#food truck manufacturers near me

[schickwheel]

Food Van Manufacturers in Delhi

In the ever-evolving landscape of culinary entrepreneurship, food van manufacturers in Delhi, transforming traditional vans into dynamic mobile kitchens that redefine the gastronomic experience. These visionary craftsmen blend innovation, functionality, and creativity to engineer mobile culinary hubs that bring gourmet delights to unexpected corners and bustling streets alike. Let’s explore the fascinating world of Food Van Manufacturers, where each van represents a fusion of culinary artistry and engineering mastery.

Innovative Design and Customization: Customization of food van manufacturers specialize in turning culinary visions into reality through innovative design and meticulous customization. They collaborate closely with chefs and entrepreneurs to understand their unique culinary concepts and operational needs. Whether it’s a sleek espresso van, a vibrant taco truck, or a gourmet burger mobile kitchen, these manufacturers meticulously design each van to optimize space, workflow efficiency, and aesthetic appeal. From the layout of cooking stations to the integration of high-performance kitchen equipment and storage solutions, every detail is tailored to enhance the operational capabilities and customer appeal of the food van.

Integration of Cutting-Edge Technology: Operating a mobile kitchen requires seamless integration of cutting-edge technology to ensure efficiency and performance. Food Van Manufacturers incorporate state-of-the-art appliances, energy-efficient systems, and advanced ventilation solutions into their designs. These technological innovations not only streamline food preparation and service but also prioritize safety, compliance with health regulations, and sustainability. By leveraging the latest advancements in culinary technology, food van manufacturers empower chefs and entrepreneurs to deliver exceptional culinary experiences on the move.

Visual Identity and Branding Excellence: Beyond functionality, Food Van Manufacturers understand the importance of visual identity and branding in capturing the attention of customers. They offer comprehensive branding solutions, including custom exterior graphics, vibrant color schemes, and logo integration that align with the client’s brand identity. Each food van becomes a mobile billboard, attracting passersby and creating a memorable visual impression. This strategic approach to branding enhances customer recognition, fosters brand loyalty, and contributes to the overall success of the culinary venture.

Navigating Regulatory Requirements: Operating a food van involves navigating a complex landscape of regulatory requirements, including health codes, safety standards, and licensing procedures. Food Van Manufacturers possess in-depth knowledge of these regulations and ensure that each van complies with local and national guidelines. They guide clients through the process of obtaining necessary permits and licenses, providing invaluable support to ensure legal compliance and operational readiness. This proactive approach allows culinary entrepreneurs to focus on delivering exceptional food and service while adhering to regulatory requirements.

Sustainability and Environmental Responsibility: In an era where sustainability is increasingly valued, Food Van Manufacturers are committed to integrating eco-friendly practices into their designs. They prioritize the use of sustainable materials, energy-efficient appliances, and waste reduction strategies to minimize environmental impact. By adopting sustainable practices, food van manufacturers not only contribute to global conservation efforts but also appeal to environmentally conscious consumers who seek responsible dining options.

Comprehensive Support and Service Excellence: Food Van Manufacturers offer comprehensive support and service throughout the lifecycle of the van, from initial design and fabrication to ongoing maintenance and upgrades. They provide training programs for operators to ensure proficiency in operating equipment and maintaining hygiene standards. Additionally, manufacturers offer responsive technical support and repair services to minimize downtime and optimize operational efficiency. This commitment to service excellence underscores their dedication to client satisfaction and long-term success in the competitive mobile food industry.

In conclusion, Food Van Manufacturers are the visionary architects behind the mobile culinary revolution, shaping the way we experience food on the move. Through innovative design, technological integration, branding excellence, regulatory expertise, sustainability initiatives, and comprehensive support services, these manufacturers empower culinary entrepreneurs to bring their culinary dreams to life and delight customers with unique and memorable dining experiences. As the popularity of mobile food continues to grow, Food Van Manufacturers will continue to innovate and redefine the boundaries of mobile gastronomy, ensuring that each food van represents a fusion of culinary artistry and engineering ingenuity.

Original Source: food van manufacturers

[nilecraftfoodtrailer]

NileCraft Food Trailer Manufacturing

Address- 974 Murfreesboro Pike, Ste 201, Nashville, TN, USA 37217

Phone- +1 615-933-5545

Email- sales@nilecraftfoodtrailer.com

Website- https://nilecraftfoodtrailer.com

At NileCraft Food Trailer Manufacturing, we don't just build food trailers; we craft culinary dreams on wheels. As a leading manufacturer and dealership, we have redefined the art of mobile restaurant, turning visions into reality. Our story began with a passion for innovation and a commitment to delivering top-tier food trailer solutions. Each of our trailers is a canvas waiting to be customized, a stage where your culinary prowess shines. Discover the world of NileCraft Food Trailer, where food meets mobility, and dreams are served on a plate!

Business Hours- Mon - Sat: 9AM - 6PM.

Payment Methods- Cash, Financing, Cashier Check.

Owner Name- Fady Nagib

Find On-

Facebook-       https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61550952813247

Google Map-  https://maps.app.goo.gl/EMQQSRGUcJbeYNr46

[customconcessions]

Worried to find the best Food Truck Builder Near Me? if yes, you are at the right place. "Custom Concessions" is a leading and well known manufacturer and supplier of the food truck and trailer. We offer the right product to our customers to suit their requirement and budget. Place your order right now!

[gssoftwareposts]

Top Commercial Kitchen Equipment Manufacturer in Kolkata: Quality and Innovation

Running a successful food business not only requires passion, perseverance, and a keen understanding of your customers' tastes but also the right Kitchen equipment for producing the best quality food. Shiv Shakti, a leading commercial kitchen equipment manufacturer in Kolkata, offers a comprehensive range of products that cater to the diverse needs of the food industry. From bakery equipment to gas pipelines, we provide high-quality, durable,  solutions designed to enhance the productivity of any commercial kitchen.

Let's have a look at our comprehensive range of kitchen equipment, particularly industrial cooking equipment. From bakery ovens and grills to high-capacity fryers and versatile food processors, we cater to every aspect of modern food preparation. and streamline operations in busy kitchens.

Types of Equipment :

Display Counter :

The food display counter by Shiv Shakti, constructed of durable materials like stainless steel and glass, is easy to clean, hygienic, and ideal for a variety of food items to be accommodated without overcrowding. The designs of this display food counter are ergonomic with controlling temperature mechanisms like refrigeration or heating elements to ensure that food stays fresh.

