Lysander woke Monday morning with a heavy weight on his chest, the long night taking its toll on him. He had spent the majority of Sunday sitting around and staring into space, alternating wildly between being happy with the progress he had made and regretting ever forming a connection with the Red Morn. Bingley whined and shuffled closer on the bed, pawing at him to get him up for a morning potty. Wrestling the dog onto his side, Lysander maneuvered around him and reluctantly stepped out of bed. His back popped satisfyingly as he stretched up onto his tiptoes. The cats materialized and started winding around his ankles and meowing for food. He grumbled and stepped carefully around the horde of animals blocking his every step. Finally making it to the sliding back door, he pulled it open and Bingley ran out into the back garden happily, sniffing and loping about for the perfect spot to do his business. Porcini took a moment to consider following the dog out, but then seemed to decide his time was better spent begging with his brother and sister for breakfast, their near identical white and gray faces peering up at Lysander hopefully. He cracked open three tins of cat food, which he had gotten from a local mill who canned the food for him as a favor, and spooned them into their hand painted monogrammed bowls, which the cats practically jumped on as soon as he stepped away. By this time, Bingley had rejoined the family inside and sat vibrating next to his own food bowl, and Lysander set about feeding the dog as well.

Once all the pets were happily munching away, he returned to his bedroom and blearily crossed it to the bathroom. The harsh overhead lights bit at his retinas unpleasantly as he prepared himself for the day ahead, showering and shaving quickly and running a quick comb through his short black hair. While he brushed his teeth, he podded at his slightly pudgy cheeks, thinking about Red’s sharp, high cheekbones. Her appearance reminded him strangely of a Russian spy from a cheap thriller novel, all angles and slopes, her thin nose sliding down to a pert lipped grin. His own face retained much of its childishness, and even at twenty-two years of age, he was often mistaken for someone much younger. His height rarely helped either, given how gangly he was, contributing to his clumsiness. Meanwhile, Red looked about the same age as him, but far more put together. He spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, scrubbing a hand at his forehead before moving back into his room to dress for work. His job at Campbell’s was thankfully part of the headquarters. As the only supermarket provider in the country now, the business they did was on an insane degree. Lysander had started work as an advertising editor, primarily working to clean up any radio and magazine ads, but after their last competitor had folded three years ago, he had been moved to the Layout Design department in charge of creating in-store displays. He had a knack for the job, given his innate attention to detail, and he had an easy time picking out buying trends among consumers so he could create displays and allow the stores to flow naturally, making the work itself enjoyable. Plus, Miria worked on the same floor in Finance. She had always had a head for numbers, doing calculations in her head while he plodded along on a calculator.

Closing and latching the back door and patting his pets goodbye, Lysander left the comfort of his apartment and jogged across the small expanse of grass to the station. He had to catch the train to work because the office itself was in the city proper. Even though he lived in the town furthest from the city, the train ride wasn’t especially long, only fifteen minutes or so. Nevertheless, he often felt a rush of nerves if he left even a few moments later than he usually did, a habit ingrained from his hatred of arriving late anywhere. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he shuffled into the crowd waiting for the next train on the platform after presenting his barcode to the machine at the station entrance. After personal use transportation had been outlawed ten years ago, everyone got everywhere either by train or bus, so the morning grouping was rather large.

The train rumbled into the station, and everyone crept closer to the edge of the platform. With a whoosh, the automatic doors sprang open and a sleepy trail of people--third shift workers--moved off the train, dodging the oncoming passengers. Lysander stuck close to the back of the pack, attempting to stay as far out of the way as possible while still moving infinitesimally forward with the crowd. He finally made it aboard just as the warnings about the doors closing soon blared from the PA system. Tucking himself into a corner between the door and the seats, he leaned back and thought again about the deal he had struck with Red. He was still struggling to reconcile the woman he had met with the infamous Red Morn. Part of him hoped that maybe she was merely leading him along in some perverse form of teasing, but he couldn’t picture anyone doing such a thing, even Red with her quick wit and sharp tongue. She had no reason to try to fool him, so he had no choice but to believe that she was indeed the Red Morn. Skittles was going to be so mad at him when Lysander spoke to him after work.

