What in the world just happened?

Jack blinks, trying to make sense of the scene before him. Corva’s body sags, held up only by the hairy merc’s sausage hands. Something’s not right. This is not the same brutal expert fighter from a few days ago. That girl would’ve torn these two apart with hardly any effort. Downed by a diversion trap and a head-butt? Ridiculous. Even Jack saw that one coming.

Maybe she’s not fully recovered. Perhaps she’s got some kind of internal damage that can’t be seen. Nah. Lyia woulda noticed somethin’ like that when she checked.

Then what is it? Is she only an unstoppable killer when Zeke is near? Speaking of which, where did that little monkey run off to? He’s supposed to be here, helping with the reopening. It’s not like him to run off like that.

A voice from the front of the bar interrupts Jack’s train of thought. “Whoo. Wow, Jackie. That’s some security detail you’ve got there. Really impressive.”

Harris. Shoulda guessed. Jack focuses his attention on continuing to wipe the same clean spot on the bar top. “Mornin’, Hairless. These two sandpounders belong to you, I take it?”

The smug bastard smiles and tilts his head. With his beak-like nose, his pose makes him look a bit like a curious bird. “Belong? No, kid. Freelancers. Can’t do a proper security audit using anyone you know.”

“Security audit?”

“Just a routine check of your security, Jackie-Boy. Gotta make sure this place is suitable for being reopened. With what went down a few days ago, we can’t be too careful.” The militia chief strolls up to the bar, hands clasped behind his back like some kind of official inspector.

He’s not. He’s just some old bald dude. An old bald dude who runs the gang that defends Bule.

Jack feels his ears heat up. He squeezes the rag in his hand, trying to keep his cool. “‘Suitable for being reopened’? Bullshit. You ain’t never done a security check like this before. You’re trying to shank me down. Well it ain’t happenin’. You’re not gettin’ this bar, not ever.” He points his nose over to the two mercs, the hairy one still holding Corva. “An’ if these two ain’t paying customers, they gotta go.”

Harris leans on the bar with a single elbow. “First of all, it’s ‘shake me down.’ Secondly, who’s gonna make ’em? Your bouncer looks to be down for the count.” He pauses, and a tinge of fear raises the small hairs on the back of Jack’s neck. Harris is right. Without Slim’s gadgets or Corva’s ability to fight—well, the fighting ability he thought she had—he’s basically flapping in the wind.

Smiling, the bald militia chief rotates his face toward his “freelancers.” He keeps his eyes on Jack, though. “You two can fuck off. See Gorm at the swap shop to get your payment.”

Sausage Hands releases Corva’s arms and she crumples to the floor, her eyes half-open and dazed. Together, the freelance mercs mosey their way out the front door with a strut that Jack would find funny if he weren’t so pissed.

Jack doesn’t wait for them to get out. He hops the bar and sets to work on getting Corva’s discombobulated mess of limbs unfolded so she can lay flat. Taking the rag he’d been using to wipe the bar, he rolls it into a makeshift pillow and jams it under her head.

A cold compress for her forehead would probably be a good idea. There’s a second rag on the other side of the bar, the last clean one he’s got until Zeke comes back. He could wrap that around some ice or something. He stands, looking for the rag.

Harris is right in front of him, blocking his view. “Look, Jackie. It’s no secret that I think it’s a mistake to let you run this place. But I’ve made peace with it. I really have. I’m not asking for much. Just let the militia install peepers in the main bar area. It’s the best thing for the whole town.”

“It’s Jack, Hairless. And you’re in my way.” He steps around Harris and clambers up a nearby barstool. Leaning over the bar, he gropes around. That other rag is hanging right around there somewhere. Ah-ha! Got it.

“I told you—” He leans a bit farther over the bar and scoops a handful of ice in the rag. “I told you last time. I don’t need your creepy little spy cams.”

With the rag wrapped around the ice, Jack hops back to the floor and kneels at Corva’s side. He rests the makeshift ice pack on Corva’s head and glares up at Harris.

“A bar’s reputation is built on trust and discretion.” It feels weird to hear the old man’s words coming out in his voice. But truth is truth. Doesn’t matter who says it. “Your ‘peepers’ would shut this place down an’ you know it.”