Food Cart :

A well-built food cart food truck crafted from sturdy stainless steel for durability comes with an efficient gas burner and ample amount of storage for food ingredients. Shiv Shakti is the best food cart manufacturer in Kolkata that provides high-quality food trucks or thela at an affordable price making it the top choice of Street food vendors in Kolkata.

Coffee Machine :

Coffee lovers will understand that it's not just any coffee machine that can deliver that perfect frothing every time. As the manufacturer of quality Coffee machines, Shiv Shakti uses components like high-grade brass, copper, and BPA-free materials with an advanced brewing system.

Refrigeration equipment :

Commercial glass door refrigerators are made for commercial settings such as cafeterias, convenience stores, etc. Made from sleek metal frames complementing the glass Interior LED lighting is often incorporated to illuminate the food and drinks. Shiv Shakti Commercial Fridge manufacturers, suppliers & exporters in Kolkata also provide double-door commercial refrigerators and 4 door commercial refrigerators.

Bar Equipments :

Shiv Shakti, a leading bar equipment manufacturer in Kolkata specializes in producing and supplying equipment and supplies for bars. Bar Setup like Cocktail Station, Mocktail Station, Blender Station with Sink, Glass Dump, bar mats, plastic stirrer, silver and bakery bar equipment.

Kitchen Exhaust and Gas Pipeline :

Our commercial Kitchen exhaust fan installation plays a crucial role in maintaining air quality and removing smoke, odours, and grease particles generated during cooking. On the other hand Gas pipeline systems withstand the pressure and flow of gas and are manufactured to meet safety standards.

As a food business now, when you look for the best commercial kitchen equipment manufacturer near me Shiv Shakti is here to meet the specific requirements of commercial kitchens, considering factors such as kitchen layout, size, and ventilation needs. A team of experts who can provide guidance and support throughout the selection, installation, and maintenance process.

[trucksandtrailersbiz]

How to Pick the Best Vehicle for Your Food Truck Business

Are you thinking of new business opportunities? Food Trucks might be one of the options and looking at vehicles might take some time. Choosing the best vehicle for your food truck can be hard as there are so many different makes and models. It can be challenging to choose and look for the truck that fits the needs of your mobile food business. You can get a box truck dealer to help you with it or check out “box truck dealerships near me”.

Box trucks and step vans are types of vehicles you should probably be looking at more than others. They are the most popular vehicle choice among food truck owners for good reasons. Step vans are also referred to as “bread trucks” or “multi-stop trucks” which are light-to-medium duty vehicles commonly used for local deliveries. They are also used for a variety of purposes over the years, but they have recently achieved popularity as the best vehicles for food trucks. Step vans are tall enough to allow you to stand up inside and hey have spacious cargo areas for your food preparation equipment because they are closer to the ground than other trucks. They also allow you easy entry and communication with customers.  In addition, they come in a variety of sizes, with cargo areas ranging from 14 feet to as much as 30 feet in length. So you are likely to find a good truck for your business regardless of the food you plan to serve. Remember that the longer truck, the easier it can be to be involved in accidents so choose wisely when it comes to considering the best truck for your needs.

Chassis and Body manufacturers

The chassis is important because the manufacturer that created the body of your truck may not be the same one that created the chassis and most step vans have separate manufacturers for the chassis or frame and the body of the truck.

Truck Length

It is important to keep in mind that length only refers to the cargo area within the truck, that is just the inside and not the total length of the vehicle which is bumper to bumper.

Carrying Capacity

You need to consider the capacity as every truck has a different carrying capacity. When looking for the best vans for your food truck, it is important to have a good idea of how much your equipment weighs to avoid overburdening or damaging your vehicle.

Backdoor Design

The backdoor can make or break your food truck design. For example, a sliding door can reduce the total interior height of your truck and limit where you can put certain pieces of equipment. Look for a truck with swinging doors to save yourself time and money on modification.

Final ThoughtsWe hoped it helped you on having the idea of choosing your design for your food truck. As you continue your search for the truck of your dreams, may you find one that meets all of your mobile food business needs. You can check box truck dealerships near me or get a trusted box truck dealer so won’t make any mistakes.

[sciencespies]

First satellite launch from the UK failed due to an ‘anomaly’

https://sciencespies.com/space/first-satellite-launch-from-the-uk-failed-due-to-an-anomaly/

First satellite launch from the UK failed due to an ‘anomaly’

Virgin Orbit’s LauncherOne rocket and a group of nine satellites it was taking to low-Earth orbit burned up in the atmosphere as the launch failed

Space 10 January 2023

By Alex Wilkins

The LauncherOne rocket at Spaceport Cornwall

Spaceport Cornwall/Virgin Orbit

The first orbital satellite launch from the UK took off from Spaceport Cornwall in Newquay, England but failed to deploy its satellites to orbit. Virgin Orbit’s LauncherOne rocket, which took off attached to a Boeing-747 plane at 10.01pm GMT, began its ascent to orbit after about an hour into the flight, but around 25 minutes later the launcher “suffered an anomaly” and had to abort its mission. The rocket and its satellites burned up in Earth’s atmosphere on reentry.

Thousands of people were gathered near the runway to watch and cheer on the plane, Cosmic Girl, as it took off amid fierce winds and speakers blaring “Start Me Up” by The Rolling Stones. While there may not have been much to see in the skies, there was a festival atmosphere keeping spirits high on the ground, with food trucks and a silent disco lining the runway. After Cosmic Girl left the airport, a large monitor tracked the plane’s progress towards the Irish sea, where it was supposed to deploy the rocket and its payload of nine satellites.

When the LauncherOne rocket was dropped from Cosmic Girl, it began its journey to low-Earth orbit. The first stage successfully took it to about 12,900 kilometres per hour. The second stage accelerated the rocket to its cruise phase at 28,000 kilometres per hour. According to a spokesperson for the UK space agency (UKSA), the rocket reached low-Earth orbit but suffered an “anomaly” which caused it to abort its mission.

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A ripple of groans and mutters of “Oh no” spread through the crowd lining the runway as they learned that the satellite launch was not successful. 

The lost payload included a test satellite from Welsh company Space Forge – which it hoped to use to manufacture unique semiconductors and alloys in orbit – small military communications satellites from the UK Ministry of Defence, a pair of ionospheric monitors launched in a joint US-UK military collaboration, maritime sensing satellites from Scottish company AAC Clyde Space, a European Space Agency GPS-tracker and an imaging satellite jointly launched by Oman and Poland.

For residents from Newquay and the surrounding villages, the spectacle of a satellite launch was not an everyday event. “I was born and brought up down here, I used to come to the airfield and watch all the airshows, so to find out they’re going to be launching satellites from our own backyard is amazing,” says Jon Grigg from St. Newlyn East, a village three miles south of Newquay.