Releasing a wave of tension, he pushed those thoughts away and instead focused on the upcoming work day. His team had to design the new spring layouts for each store and decide on which luxury products to feature for the new season. The ideas he had successfully distracted him from more morose thoughts and the rest of the ride into the city passed peacefully. The train pulled into the downtown station and Lysander disembarked with a majority of the rest of the passengers. Feeling grateful that he didn’t have to transfer over to a subway line or the bus, he once again scanned his barcode upon exiting the station and quickened his steps down the sidewalk. Passing a multitude of other businesses--banks and branches of other district corporations--he traversed two more blocks before arriving at the glass doors of the Campbell Corporation headquarters. Ben, the security guard, pushed the door open for him, nodding a quick greeting and gesturing to Lysander’s arm. Removing his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves, he allowed Ben to scan his code with his handheld before getting waved forward.

Making a beeline for the bank of elevators, Lysander’s shoes clicked against the marble, echoing in the mostly empty lobby. He pressed the up button and unrolled his shirt, rebuttoning it at his wrist. Soon, the elevator arrived with a ding, and Miria stood on the other side of the doors. She lit up with a bright smile upon seeing him there.

“Lys! I knew you would be here! You’re so predictable,” she teased, pushing gently against his shoulder. Her golden hair was tied back at the nape of her neck in a navy ribbon, matching her knee length dress perfectly. She had a black blazer buttoned just above her navel, the sleeves cropped just above her elbows.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re here early yourself,” he replied, stepping into the elevator next to her. She pressed the button for their floor and continued to grin at him. “Did you come down just to get me?”

“Yup! I had to tell you about the crazy dream I had last night!” she exclaimed before launching into a description of the dream, involving dancing vegetables in top hats and the two of them trying to cut in on the jig only to be dragged off stage by a comically large black hook. He shook his head at her antics. She always had too much energy in the mornings, whereas he had trouble even dragging himself from the comfort of his bed--Bingley always cuddled him so sweetly at night. The elevator dinged as they arrived at the fourteenth storey, just one below the very top where Mr. Campbell and his executive committee worked. Miria practically skipped off the elevator before flipping back to him. “Oh! By the way, I have some breakfast and tea for you! I know you never eat before coming here,” she scolded. He grimaced in reply. She was right, primarily because he always wanted to make sure he got the maximum amount of time in his bed before having to start the day so breakfast took a bit of a back seat.

“Oh yeah? Thanks, Miria,” he said as she led him to the break room. Pushing open the simple wooden door, she moved to the counter and swung back around with an apple in hand. She pressed the fruit into his hands before returning to the counter and pouring hot water onto a dangling tea bag and adding a splash of creamer from the small shared refrigerator. Coffee was near impossible to acquire anymore, but certain types of tea leaves and blends could still be found. He crunched into the apple, noticing that it was the perfect blend of sweet and tart and still chilled from the fridge, his favorite way to eat an apple. When Miria passed over the steaming mug of tea, he noticed that it too was prepared exactly how he liked, the color teetering on the edge of tan. She knew him too well, a product of sixteen years of friendship and twelve of living together. He enjoyed her company more than any other person and a rush of affection warmed his stomach.

“You’re the best, Mir,” he said as they took seats across from each other at the break room table. The pale wood stretched across the distance between them and the lumpy cushioned chair pressed uncomfortably into him as he leaned back and continued to munch on the apple.

“I know,” she said with a smile, “So? How was your weekend, eh?”

The chair thumped back onto all fours as he hacked on a chunk of apple. Miria rushed over and began thumping ineffectually on his back. The bit of fruit finally dislodged from his throat and slid down the correct pipe, no thanks to either of their efforts.

“Uhh,” he said raspily, still coughing slightly, “It was fine?”

“Oh? Get up to anything interesting?” she asked while moving back to her spot across from him.

