectures me about how unfair and gross my jealousy is, but I shove it away. I don’t need her preaching.
“Diz?”
I jerk in surprise and whirl around. Not Remi. It’s a nondescript guy in his mid-twenties, vaguely familiar, leaning against the same door I used. He holds up his hands and stays back, which I appreciate. I’m suddenly very aware of being alone on a rooftop without good sight lines to the street below. I slowly shift my weight forward onto my feet, moving from seated to crouching in case a quick getaway becomes necessary. The man gives a disarming little smile and waves, keeping his distance.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice light and casual. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your stargazing. I just had a question about acquisitions, and I figured it’d be best to ask without the crowds.”
I keep my expression level, but I can’t help the spark that word lights in me. Acquisitions. This guy wants maz. Still suspicious, though, how he found me up here on the roof.
“You saw me in the club?” I ask.
He makes the universal gesture for lenses, waving two fingers in front of his eyes. “You checked in on social. It was in your feed.”
Oh. Obviously. Rookie mistake.
“I can’t remember if we’ve ever met face-to-face, but you’ve done some work for me before,” he continues. “I’ve been using Mattie’s crew lately, but this is a job I need you for specifically.”
I reconsider the man in light of this new information, the familiarity snapping into focus. Shane Drammond. We have met before, and he’s not quite as plain as I thought initially. His outfit is understated, a simple black button-down and tan pants, but the pieces are fine in quality. His shoes probably cost as much as one of my starting paychecks at MMC, and I don’t even want to think about the watch. He reeks of money, to those who know where to look . . . which means he’ll pay well.
Not that we’re supposed to have any more clients. Last job ever, remember? We’re out of the game. The others will be furious if I take another job.
But what kind of job could he need us specifically for? It can’t hurt to hear what Fancy Shoes has to say, right?
“What do you need?” I ask, my voice automatically shifting to business mode.
The man smiles and takes a few tentative steps forward.