“Nothing like this ever happens in Cornwall,” says a resident from Bodmin, 18 miles from Newquay. 

It was supposed to be an “immense moment of national pride” had the launch been successful, Ian Annett at UKSA told New Scientist before Cosmic Girl had taken off. 

Many hoped that Virgin Orbit’s success would have marked the beginning of an era in which the UK can launch its own satellites, as well as those from other countries, from home turf. The UK’s satellite building industry is second only to the US, but it still relies on foreign public and private launches, such as from NASA or SpaceX, to get its products into orbit.

Launching a satellite into orbit from the UK would have been “our Apollo moment,” said UK science minister George Freeman before the launch. An attempt at launching a satellite is “a very big signal internationally that we’re going to be a big player in the global small satellite launch market,” he says.

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[pillaraggregates]

Best material for raised garden beds

 Fabricate your raised bed with a rot safe sort of wood, like cedar, dark cherry, oak, dark insect, Osage orange, or redwood. Utilize a building materials near me like stones, substantial blocks, blocks, or manufactured stumble. The most involved materials for a raised nursery bed liner are cardboard, mulch, cement, texture, and plastic. They act as a boundary between your nursery soil and the ground to prevent the weeds from coming through and keep out poisons and different nuisances in the ground.

Raised beds can give prevalent insurance from bugs and weeds, offer agreeable ergonomics, and can be loaded up with ideal soil to develop food, blossoms, spices and that's only the tip of the iceberg. They likewise make a dynamic, fascinating look with regards to the scene. At the point when you hear "raised beds", most people probably invoke pictures of wood grower boxes.

  Normal Materials to Construct Raised Nursery Beds

 ·         Wood blunder, including hardwood or softwood choices

·         Metal, like layered metal or stirred steel tubs

·         Blocks, ash blocks, or substantial blocks

·         Felled logs

·         Poured concrete

·         Wine barrels

·         Straw bunches

·         Huge normal stones, cobblestones, or stacked rock walls

·         Beds, wall sheets, or other upcycled wood

·         Other incidental holders or materials

 Notwithstanding the rundown above, you could make a raised nursery bed out of pretty much anything fit for holding soil and plants! A youngster pool, utilized tires, scrap wood tracked down out and about… the choices appear to be perpetual. Nonetheless, there are various elements to consider while choosing the best building materials supplier Henderson to go with. Not all are made equivalent!

 At Storjohann Trucking offer a wide-range of landscape material supply Henderson for any project. Our selection includes many materials ranging from soil, mulch, stone and much more. Local River Rock comes in a variety of natural colors such-as brown, beige, tan, pink and grey tones. Customers are use River Rock for decoration, xeriscaping, driveways, drainage and filtration, erosion control, and ponds.

[foodtruckhqusa]

Foodtruckhqusa is one of the food truck builders near me that offers service all around the nation. From design to delivery, we specialize in building your dream a reality. Our craftsmen are experts in food truck customization to meets your specific needs.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, tabbytabbytabby!

For @tabbytabbytabby, who wanted alive Hale pack and anything alternative universe. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!!!! I decided to go with a rock band AU because let's face it, they're all stupid hot and would look so good doing it. My headcanon for alive Laura Hale is the incomparable Katie McGrath if you want a visual. Those eyes, man. They make my little bisexual heart very happy.

Also everyone here is somewhere in the Kinsey Scale :)))) There will be smut and idiocy. Idiots in love has become one of my favourite tags!

The underage occurs when Derek and Stiles are in high school. Derek is a senior and Stiles is a sophomore.

Band line up is as follows:

Laura - lead vocals Derek - lead guitar Boyd - bass Erica - acoustic guitar and backing vocals Isaac - keyboard and backing vocals Cora - drums and backing vocals

Read On AO3

*****

Edge Of Seventeen

Chapter 1 - Say What Now?

‘Do you want to?’

It took Stiles a few moments to focus on the words, electricity buzzing under his skin and his mouth bruised and still wet with Derek’s spit. Two warm broad hands settled either side of his face and gently redirected his attention. In the dark of the Camaro’s back seat, Derek’s pale eyes glittered.

‘We can.’ His voice was low and rough, his breathing out of kilter. ‘If you want to.’

Stiles looked at him, his heart racing a thousand miles a minute.

I want to.’ he said and fell into another kiss.

The alarm woke Stiles with a start. He swore and leaned over to slide a finger across the screen and turn it off. He’d forgotten when he’d arrived the night before, still a little jet lagged and not quite with everything when he’d collapsed into bed and been asleep in what was probably a record time.

He lay still, looking up at the ceiling and getting his breath back. He hadn’t had a dream about Derek Hale in a very long time and he was chalking it up to being back in his childhood bed. Independence Day had been the one holiday he’d won in the field office lottery, and so Stiles had packed up and gone home for the long weekend, four blissful days off. He’d known going into the FBI would be hard, but he’d had no idea just how hard it would be. Noah was delighted. The last time they’d seen each other had been Christmas and Stiles had been morose after yet another break up. He’d spent an afternoon wandering around the preserve, ending up staring at the Hale house, still closed up and looking a little worse for wear, with nary a Hale in sight.

This time it was summer, the heat already making his room uncomfortable. Stiles grimaced and plucked his damp t-shirt away from his skin, sitting up and dragging a hand over his face as he tried to wake up properly, manfully ignoring his dream-induced erection that made him feel like he was a teenager all over again.

‘Stiles?’ Noah yelled from downstairs. ‘You up, kiddo?’

‘I’m twenty-six, Dad,’ Stiles muttered, standing up and stretching. ‘Not a kid anymore.’

He was feeling it too, the crashing realisation that those carefree days were far behind him. He had a job and an apartment in Sacramento, cacti that he had managed not to kill. All the cool stuff. It wasn’t hard to feel like something was missing but Stiles would never admit that the string of failed relationships he had accumulated were anything to do with what Lydia referred to as ‘the one who got away’.

Noah was in the kitchen as he predicted, sleep rumpled and unshaven in sweat pants and an old BHPD t-shirt. He’d been taking it a bit easier, giving Parrish more and more responsibility. Stiles was pleased and Parrish was both smart and sensible, a combination that Lydia had found irresistible. Their senior year fling had evolved into a long term relationship until Lydia had come home to buy them a small clapboard Victorian near the preserve and commute to the research lab every day where she had her associate professorship. Parrish had presented her with a simple solitaire ring at Christmas and she was very happy.

‘Are you going to see Mom?’ he asked and Stiles nodded, grabbing the orange juice from the ridge and pouring himself a glass, sniffing hopefully at the eggs Noah was scrambling. He noticed Stiles’ meaningful look and grinned.