“Um, not really. Just played with the pets, took Bingley on a walk, the usual,” he lied, feeling increasingly nervous with the direction of their conversation, “What about you?”

“Mm, same here. Not the pets part! But the nothing interesting part,” she said, propping her cheek onto the fist she had braced on the table. “Dad has been trying to get me to practice my ‘household skills’ more often, just in case his newest wave of reforms goes through.”

He frowned over at her. The newest movement championed by her father was to push women from well off families from the workforce under the guise of creating more positions for people struggling to find work. However, Lysander knew that Miria loved her job, lived for it really. She needed numbers like some people needed air.

“I’m sorry, Mir. I know that’s hard for you.”

“Ahh, it’s all good, Lys! I wonder what it was like to always have entertainment just lined up and ready for you at home,” she mused, speaking of a time they were both too young to remember. The first casualties of the societal reforms were at home entertainment: televisions, gaming stations, personal mobile phones, etcetera. They had been outlawed, citing distractions to meaningful participation in the community. Books, radio, and music were still allowed under strict regulations, as were outdoor activities. As a largely solitary person, Lysander wished that he could spend most of his time at home and have it be more socially acceptable.

“Right? Musta been nice,” he groused, sipping on his tea before it cooled too much more.

“Ah, but then neither of you would have grown to be such fine adults,” said a new voice from the doorway. Both Lysander and Miria jumped and faced the newcomer. Joseph Campbell stood framed in the doorway, thick blond hair perfectly coiffed on top of his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Dad! Good morning!” Miria shouted, jumping up from her seat. Lysander also scrambled to his feet, jostling his tea and spilling a bit on his black slacks. He hissed as the burn bit through the cloth and moved to the roll of paper towels near the small sink, ripping off a handful and patting at the darkening stain. Joseph walked further into the room, hands placidly behind his back.

“Good morning, my children,” he greeted, placing a hand on Miria’s head and ruffling her hair. The motion pulled some hair free from her ponytail, the strands falling to frame her rounded cheeks. Seeing this, Joseph tugged almost playfully at a piece of her hair. “Ah, daughter, messy as always.”

Miria blushed and self-consciously brushed the hair out of her face. The motion brought Lysander’s attention to her nails, bitten down to the quick, the nail beds red and angry from the abuse.

“Good morning, sir,” Lysander said from his corner by the sink, a soiled paper towel clutched in his fist. Joseph nodded in his direction before turning back to face Miria.

“Mirianna, why don’t you go fix that hair of yours, hm?” he said, patting her encouragingly on the back. Miria jolted before nodding and exiting the room, shooting Lysander a withering smile on the way out. Joseph took that opportunity to join Lysander by the counter, pouring hot water onto the used tea bag in his cup from the almost empty pot. He stirred in a single sugar and took a long sip, letting out a satisfied ‘ah’ at the end.

“Lysander, I hope you’ve been well, son. I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, leaning a casual hip against the counter facing Lysander. It was true, the two of them hadn’t been fully in the same room for several weeks, not since the incident.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been great, sir,” he said.

“My daughter tells me you still keep pets?”

“Yes! Still have Bingley and the cats.”

“The companionship must be lovely.”

“For sure, for sure. I’m never bored, anyways!”

“Ah, that’s excellent, wouldn’t want you to have too much time for thinking about unpleasant things.”

The comment was strange, but it tensed Lysander’s shoulders, Joseph’s tone sending a wave of discomfort down his spine.

“Mm, no, for sure not,” Lysander mumbled.

“Excellent. Well, you have a good day, son. Perhaps we can discuss your ideas for the spring layouts tomorrow?” And then he was gone, without waiting for an answer. Lysander crumbled against the counter, the apple threatening to make a reappearance as his stomach roiled. Joseph had never before wanted to seek his personal opinions about anything regarding the company, and their exchange just now had felt fraught with some underlying meaning that Lysander wasn’t sure he fully understood, especially because Lysander had been avoiding the older man for two solid weeks. Shaking himself to physically release the nerves, he dropped the apple core and dirty paper towels in the garbage by the door and exited to his office. He caught a brief glimpse of Miria in her own corner office hunched over her desk, scribbling down something, her hair now tidied back into a tight french braid.

