Jack takes a few steps away from the kiva entrance and squats by the pack of overnight supplies he brought. He shoves around snacks and water containers, mumbling angrily, “Stupid bitch. Call me a child? Can you believe she called me that, Zeke?”

Of course, the age thing shouldn’t bother him. And deep down, it really doesn’t. Not all that much, at least. He knows he’s young. Harris won’t let him forget it. It’s not even the disrespect. You get used to that when dealing with mercs and merchants all the time. It’s the other things she said. She’s from Fareburne. The Fold—the folks who were apparently his people—murdered everyone she knew.

He raises his hand to run it through his hair again, but stops himself. Zeke never responded. Not even a chirp. Back at the entrance to the kiva—the repurposed training room—Zeke hasn’t moved.

“Zeke? Hey! What’re you still doin’ over there? I said let’s go.”

Zeke looks up at Jack and tilts his head to the side, pointing into the hole.

“Yeah, I am gonna leave her down there. Stop messin’ around and come on. What do you want from me? She’s got the light cord. And she’s smart. She’ll figure a way out.” He digs in the pack until he finds a cloth-wrapped packet of food. “I’ll leave her some breakfast from the pack. She’ll be fine.”

Zeke closes his eyes and puffs out an exasperated breath. He rises to stand on his hind legs, but he doesn’t come to Jack. He just stands there, eyes closed, his back remarkably straight for a monkey. Unnaturally straight, actually. A moment later, Zeke drops back to his haunches and stares at Jack with his odd slitted eyes. He points to the kiva entrance again.

“Shit’s sake, Zeke, what’s got you in a twist?” Jack tosses Corva’s breakfast back on the bag and rises from his squat. “Fine. I’ll look in the stupid hole at the stupid girl.”

Jack doesn’t get more than a step back in Zeke’s direction before Corva pops up from the hole.

Holy hell. She jumped it?

He doesn’t get a chance to think much more than that. She’s on him in an instant. Her forearm shoves against his chest, pinning him between her metal bracer and the tunnel wall. The tip of her carpenter’s nail rests a hair’s width from the center of his throat.

“What’s that you were saying about leaving?”

“Shit shit shit! No. Wait. Jokin’. Sa-um—saaaaandwich?”

Jack knits his brow, confused by his own stammering. The words come out panicked and crackled. It sounds like he can’t tell if he’s offering Corva a sandwich or asking for one himself. His hands are down at his sides, uselessly trembling, not offering any form of defense. Nor are they pointing at the cloth-wrapped meal sitting on top of his pack. His mind spins, hopelessly trying to figure a way out of being killed by this merciless killer of a girl.

By chance, his wild-eyed gaze returns to her face. In the flurry of panicked fumbling, a single rational thought squeezes to the front of his mind. Something’s different. She’s different.

Corva’s fiery emerald eyes still have the wrathful glint that Jack’s gotten used to seeing during her fits. Only now, she doesn’t have that bloodthirsty smile. Sure, she’s still smiling and it’s kind of creepy, but it’s not that smile.

Also, he’s not dead.

That carpenter’s nail in her hand is touching his throat, but it’s not in his throat. Her arm bracer digs into his chest, but he hasn’t been crushed like that crater down in the kiva. She might actually be in control. Awake.

Jack tests the waters. “You’re—you’re talking!”

Corva’s grin widens. “Took you long enough.” She takes a step back, releasing him from the wall. “My, you’re slow. You should’ve seen the look on your face. ‘Suh suh suh—sandwich?’ Ha! What does that even mean?”

“Oh fuck off. It’s the best I could come up with. I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Jack rubs his shoulder where he’d struck the wall. Fingers, toes, arms, legs, torso, head … pain. Alright. Still alive.

“But, wait.” His eyes narrow as he looks at Corva. “How did you—how are you doing it? I pulled the rope. Hell, you didn’t even need the rope to get out.”

“I’m not sure. I was angry you left. Wanted to get out as quick as possible. Mostly to beat the mess out of you. Then I felt it—well, him. Zeke. I knew exactly where he was without even looking up. I still know where he is. And I feel, um …”

“What? Stronger? Faster?”

“Yeah, those things. And like throwing up. I don’t know. I still can’t—”

Corva’s eyes roll back and she collapses into Jack. The nail clinks across the stone floor. Caught by surprise—and not at all capable of managing the difference in their body sizes—he rolls her off him and tries to lower her to the ground as gently as possible. She lands on her side with a thud.

Jack stands straight for a moment, but it doesn’t last. He slouches back against the wall, and the aftermath of his adrenaline dump starts to set in.

“Fuuuck that was close.”

He takes a few minutes to slow his breathing and regain something that resembles good composure. Zeke quietly sits near Jack and Corva, as if keeping vigil. Jack looks down at Corva, crumpled on the floor at his feet. Her pose kind of looks like a reenactment of the fossilized skeletons he sometimes sees when exploring the canyon. Ooh … that can’t be comfortable.

Squatting down, he rolls Corva to her back and straightens all her limbs so she looks just a little bit less like a discarded ragdoll. He reaches back to the pack and moves the sandwich aside so he can pull out the jacket he’d brought for the chilly hike back to Bule. Wadding the jacket into a flattened bundle, he places it under her head.

Of course, her head won’t sit straight. Friggin’ girl is disagreeable even in her sleep.

He spends a full minute trying to center her head on his makeshift pillow, but it keeps rolling to one side or the other. Eventually, he gives up. Flopping back to sit against the wall, Jack notices that Zeke has been watching him. A hint of a smile stretches across his little primate face.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. We’re here later than usual and the sun’s gotten higher. The walk back’ll be hot an’ I don’t wanna carry more weight than I have to. Figured that if the jacket was under her head, it wouldn’t get blown away by the wind.”

Zeke raises an eyebrow, skepticism oozing from his entire posture.

“Cut it out. Whatever it is you’re thinkin’, you’re wrong. I’m just—no. Not gonna argue with you about this. We’ve been at this since we closed last night. S’almost eight now. Only got a couple hours before we need to be up in Bule to catch the morning drunks. You do whatever you want.” Jack leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I’m takin’ a nap.”

Only he doesn’t. Not really. She’s from Fareburne.