‘I thought I would go after breakfast,’ He beamed at his father when he was presented with a plate full of eggs and bacon.

‘It’s turkey before you get on your high horse,’ Noah told him. ‘Get your own coffee if you want some.’

‘Not yet.’ Stiles made space for him to sit down and they ate in comfortable silence. Once finished, he did get up to make two cups. Noah accepted his gratefully and smiled at his son, grey eyes twinkling.

‘So…,’ he started and Stiles held up a finger.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t care who it is you want to set me up with, it’s not happening.’ His parents had a terrible habit of matchmaking.

Noah held up both hands in supplication.

‘Not setting you up,’ he protested. ‘Just thought I’d mention that when your mother went into the shop yesterday, she saw a ghost from the past. Several, actually.’

Stiles cursed internally. His dad knew he couldn’t resist a good mystery.

‘Okay, I’ll bite,’ he replied, starting to get up.

‘The Hales.’ Noah replied with all the smugness of a man who knew he had the scoop of the year.

‘Oh fuck.’ Stiles blurted and tripped over his chair.

-

It was the sneezing that woke Derek up.

‘Jesus fuck!’ Laura roared a floor below him. ‘How much fucking shit is in this place?’

‘Oh good, she’s awake.’ Cora muttered and turned over. They were in what had been the twins’ bedroom, each of them crammed into a single that was a little on the small side. The top storey of the house was still a burned out wreck and the furniture had been largely taken away over the years and so the pickings had been slim, with their merry threesome taking the scorched master bedroom and Laura camping out on the sagging couch downstairs. As Alpha, she always preferred to be on watch as it were.

‘This was such a bad idea.’ Derek borrowed deeper into his comforter. ‘We should have brought the bus.’

‘That would have given the game away.’ Laura replied, hearing them both perfectly even though she was now in the kitchen. ‘Which part of low profile are you two having trouble with?’

‘We could have always stayed in a hotel. Sleeping int the burned out remains of our family home is precisely the opposite of low profile. Lo.’ Derek pointed out, sitting up. There was no way he’d be going back to sleep. Not with his alpha on a mission.

‘Discretion is our watchword, Derek.’ Laura hissed and started banging pots and pans around with a maximum of noise. Derek looked over at Cora. Her dark eyes were just visible under the pillow she had over her head.

‘You’re her second.’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘You go deal with her.’

‘I hate you.’ Derek said flatly, rolling out of bed and onto his feet. He stumbled a little on the stairs, still half asleep. Laura had her head buried in a blackened cupboard when he got to the kitchen. It hadn’t been as badly affected as the rest of the house but it was still a health hazard as far as he was concerned.

‘Where the hell is the waffle iron?’ she demanded. ‘Mom said she left it here.’

‘Who the fuck knows?’ Derek yawned and went to the fridge. There was nothing inside except for a gallon of milk and the leftover Chinese take out from the night before. He sniffed a carton of lemon chicken, grabbing some disposable chopsticks from the small pile on the kitchen table, and started eating. Laura eyed him, one fang just visible.

‘We need proper food.’ She glared at the ceiling. ‘Everybody up! We’re going grocery shopping!’

‘Christ.’ Derek grumbled. ‘You think that’s low profile too?’

‘Shut up.’ Laura swept past him, nose in the air. ‘I’m the Alpha now.’

Derek sniggered and let her go, enjoying his leftovers while he listened to her rouse the threesome. There was a lot of complaining, and he couldn’t really blame them. Their schedule had been hectic, even for wolves, and they were all tired and the house wasn’t exactly welcoming. Laura’s plans to come home and reclaim their territory now she was an Alpha in her own right had seen them finish the final leg of their international tour in New York, a quick catch up with their pack and then flying down to Sacramento and driving the three hours to Beacon Hills all in twenty-four hours. They had barely had time to stop in at the small coffee shop near the Sheriff's station before coming out to the house, which had been shut up for the past ten years. Peter had intended to join them, but had been delayed in New York. As their manager, he was the one who took care of all the dealings with their record company. If it was left to him and Laura, they probably would have eaten every executive by now. He was worth every penny they paid him, even if the meeting had probably been manufactured as a way to get out of cleaning up the house.

-

Stiles pulled up at the cemetery, parking the Jeep behind the old truck that had parked off centre and across two spaces. Grinning, he got out and made his way through the iron gates, remembering Isaac Lahey, who’d been a couple of years above him at school. His father had been the groundskeeper before there had been an incident at their house and Coach Lahey had been found dead. He remembered Isaac being taken in by social services and a whole sordid story of child abuse and alcoholicism coming out. Isaac had stayed off school for a week and then simply vanished off the face of the earth. There had been a lot of theories as to where he’d gone, but the truth was he wasn’t the first person to do that in 2011.

Stiles got lost in thought as he meandered between the headstones, finally coming to a stop in front of one made of white marble and embossed with angels.

‘That’s new.’ he remarked. ‘Not sure about the daffodils.’

‘They’re so gaudy.’ The dark haired woman kneeling at the grave grinned over her shoulder at him, her eyes the same warm whiskey brown as her son’s. ‘I’m glad to see you made it out of bed. I was starting to think you’d spend the whole weekend hibernating.’

‘Funny.’ Stiles helped Claudia up and gave her a long hug. When she let him go, she stepped back and looked him up and down.

‘You look good.’ she said. ‘Dare I say, professional.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles settled his hands on her shoulders. ‘Dad said you saw the Hales yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ Claudia’s look of faux innocence was belied by the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘Is that why you came to see me. No ‘I’ve missed you terribly Mother’, but ‘You saw the fucking Hales’.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Did you see him?’

‘Who?’ Claudia crinkled her nose in amusement. ‘The boy you’ve been literally pining for, for almost a decade?’

‘I’m sure he’s not a boy anymore.’ Stiles snorted. ‘And yes. Stop playing dumb.’

‘I might have.’ Claudia tilted her head. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘A double chocolate muffin and all the lattes you can drink.’ Stiles replied and she cackled and linked her arm through his.

‘Done.’ she declared. ‘And you’re right. He’s definitely not a boy anymore.’

-

Derek leaned heavily on the cart, eyelids at half mast and his senses muted. The store was fairly empty, the early hour on a Saturday meaning that most shoppers were yet to make an appearance. Next to him Boyd yawned and shifted on his feet, hands sunk deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

They’d been best friends a long time, playing basketball and baseball and getting into shit when they were teenagers and when things had turned bad and they’d had to leave, Boyd had been dogged in his refusal to cut ties and turned up at the pack house in New York a week after graduation with Erica in tow. They had walked right in and asked Talia for the bite and she’d given it gladly. Derek knew she was going to do it for Erica even before they had had to flee their territory and they’d settled in like they’d always been pack. Isaac had, of course, already joined them earlier and his delight at having them back had turned into a deep and abiding love that saw them forming their triad and becoming mates.