Not knowing what to say to her after the run in with her father, he continued to the long conference room that doubled as his office, which he shared with the rest of his team. The other two looked as though they had just arrived, coats slung haphazardly over the backs of their desk chairs, chatting amiably over doughnuts from a local shop.

“Ah, morning Lysander!” Sam greeted, her hand raising in a wave. Her shoulder length brown hair was tied into a quick ponytail. He knew she had several younger siblings at home who she had to take care of, so she always came to work looking slightly dishevelled. Blair, the final member of their team, usually ended up dragging Sam to the washroom and untangling her short stick straight hair into something more work ready on the days they had presentations.

“Good morning,” Blair said with a small nod. Her long black hair hung to the middle of her back, waves perfectly styled and bangs tidily clipped back from her face with bobby pins.

“Morning, ladies,” he said in reply, throwing his own rain jacket onto the back of his chair. He felt boneless as he collapsed into his seat. He heard the clipping of heels on the linoleum and looked up to see Blair hovering next to his desk.

“For you,” she said before placing a doughnut wrapped in a napkin on the corner of his desk.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, not having the stomach to force down more food. Vaguely he wondered why all the women in his life kept trying to feed him. He wasn’t that hopeless.

“You’re such a mother hen, Blair,” Sam teased.

“It just felt rude to not bring him anything,” Blair grumbled in return, “Besides neither of you ever bother to eat at work. You’re like machines.”

Both Sam and he had a habit of simply forgetting about food when they got into the groove of things, spending more time arguing over placements than focusing on their demanding stomachs. He had a feeling that Sam was used to hunger, though he had never asked her before. Blair, on the other hand, kept their office running, feeding them and cleaning up after them, groaning and grousing the entire time. The two women spent much of their after work hours together, which he knew from overheard conversations between them. After a few more teasing barbs passed between the three, they hunkered down and started work, sharing their ideas and rough sketches with each other over the conference table. They each handled different sections of the country, Sam focusing her talents on the South where the heat would begin to creep steadily closer to unbearable and Blair handling the opposite--temperate areas where the temperatures barely crept above fifty all year round. Lysander worked with the happy medium--such as their own district--where seasons passed into seasons fluidly and the rainy season was upon them with March ticking over to April. They always passed their work around for fresh perspectives before presenting it for review, though.

Much of their time passed in companionable silence and focused chit chat until close to the end of the day when there was a small knock on the glass door leading into their office. Lysander glanced up from the sketch he was working on, brainstorming ideas in the margins. His work tended to get messy because he would continue on one single sketch, drawing arrows and writing notes when his ideas changed. Miria stood in the doorway, smiling nervously.

“Hey hey, Miria!” Sam called from her desk, “Time to go home, already?”

“Mm, I came to get Lys, so he wouldn’t work himself too hard again,” Miria admitted with a small laugh. Sam let out a sound that could only be classified as a guffaw, silencing only when she noticed Blair glaring at her.

“You have no room to laugh, Samantha,” Blair scolded, already collecting her bag from her feet and shutting down her equipment.

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Sam complained, begrudgingly following suit when Blair came to stand next to her desk and tapped her foot expectantly.

“It’s your name, Samantha,” Blair said with teasing emphasis. Lysander also stood from his seat, stretching his back and hearing a few pops run down his spine. Miria stepped aside to allow his two coworkers to leave, and they both said quick farewells amidst their continued bickering.

“Hey, Mir, how was your day?” he asked as he reached her position in the hall. She smiled up at him and they walked together to the elevator bank. They arrived just in time to see Blair and Sam disappear behind elevator doors.

“It went well, I think! I got a lot done, anyways,” Miria replied. She was always vague when he asked her about work things, mostly because she knew he wouldn’t understand half of what she said. “And yours?”