“Jackie—”

Jack hardens his glare at Harris.

“Sorry. Jack. Look around. Your place is basically shut down already.” He points down at Corva. “And your ‘security detail’ just got bested by a pair of half-wit road mercs. You’re on a tightrope and I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a net.”

“Why don’t you just—”

There’s a clatter up in the ceiling trusswork. Half a second later, Zeke swings down and lands on the bar top. Breathing heavily, he looks down at Jack, his eyes wide, emphatic.

Jack can feel his back teeth grinding as he speaks. “Where in the world have you been? You’re supposed to be helping me with the reopening. You’re—”

There’s suddenly a hard, crushing pain in Jack’s arm. He looks down and sees Corva’s hand clenched around his wrist. Her eyes are wide open, deep green, defiant, and dangerous.

She stares at Jack, almost through him. “They’re almost here.”

Confused, Jack looks up from her, searching Zeke’s and Harris’s faces for answers. “Who’s almost here?”

Harris shrugs. No help there. However, Zeke bounces on the bar. He alternates between pointing up to the ceiling and the front door of the bar.

“Dammit, Zeke. How is it that you know what she’s talkin’ about? This would be so much easier if you could talk.” Jack tries to stand, but Corva’s grip on his wrist isn’t letting him go anywhere.

She pulls his arm, yanking him down closer to her, nose-to-nose. She’s still staring through him as she whispers, but her words are absolutely clear.

“It’s a raid.”

Jack bolts upright as far as her viselike grip on his arm will allow. “A raid?”

This soon? Both sides in the war have raid parties that regularly scan for folks using soulmancy, even in imbued tech. He and Lyia were super careful when healing Corva, so that couldn’t be it. There wasn’t that much imbued tech used in the bar fight a couple days ago, was there? The beads used in Plan B were piddly little boosters. Jack never even bothered to tell Harris that he used them—well, one of them.

Just how powerful was the imbued tech that Boneless Joe used?

Jack tilts his head up to Harris. “There’s no raid comin’, right? You’d get notice on your comm from the lookout, wouldn’t ya?”

Harris turns away and taps the comm kneak behind his ear. He speaks under his breath, so Jack can’t really make out what he’s saying. In the meantime, Zeke hops down from the bar to Jack’s shoulder. Between the onslaught of chirps and the pulling of Jack’s hair and ear, it’s clear that he wants them to get out. Now.

The militia chief turns back around. “Lookout says that there isn’t much going on.” He points at Zeke. “They just said that this guy was sitting up there with them and suddenly started freaking out. Almost wrecked the place trying to get them to look in the scope. And when they did a scan with the scope, there wasn’t anything to be seen.”

Jack twists his neck to look at Zeke on his shoulder. The little monkey isn’t letting up. Hopping. Pulling. Pointing. It’s not like him to get this bent out of shape over nothing. Jack looks back to Harris. “Much as I hate to say it, your crew at the lookout is wrong. Zeke’s got a sense for this kind of thing. We should make our way to the siege caves. Gimme a hand with her?”

Harris scoffs. “You want me to trust a concussed girl and your bar pet over the crew I trained myself? Who’s spouting bullshit now? The scopes at that lookout give us a full view of the area around this town. We’ve been scanning hard ever since your snafu. That big-armed one was leaking a lot of juice from that tech he was using. If my crew sees anything, you’ll hear the raid sirens going and I’ll get immediate notification.”

He puts a hand up to his ear. “Do you hear that? No siren. And my comms? Completely silent.” He lowers his hand, uncharacteristically sincere. “Look, we know they’re coming. Just not right n—” He stops and his facial expression completely transforms to a wrinkled look of concern.

He taps his comm kneak. “What? Are you sure? You just said—how far off? Yes.” Harris pauses to cast a suspicious scowl at Jack and Zeke. “Of course you trigger the siren, dammit!”

Bule’s raid siren echoes across the canyon. Its sound pierces every nook and cranny. Jack can feel it reverberating in his chest. He exchanges a look with Zeke, then turns back to Harris.

Jack lifts his free hand and cups his ear. “Hey Hairless, do you hear somethin’? It might be a siren.”