Erica was leaning on Isaac, her blond curls dragged into a messy ponytail and Cora was trailing Laura a few feet ahead. It always grated that she had inherited their mother’s early rising nature while the rest of them would have happily slept in and threw her weight around to get them out of bed when they most definitely didn’t want to. Even the fact that Derek was her twin didn’t let him get out of doing what she wanted.

‘Toilet paper.’ Laura turned and they all tried to avoid her eyes. ‘Derek. Take Boyd and grab some.’

‘But I’m minding the cart,’ he whined, clinging to it like a drowning man to a life preserver.

‘Go!’ Laura’s eyes flared red for just a second and Derek had to resist the urge to snarl back at her like he’d always used to. The whole alpha thing was new, the result of an overambitious alpha that had come into their territory planning to challenge Talia and ending up facing her daughter instead when they tried to take Cora with the intention of forcibly mating her and claiming rights. Talia had always taught them to solve their problems with diplomacy but Laura was headstrong and fiercely protective of her siblings, ever since Kate Argent had tried to use her to get close enough to kill them all. She’d almost succeeded too, that night of the party to celebrate the basketball teams’ victory for nationals providing the perfect distraction for them to be off their guard. Kate had struck in the early hours of the morning and she’d had them trapped, the beginnings of an arson that would have killed them all if Derek hadn’t come back and caught her. He’d ripped her throat out with his teeth, calling Deaton in a panic to come and break the circle of mountain ash that kept them trapped and they’d all watched their family home burn until the police and emergency services had arrived.

Talia had decided that it was too dangerous to stay, knowing the Argents would come for Derek, getting them all packed in a matter of twenty-four hours and away from what was left of their home. They’d gone to their father’s pack in New York State, leaving no sign of them behind. It was the way with wolves, always having a back-up in case something went wrong. The Argents were a large and powerful hunting clan and there would be retribution for the death of Gerard’s golden child, but when they came for the Hales they would find the place empty. Deaton stayed, both to protect the territory and report back to Talia about hunters coming in and not a month after it had happened, they had come. Thankfully the wards on the Hale land had kept the territory claim in place and the hunters had left with no satisfaction.

The rest had been a long and bloody fight between their respective Councils. Gerard had wanted Derek’s head for killing Kate and Talia had countered with the evidence that Kate had planned to kill a pack of law-abiding wolves along with their children. The matter had finally been settled when Gerard died of cancer and his granddaughter, by all accounts a level headed and honourable young woman about the same age as Derek, had taken over.

The music had started as a way to keep them all sane while this was happening, Talia more or less forcing them into music therapy as a way to deal with what had happened. It had been a bit of a shock to realise they were actually very good at it and they’d formed the band. Some minor success saw them moving steadily up the indie charts until it became their lives. Laura had named them Hale Pack 2.0 and Talia had laughed so hard when they’d told her that she’d shifted and clawed right through the cushion she was holding, feathers flying around them like a small snowstorm.

Derek hadn’t minded at first. The music was what he loved, the fame and money secondary. The Hales were already rich, but Peter had jumped at the chance to do something different and he drove their commercial success. They were in that comfortable zone of being middle of the road, not so successful enough that they were household names but it became hard in New York to go anywhere without being recognised.

Derek didn’t enjoy that part much. He was solitary and quietly sarcastic by nature, but unfortunately that just seemed to translate into brooding and mysterious in interviews and so he was plagued by a long line of would-be groupies that tagged along after him like a cloud of midges. Laura found it hilarious and basked in her own popularity. As an out lesbian, she had her choice of pretty girls to shack up with. Cora kept her asexuality to herself, just as surly as Derek was. The other three were not exactly open about their polyamorous arrangegment, but they didn’t hide it either. They were lucky, having found each other and being able to keep each other.

He often thought about that night, the one where the reason he’d been able to save his family was because he’d been in the back seat of his father’s illicitly borrowed Camaro with the boy he’d loved pretty much forever and indulging in a bit of mutual deflowering. Then he’d had to pack up and leave said boy without even saying goodbye or telling him where he was going. It had hurt more than he’d thought possible and if part of why Derek was so keen to come back to Beacon Hills was to try and track down that boy, then who was to know. The only people who knew what he’d been up to were Boyd (because Derek told him everything) and Laura (because she’d sat on him and tickled him until he’d confessed and then had to hold her while she cried, guilt and shame coming off her in waves). Derek hadn’t had the heart to complain when their very survival had been at stake because he’d killed Kate Argent, no matter whose fault it had been. Talia had said to make a clean break with the town and while she’d made allowances for their friends who were already in the know, that was as far as she was willing to push her luck.

Derek and Laura had finished out their schooling at home, Cora had gone to boarding school in South America with her Argentinian grandmother’s pack and the twins were still too young to be a problem so that was, as they said, that. Then had come college, followed by the band and the success and the travelling and before Derek knew it, it had been almost ten years and he was twenty-eight and still hung up on Stiles fucking Stilinski.

‘Hey.’ Boyd bumped him with his shoulder. ‘You alive in there?’

‘Not really.’ Derek surveyed the toilet paper and grabbed a couple of twenty-four packs. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Yeah.’ Boyd grinned, lighting up his usually serious face. ‘I can guess what about too.’

‘Not a goddamned word.’ Derek growled and then froze, his nose twitching madly.

It wasn’t exactly the same, a little deeper and a little thicker but he’d recognise that scent anywhere with his nose stuffed up and people throwing peppermint oil in his face. He shoved the toilet paper at Boyd and charged through the aisle, needing to find the source and skidding to a halt in the aisle with the candy and stared at the Sheriff, who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In fact, as it was he had cookies in his hands which he quickly put back.

‘Derek?’ He looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Claudia said she’d seen you.’ He came over and Derek couldn’t help taking in a deep breath. The scent of Stiles was all over the Sheriff and it made his heart start thumping like a drum.

‘Sheriff Stilinski.’ He took the offered hand and shook it, gleeful when he could smell a little bit of Stiles on his own skin. ‘Yeah, we’re back. Laura said she was going to stop by and talk to you about the house. She’s actually around here somewhere.’ He couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I’m glad you’re still here.’