“Same. Started the new layouts and whatnot. Got into a small tiff with Sam cause she hated what I did with the paper products aisle for some reason. Still not sure why,” he admitted.

She giggled a bit behind her hand, “Sam always gets so feisty about things.”

“Pft, you’re not wrong.”

“Anyways, Lys, do you wanna join me for dinner tonight? My treat!” she asked as they descended back to the lobby. She looked at him hopefully.

“Uh, I can’t tonight, Mir. I’m sorry. I promised someone that I would meet up with them now,” he said. Normally, he would drop just about any obligation to hang out with Miria, but he was honestly terrified of not making an appointment with Skittles. He would feel the same about postponing a meeting with Red.

“Oh, well, that’s fine, maybe next time, yeah?”

“Of course next time, you goof,” he said with a smile. “What about the day after tomorrow?”

“Ah, that’s Wednesday, Lys.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. Then Thursday it is, okay?” Wednesdays belonged to Joseph. They had a weekly nonnegotiable father/daughter dinner that night. Even when Lysander had been young and living with them, he had been excluded from the Wednesday evening tradition, sent to his room with a plate from the kitchen and told to stay put. Miria would often come to his room afterwards and tell him about it, so he wouldn’t feel too left out.

“That’ll be nice. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lys. Get some rest, please?” she pleaded as she faced him on the sidewalk outside the office. She would head right, deeper into the city to her penthouse apartment, and he had to go left for his meeting with Skittles at a small Mexican restaurant five blocks away, near the outskirts.

“I will, I will. Don’t worry so much, Mir,” he responded, wanting to reach out and hug her like he would have as a child but not wanting to overstep. All physical contact between them had been rather limited since his clumsy confession to her a year ago. Any emotional tension had long ago evaporated, but he still worried about giving her the wrong impression through touch.

“Bye bye, Lys.”

“Bye!”

They waved to each other and set off in their own directions. He couldn’t resist glancing back at her one more time and just saw her golden hair disappear around the nearest corner. Sighing heavily, he continued his walk to his meeting. Tucking his hands deep into his jacket pockets, he passed crowds of people waiting in line for their designated food vouchers on the next block. A woman thumped into his shoulder while looking down and rolling her sleeve back over her barcode tattoo, folding the paper slips into her pocket with excessive care. He apologized to her, but she was too distracted to return it as she hustled away to her next destination, which Lysander could only guess would be Campbell’s Grocery. He was due for his next round of vouchers soon as well, and he made a mental note to do so the following day after work before Red showed up.

The rest of the walk went smoothly, the towering skyscrapers melting into squatter more ramshackle buildings as he neared the meeting place. The restaurant stood sandwiched between an old laundromat and a pawn shop. As he opened the door, a wave of cumin and frying oil hit his nostrils. The host perked up from his position by the door, leaping around his podium with a handheld scanner. Restaurants were becoming more of a luxury as work dried up and people began to cluster tighter into the city center. Lysander quickly allowed himself to be scanned as he glanced past the host to look for Skittles. He spotted him sitting in a booth near the back, a bowl of chips and salsa already placed in front of him. Skittles raised a hand in greeting once Lysander got closer. A trumpet wailed from the tinny speakers overhead, an old mariachi recording adding atmosphere.

“Took you long enough,” Skittles grunted as Lysander took the booth seat opposite. The black vinyl crackled beneath his weight as he scooted into place. Skittles was not a large man in height, but he more than made up for it in muscle.

“I left as soon as I could,” Lysander said, though that was a bit of a fib. He probably would have continued to work had it not been for Miria.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re like,” the fence waved him off with a grumble, tan skin pulling taut over his knuckles as he rapped them on the wooden table between them. The two of them had been friends for over a year now, after Lysander had had a drunken binge following Miria’s rejection. Skittles had been trying to work, but Lysander had ended up spilling the entire sordid affair onto his unsuspecting shoulders when he sat next to him at the bar. “Anyway, did you find what you were looking for?” He asked the question while dunking a chip as deep into the salsa as possible, pulling it out with a pile of tomatoes on top and popping it into his mouth.