‘Where else would we be?’ The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at him. ‘To be honest, we never thought you’d come back. Any of you. The last we heard, you mom and dad had skipped town and taken you all with them after the fire and then five years later, you and your sisters pop up playing gigs in New York with the Lahey kid, Vernon Boyd’s son and Erica Reyes and since you hit the big times, you’ve been entirely responsible for provisioning this town with 90% of its salacious gossip.’

‘How did you know that? I mean, New York.’ Derek was completely bemused. They had started out small, playing tiny venues, still wary of being recognised. It had only been in the last couple of years that they’d made it big enough to be known internationally.

‘I kept track.’ The Sheriff replied. ‘The fact that you all pretty much disappeared overnight hit this town like a slap in the face. I called in a lot of favours.’ There was something in his voice though that had Derek frowning. ‘I had my reasons, son.’

Derek was about to ask him what those were exactly when Laura came barreling down the aisle.

‘There you are.’ She came up short when she saw who he was talking to. ‘Sheriff Stilinski?’

‘The one and only.’ The Sheriff tipped an invisible hat at her. ‘It’s good to see you, Laura. Derek and I were just catching up.’

‘Well, I have to steal him. Excuse us.’ Laura gave him a toothy grin that was not her usual smile and Derek wondered just what was happening. She caught his arm and practically dragged him away.

‘What the hell?’ he protested, trying to wriggle out of her iron grip.

‘Hunters.’ she hissed and Derek’s blood ran cold.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked and she nodded, her face grim.

‘The others are doing the check out.’ she said. ‘We need to go.’

-

Stiles parked on the kerb and got out. Claudia already had the front door open and was looking down the street.

‘Visitor.’ she announced and went inside, leaving him to stand and wait for the car to stop. He bounced in excitement, barely waiting for the driver to get out before grabbing her and squeezing her hard enough to make her squeak.

‘Lydia, my strawberry blonde goddess.’ He kissed her cheek soundly. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

‘Stiles.’ Lydia had softened since high school, growing into her intellect and losing the hard veneer of extreme fashion that had been her armour in high school. She was still elegant, but the tan leather boots she wore under her long floral skirt were flat and her face was less determinedly made up, her hair a mass of loose fronds that framed her face. She was also as beautiful as she had always been but Stiles loved her for more than that. They had grown close in junior year when Jackson had moved to the UK and she’d been left bereft. Scott had been dating Kira that year and he’d had little time for Stiles so they’d drifted together and never really drifted apart, in spite of their physical distance. Now Scott and Kira were engaged, with Scott working for Deaton full time and Kira teaching martial arts with their first baby on the way and Stiles felt even more like he was lagging behind. Lydia kept him tied to Beacon Hills as much as his parents did.

‘So what are you doing here?’ He escorted her to the house. Lydia went in first, saying hello to Claudia as they went into the kitchen.

‘I have some news you might want to hear.’ she said, her eyes dancing.

‘’If it’s that the Hales are back, I already know.’ Stiles was smug when she pouted. He so seldom got one over on her so it was fun when he did.

‘Sorry.’ Claudia grinned at Lydia. ‘That was my fault.’

‘Dammit.’ Lydia folded her arms. ‘Well that may be, but I bet you don’t know that they’re going to be playing the Jungle tonight.’

‘No, that I did not know.’ Stiles was immediately hooked. He’d always wanted to go watch them, ever since they’d first popped back up on his radar after years of radio silence, courtesy of a discarded music magazine in the field office. He’d fantasised about meeting Derek’s eyes across a crowded venue but he knew that in reality, Derek probably didn’t even remember the boy he fucked in the back of his sister’s car and probably also had his pick of beautiful people to spend his time with. It hadn’t stopped him from following the band’s progress almost obsessively though.

He’d been distraught when Derek had gone, trying to find any trace of him online, but there had been nothing at all in the years just after the fire. Noah had been cagey about what he’d known and Stiles had been at a loose end, trying to fill in the gaps. When he’d rediscovered them, Stiles had followed them on every form of social media he could and tracked down every article about them. Derek still didn’t have any online presence apart from that and the music videos his band put out. Stiles had jealously hoarded every single tiny piece of information and downloaded every picture and video of him, seeing how handsome Derek had become, growing into himself in a way Stiles envied. He’d jerked off many a night, watching the stylised black and white videos that the Hale Pack 2.0 preferred. Derek was always dressed in black jeans and tight white t-shirts, the sleeves of his trademark leather jacket pushed up to his elbows and his broad hands drawing Stiles’ gaze in as he played his guitar, all precision and power that had Stiles breath coming short at the thought of them on him.

‘Danny told me this morning. He’s practically beside himself at getting them on his books at such short notice.’ Lydia smirked, knowing she had his full attention. Danny had made a ton of money in apps and bought his old stomping ground. It had had a makeover and was now a very stylish LGBTQ+ venue that he ruled along with Jackson as his partner in business and life, once he’d had his gay crisis while he was gone. Stiles knew from the Hales’ publicity that Laura was a lesbian and he was pretty sure Isaac, Erica and Boyd were involved in something that looked pretty polyamorous but Derek and Cora were notoriously private and there was never any suggestion as to who they might be seeing. It seemed the kind of place they would be playing.

‘Okay.’ He moved to the coffee maker, preparing for a long sit down. ‘Tell me everything.’

TBC on AO3!

[kenzieam]

The Blue Plate Diner - Chapter One

@jewels2876​​  @moonbeambucky​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​  @iammarylastar​​@captstefanbrandt​​  @badassbaker​​  @pinknerdpanda​​  @oliviastan17​​ @mizzzpink​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

************************************************************************

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, general nuttiness, smut, major angst, drama

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL!

************************************************************************

Years after leaving, Bucky returns to his hometown a successful lawyer, there only to clean up his recently deceased mother’s affairs, but hoping despite himself to see her again; Levka Riel, the girl he wanted all through high school and could never have. But their parting was anything but sweet and old wounds have festered for years in the shadows. Even if the truths in their past are revealed, has it been too long to repair the damage?

************************************************************************

Bucky sighed, stifling a yawn. He should have flown out, rather than renting a car and driving but he’d wanted the time to think that days of road travel allowed; flying wouldn’t have given him time to prepare.

He wasn’t ready for this. Any of it.

Not just the fact that his mother, a strong-willed old woman who’d raised him alone through grit and sacrifice, had passed away but returning to his hometown in general, with all the memories, good and bad, that haunted here.

It had all been a surprise, his weekly phone call to his mother had gone unanswered, the chief of police himself calling him the next morning with the news he’d begun to dread. At least the old girl had gone in her sleep, napping in her armchair, maybe even while waiting for her only child’s weekly phone call as she drifted off this mortal coil and, to be honest, he’d not really woken up from the dream since.

You’d think being a big-city lawyer would have helped grease the wheels a bit, but time had moved a hell of lot slower back home and, instead of handing everything over the phone like he’d wanted to, Bucky had finally be forced to concede and come back to handle his mother’s affairs personally.

He wasn’t ready for all of this, wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the woman who’d raised him, who’d gone without to provide for him but there was even more; he wasn’t ready to see her.

Levka Riel.

The only woman that had ever captured his heart, as cliche as that sounded.

The past should stay buried.

Yet here he was, driving directly back into the lion’s den.

He wasn’t ready for this.

The town looked pedestrian, tired and ordinary. It hadn’t seemed so when he’d lived there, but years away first at college, then law school followed by the big city showed him the truth now.

Small towns, small minds and he couldn’t wait to get back out of here.

A few days, a week tops. Sign all the paperwork, find a team to clean out the house and hire an agent to sell it in his absence, take his mother’s ashes back with him.

Get the hell out before he saw her.

Lev was still in town, as far as he knew, not that he asked his mom about her anymore; it was too painful, easier to focus on other things and besides, she’d given him her answer years ago, hadn’t she?

Hunger pangs kicked in as he ventured further into the town centre and the thought of trying to cobble something together in his mom’s empty house only made him more tired, so he was relieved to see that The Blue Plate was still open, a deliciously retro diner to the outsider that was just plain old to the locals. Pulling into the cracked parking lot, he parked the rental car and sat back, staring into the diner for a beat.

How many times had he come here in high school, either with his best friend Steve or alone, to sit in a corner booth and steal glances at Lev as she waitressed there? To wince and look away when she’d approach their table with a smile, lean down to give Steve, her lucky-as-fuck boyfriend, a kiss; maybe sit down in his lap for a minute or two, something which always caused a stir in Bucky’s pants, one he was grateful the table’s edge hid?

Too many fucking times.

There was only one waitress visible, as original as the tiles on the floor, old Hattie had been waitressing here at the Blue Plate from the day it opened, and they’d probably have to drag her out the back one day when she finally keeled over into their famous bread pudding, because it looked like the old bird would never willingly leave.

His stomach grumbled again, unimpressed with his brooding and he stepped out, glancing across the parking lot one more time. The newest vehicle in the lot, besides his own brand-new ride, was a battered old truck manufactured sometime during Reagan’s tenure, the original colour of paint a memory on it’s faded and dented flanks.

The bell binged, announcing his entry and a few tired heads raised to stare at him, some with mild curiosity, some a bit more rabid but, if anyone recognized him as Doris Barnes’ boy, who’d left almost a decade ago for the big city, nobody let on.

“Sit wherever you want.” Hattie called from behind the counter and Bucky chose a booth on the empty side of the diner, facing away from everyone else, where he could sit without overhearing any conversations or be forced to oblige in awkward small talk if his wandering gaze happened to cross anyone else’s.

Hearing footsteps approach, Bucky reached for a menu stood up in the condiments’ rack and flipped it open, turning over one of the coffee mugs left at each table for Hattie to fill.

“What can I get you?” It was not Hattie who asked, even as they filled his coffee cup and set a sweating glass of water beside it and Bucky glanced up, his heart beginning to pound. Something about this woman’s voice stirred old memories deep in his mind. When his eyes met hers, his heart jolted, adrenaline starting to course through his veins.

“Lev?”

She startled slightly, having obviously not recognized him from behind. “James?” She breathed, sounding suddenly alarmed. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes were wide, darting around his face and she looked anything but happy to see an old acquaintance, and why should she, with the ugly way they parted so many years ago?

“I didn’t know you still worked here.” Bucky mumbled, cheeks heating. A thousand different emotions coursed through him, everything from pleasant surprise to low fury, embarrassment and excitement.

“I didn’t know you were back in town.” She replied curtly.

“I’m here for Mom.” He answered, confused to see something bordering on disgust cross Lev’s face.

“Oh yes. I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Lev sounded anything but sorry and, while Bucky struggled for something more to say, to make sense of the riot of feelings in his head, he wanted to do everything from flip the table over while he screamed at her to leaping to his feet and crushing Lev to his chest while he kissed her, she continued. “What can I get you?”

His answer was automatic, something he’d ordered here time and again. “Blue-cheese burger, medium rare and fries.” His carefully crafted diet, mostly greens and lean meats, was apparently out the window at the moment.

“Sure,” she turned to leave.

“Wait-” Bucky yelped, nowhere near ready to let her walk away yet, even as his skin burned with embarrassment. She hadn’t wanted him then, why the fuck would she want him now?

She hesitated, glancing back at him and he was stunned to see fear in her eyes. Why would she be afraid of him? He’d never done anything to hurt her… physically at least. “I need to get your order in.”

Bucky nodded weakly, subsiding into the booth as she hurried away. Picking almost obsessively at a cuticle, he glanced over his shoulder time and again, looking for Lev to come back but she flitted between customers at the other end, stealing worried glances his way every now and again and Bucky cursed himself for chickening out every time he decided to simply stand up and approach her.

“Here you go.”

“Lev, wait. I need to talk to-” he broke off with a frown as Hattie set the plate in front of him, regarding him with a raised brow. “Where’s Lev?”

“On her break.”

“But I need to-”

“I wouldn’t bother waiting around, son. She’s not here and the way she lit out, she don’t want to talk to you right now anyhow.” Mixed sympathy and suspicion coloured her gaze before she added. “Sorry to hear about your mama.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Mind what I said, eat your burger then go. Levi don’t want to see you.”

The woman had never had kids, but few could equal her ‘Mom has spoken’ tone and Bucky, picking at half his food and taking the rest with him, left not long after.

It was surreal, entering his childhood home; with the exception of a few minor upgrades, the house was just as he remembered, ruthlessly clean and organized, not even the few dust-bunnies daring to be out of place. His room was even worse, left just as he’d had it, bare and spartan by necessity, for if he’d cluttered it with too much his mother would have gone through and purged it all while he was at school. She’d tidied the space as necessary, changing the sheets regularly based on the whiff of pleasant detergent smell that hit him as he pulled them back, but there was no personality in the room anymore.

Had there ever been?

He couldn’t remember a time here where his mother wasn’t the biggest energy, the largest influence and policing force in his life. It hadn’t occurred to him to mind all those years ago, but time spent on his own, making his own way and living his own life coloured his memories now, or maybe just scraped away the rose-tint.

Is that why he hadn’t been home in almost eight years? Because of his mother, or because of her?          