“Um, yes?” he said tentatively, not looking forward to the conversation to come.

Skittles raised an eyebrow, brown eyes wary. “Why do you sound like that? Did something happen?”

“Mm, well, you see, what happened was I got someone to take the job,” he hedged. Narrowed eyes glared back at him from across the table.

“Look, man, I want to help you, but if you’re gonna get me into some shit, then I’m out, got it?” the fence said, munching on another chip. Skittles had been invaluable to the process of finding Red, teaching Lysander all the codes that he needed to know in order to attract someone of her profession. However, Skittles himself was not Shifted, which served him well in his job pawning black market goods to city folks. He had an aunt and uncle and cousins who had been marked as Shifted when he was young, being saved from the same fate only by the degree of separation in the familial relationship. Lysander often suspected that many of the “outside” goods Skittles dealt with came from those same family members though.

Lysander was saved from immediately responding by a waiter arriving at their table and taking their orders. After the waiter assured them that their food would be out soon, silence descended between them once more. Grabbing a chip to keep his hands busy, Lysander nibbled on the corner of it, nerves jangling in his stomach. No matter how long they had been friends, he still had some hesitance in how to talk to Skittles and how far he could push their relationship.

“It’s not like that, I swear. It’s just, uh, who I got to take the job that I’m worried about admitting to you,” Lysander said to the tortilla chip in his hand, words flying from him in a hurried jumble. A quick glance up at his companion showed Skittles waving the conversation along, a look of limited patience crossing his face. “It’s the Red Morn. The Red Morn took my job,” he said quickly before he could lose the gumption to say it. A cracking sound resounded through their back corner of the restaurant, crumbs littering Skittles lap from the tortilla chip that he had just decimated. Complete shock lit up the fence’s features.

“Who did what now? You’re fucking kidding.”

“Um, nope. She came to my apartment and everything.”

“She? What? Oh my god, Lysander, do you have a bloody death wish or something?”

“No, I swear. I didn’t even know it was her until the deal was made!”

“Holy fuck, you’re so dumb,” Skittles mumbled into the hand that he had smacked himself in the forehead with.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy, just what I needed right now,” Lysander said petulantly.

“Oh please, don’t be such a baby. Ugh, okay, well, I guess there’s nothing for it now. What terms did you agree to?”

“Well, she’s gonna come to my place again tomorrow night to discuss what she’s been observing so far. She said to give her two weeks and then we could make a plan of attack.”

“Uh-huh, and what about payment?”

“She said she doesn’t charge until the job is done.”

“...What.” There was no question, just the flat word and a flat look.

“Yeah, I didn’t get it either,” Lysander admitted. Skittles took a deep breath in through his nose and let the exhale gust loudly out from his mouth. From Skittle’s reactions, Lysander was beginning to think that the whole exchange was unusual. “I guess that’s not normally how it works? I thought it seemed weird, but it’s not like I know what the hell I’m doing, so I just kinda went with it. She was very persuasive. Plus I’m desperate.”

“I know,” Skittles replied to the babbling, “It’s just strange. Why would she even agree to this whole thing in the first place? I didn’t think you could convince anyone to take this job, honestly, but we’re bros, so I wanted to help.”

Lysander glared at him but silently agreed with his assessment. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but Red’s acquiescence was strange. Originally, it had seemed that she was trying to blow him off or convince him otherwise, but she had done a quick about face.

Why?

Shoving those thoughts from his mind, he picked up his fork and started poking at the enchiladas that had just been delivered to their table.

“Alright, Lysander, so here’s what you do, you just let her handle everything. You are way out of your depth here, and frankly, so am I, so just listen to whatever she says. Don’t even pretend to have an opinion, man. She’s the boss here, and if we’re gonna get through this weird ass shit that you wanna do, then I think that’s our only option,” Skittles said gruffly through a mouthful of beans and cheese.

Jabbing off a corner of tortilla, Lysander replied, “Yeah, I kinda thought so too.”

After the meal, Lysander unfolded the paper credits to cover his end of the bill from his wallet and made sure the waiter saw where they were putting the money under a bottle of hot sauce before they made their way back outside. The air had grown chill during the hour or so they had spent inside, and Lysander dug his hand deep into his thin jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind coming off the nearby lake. Their city butted right up against one of the few surviving natural freshwater lakes on the continent, making it an ideal location for holing up against the Spread that plagued the land: Lake Erie. The Barrier that kept the Spread at bay was easily positioned in the water using large pylons, and the lake also provided a natural barricade against any migration from the north--not that many could survive such a trek--which sounded cruel, but with limited resources, it was merely easier to care for the people who already resided within their rather large Barrier. The chances of anyone on the outside being admitted once exposed to the Spread was also so close to zero as to be entirely negligible. Lysander had certainly never heard of such a thing happening.

“Hey, man, this whole thing? I don’t really think it’s gonna work, but I’m here anytime you wanna vent about it,” Skittles said while already moving away down the sidewalk, going farther into the city outskirts. “But don’t forget that if things don’t work out that you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, thanks, Skittles,” Lysander mumbled in reply. He thought he heard a low “crazy ass bastard” from Skittles as he crossed the street, but he brushed it off with a chuckle. He felt grateful for the other man, regardless of how much he terrified him.

Jogging toward the train station, he slipped into the queue waiting to scan themselves into the station. Ruffling his hair, he fidgeted from foot to foot as the line moved at what felt like an impossibly slow pace. His impatience stemmed largely from his worry about Bingley needing to be let out, but he also just felt generally uncomfortable once more in the crowd.

“So, who was your friend?” a voice whispered over his shoulder. Jumping away and crouching into himself to calm his racing heart, he looked up to see a brunette woman leaning over him looking concerned. Several other people grouped around him and made sure he was well before returning to their own devices. Paranoid, he continued to look around for a familiar face, only to return to the same brunette. She now appeared annoyed with him, her toe tapping in a pair of black closed heels. Baffled, but also feeling pressured to continue moving, he scanned into the train station and began to walk toward his platform. The same woman kept pace with him after also scanning in just after him.

“You didn’t have to make a scene,” she seethed at him in a frustrated undertone, “I thought you would recognize my voice, friend.”

Startled, he tripped slightly on a scuff in the pavement but caught himself quickly, “Red. What the hell?” he asked in an equally low voice. He hadn’t recognized her, her hair cropped in a smart brown bob and eyes a deep chocolate shade. Now that he knew it was her, though, he could see the familiar line of her cheekbones and nose and the quirk in the corner of her mouth that always made it seem like she was laughing at him. “What are you even doing here?”

“My job. I told you I would be watching him for the next couple weeks,” she said as they boarded the train headed back to Mapleview--the suburb where he lived. They squeezed themselves into a pair of seats near the back of the car where less people had congregated.

“Okay, I get that, but I mean, what are you doing here?” he questioned once more, tacking on a silent ‘with me’ in his head.

“I saw you leave the office and decided to follow you to see what you got up to. Just an idle curiosity,” she said with her signature wave of her hand to brush off his concerns, “It’s not like Joseph Campbell’s going anywhere.”

Rubbing a hand into his forehead, he looked over at her from the corner of his eye. “You told me we were gonna meet up tomorrow night. Why are you following me home now?” He felt inexplicably annoyed with her, like she had snooped on him doing something more private than meeting with Skittles.

“Oh, don’t be like that, friend. I also happen to take this train back home,” she said. Her admittance startled him slightly. He supposed she could be living just outside the Barrier around his suburb, but it was strange to think about Shifted living so close to him. All the whispered rumours among city folk made them feel more like myths than living, breathing people.

“Oh,” he murmured, deflated.

“And we return to my original question, who was your friend?”

“Uh, that was just Skittles,” he replied, exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions burbling around in his stomach.

“Skittles? That’s his name? Really?” she asked, seeming excited by the information.

“I mean, not really. It’s his alias, like yours is Red. He’s a fence.”

“Mm, I see, then what’s his real name?”

A childish wave of embarrassment swept over him for not actually knowing his friend’s name, “What’s yours?” he deflected. Honestly, after spending a year not asking Skittles for his given name, Lysander felt it would be more humiliating to do so now.

“Ah ah, all good things in time, friend,” she smoothly countered.

“Fine. I don’t know his real name. I’m too afraid to ask him,” he said, a blush forming over his face and quickly trailing onto his neck.

“Huh, okay then,” she said simply, “I’ll find out for you, if you like.”

Her nonchalance only further embarrassed him, seeming to drive home how foolish she thought his anxiety was. A sort of ‘If I can do it, why can’t you’ attitude that had always plagued him when discussing his fears with other people.

“No, I can find out myself, thanks,” he said.

“Fair enough,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders, dismissing the topic as quickly as she had brought it up. They rode the rest of the distance in silence, Red humming a tune under her breath that Lysander didn’t recognize. The farther from the city they got without Red exiting, the more his ire grew. The feeling sprung from a toxic mix of anxiety and annoyance with her meddling attitude, and he had a sneaking suspicion she was messing with him. As they neared his station, he stood to get closer to the doors and she followed. He ground his teeth.

“There’s no way this is your stop,” he said to her. She raised a brow at him.

“And why is that?”

Biting his lip, he moved quickly off the train and through the station, ignoring the question in the presence of the crowds. She followed obediently. Once they were clear of the station and moving across the grassy expanse toward his apartment complex, he confronted her again.

“Because Shifted don’t live around here,” he said, gesturing to his sleepy residential area. Another station--the final one on the line--laid just slightly further down that would have put her closer to the downtown area and the Barrier. Lysander lived on the opposite side of town, closer to the city proper. All residences on the other side of the downtown district had been emptied within the last few years as a means of shrinking the Barrier down to more manageable levels. Lysander had once stood looking out at the empty stretch of road that began just next to a defunct gas station. The Spread had soon infected the area, the first touches of it hitting the buildings and crumbling brick, mortar and concrete into dust, the remains settling onto the grass like sand on a beach. Trees and other plants grew unnaturally out of control, jutting mutations popping up on most of them as the natural world succumbed to the sickness that the Spread brought through. He struggled to imagine any living person residing out there, but he figured that there must be someone, namely Red.

“Maybe I just like your company, friend,” she teased with a smirk, “But you’re right. I don’t live around here. I enjoy the exercise though.”

He highly doubted that was her real reasoning but talking to her felt like pressing against a brick wall, futile and frustrating. She probably had another job lined up in the area or something, so he dropped his questioning.

“Well, have a nice walk then. See you tomorrow,” he said with a wave as he left off in the direction of his apartment. She merely flicked her fingers over her shoulder in a simulacrum of a wave and continued walking toward the road leading into town.

Arriving home, surrounded by his pets, he felt a release of the tension that he had been carrying since his first meeting with Red the day before. Bingley hopped around his feet, shepherding him to the back door while the cats meowed plaintively from various pieces of furniture, namely his couch and the tops of his bookshelves. Letting his dog out, he let out a sigh, uncinched his shoulders from his neck and turned off his thoughts for a bit.

Alone in her apartment, Mirianna Campbell propped herself in front of the vanity in her bathroom. She poked at her lips, picturing herself swiping her mother’s favorite shade of pink lipstick over them Wednesday before her dinner with her father. Closing her eyes against the image, she shut off the light and made her way back into her bedroom. She wondered what Lysander was up to, remembering his apologetic face as he made his excuses for not having dinner together. A strand of hair fell from behind her ear to rest against her cheek, and she pushed it back into place aggressively, feeling several strands pluck from her head at the abuse. Wrapping herself tightly in the thick comforter on her bed, she settled herself in with a novel and spent the night escaping this world in favor of another.