A sudden wave of weariness hit him, a culmination of the last few days of numb shock coupled with the strange, almost furtive shame he now felt crawling his spine.

Lev had never left this place, never even left her old job by the looks of it and for someone who’d once followed her every move in high school, just dying for a bit of her light to shine on him, he’d done a good job of staying distant.

And why not? The way Lev had stared at him, from the corner of her eyes like she feared him suddenly launching himself at her and swinging his fists, wasn’t wholly unexpected.

Jesus, did he wish he had done things differently.

Stripping down to boxers, he awkwardly slid into the striped sheets, feeling the end of the mattress with a familiar comfort, a sense that, even though so many other things had changed, he still was too tall for his old bed.

Where was Lev right now? Still working, having returned to waitressing after Hattie had chased him off? Gone home? To a family, a husband? He’d never asked his mother, it would have been far too painful to know the truth, but Lev had probably married Steve, given him two or three little tow-headed angels and was at this moment regaling him with the story of ‘you’ll never guess who I saw at The Blue Plate tonight!’.

God, his body tightened at the thought of her, as it had so many nights before. She still looked amazing, her hair still that unique auburn, her eyes rarer and more vibrant than anyone else’s he’d seen. Her body was lush and curved, just as she’d been blessed in high school with, a frame that probably would have earned raised brows and silent scorn around the stick-figures who floated and clacked through the law firm, worried about the calories of the cheesecake they’d just binged and purged in the ladies room, but perfectly ideal in Bucky’s eyes.

He felt his cock respond, grow and lengthen in his boxers and, as he’d done time untold in high school, he reached down into his shorts and wrapped his hand around his girth; biting back a moan as he imagined Lev’s hand in its place. Slowly, he dragged his fist up and down, feeling the flesh swell and stiffen even further, straining in his grip.

He let go, lifted his hand to his mouth and spat on it for lubrication, then gripped himself again, imaging the warm drag and slick friction to be Lev’s body sheathed around him, cradling and embracing him. He couldn’t hold back a groan, a faint part of his mind reminding him that he didn’t need to be quiet, his mother wasn’t down the hall anymore and let it out; a low, harsh sound of pure want and need. Pre-cum added to the slickness and he increased his speed, eyelids fluttering as he fantasized Lev, straddling his bare hips, fingers scratching at his chest, throwing her head back in the ecstasy his cock was bringing her.

“Jesus, god. Lev-” he panted, holding down her hips as he snapped his upwards, burying himself as deeply as he could. “Fuck baby, you feel so goddamn good-”

“Oh god, Bucky.” She whimpered. “Give it to me-” her plea devolved into a moan of pure pleasure, her walls starting to flutter and squeeze around him.

“Take it,” he grunted heavily, teeth gritted, throwing his fuck up into her with everything he had, desperate to brand her his forever. “Take it, god baby-”

He came with a groan, back arching and head pushed back into his pillow, cock pulsing thickly in his hand, his seed jets of melted silk, splashing back onto his belly and chest, trickling over his hand. For a long moment he could only lay there, trapped in that half-awake, half-dream state, still feeling Lev, the heavenly way she gripped him with her walls, her cries of ecstasy as she climaxed, milking him for his cum, body trembling and then he opened his eyes and saw where he was; alone in a dark room and the fantasy was over.

******************************************************************************              The next days were quiet but strained; Bucky did not achieve half of what he wanted to do around the house because his mind refused to stop wandering. One minute he might be stacking dishes in paper, readying them to donate to the local second-hand shop and then he would find himself simply staring out the window, lost in one or more daydreams that seemed to grow sharper and more poignant with each passing day and, not surprisingly, featuring her.

He didn’t see Lev again, despite frequent trips out of the house in hopes of running into her and their parting played over and over again in his head, nearly driving him mad.

For years he’d desired her, longed for her, only to watch her date a string of assholes, his best friend Steve included while he ached for her in the darkness of his own room at night. Bitterly disappointed with himself for never screwing up the nerve to tell Lev what he felt, for staying in the shadows as her boyfriend’s tag-a-long third wheel, he’d left for college; not having the desire to return home until the summer between his second and third year.

A party, attended on a reckless whim, Lev and Steve broken up for the sixth or seventh time and both on the prowl, intent on driving the other mad with jealousy as they flirted and stole kisses in the corner.

Bucky had been only too willing to give in when Lev turned her violet eyes his way, just enough alcohol in his system to dull his senses, to convince him that she truly wanted him and not revenge.

Bliss upon bliss, sweet strains and he’d whispered all manner of love and devotion into her ear as he’d thrust into her body, confessing his feelings, his adoration from afar and only a distant, nearly silent part of his mind had remembered, as he spilled inside her, cock pulsing thick bursts of his seed, that they’d forgotten a condom. But that hardly matters, he remembered musing, as his body shuddered in release, as Lev’s walls milked him with her own climax, because this is it, we’ve broken through the wall, she will see now, that we belong together.

Seven years later, and she was staring at him in her diner like he was a ghost and going out of her way to avoid him in their small, small town.

And not once had she answered the letters he’d sent her, the ones begging for her forgiveness, begging for another chance.

[schickwheel]

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[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 3/3

More smut (but I’m really bad at writing it, :////). Plot twist guaranteed. And I can’t believe I wrote 6K for this, FML. What has Chema done to me? I also made a few changes in the first two parts, read the whole thing on AO3.

You are woken by a phone call in the middle of the night. But you neither move nor open your eyes. You hear some numbers, Amado sounds irritated. It could be something related to tonight's dinner?

Your patience is wore out minutes after minute and Amado still hasn't returned to bed. You make a bold decision to wake up, and the Mexican is smoking by the window. Something keeps him up at night? That doesn't sound like the Lord of the Skies, the man who has had the world at his feet.

"You wanna talk, more sex or a bath?" You carefully propose.

"I was expecting for late night snacks you pull with some Asian witch shit." Amado lets you sit on his lap. "Hang on, I've got some leftovers from the kitchen."

You two settle for sharing the jacarandas mochi from a small food container in the bathtub.

"You like it?" You don't really need validation from Amado. It's just you spent hours coming up with the idea of improvisation, trying to make a traditional Japanese dessert more appealing to the Mexican guests. "I made the bean paste from scratch, less sugar. I understand most Mexicans are not used to sweet bean paste..."

"They don't deserve it." Amado suddenly claims. You don't get it. Who are they? "They are just a bunch of pigs in expensive suits, corrupted, stinky pieces of shit." Then Amado tells you almost everything. He invited the tequila exporters with the hope that the cartel could use their affiliate companies in the States as front to launder more drug money since tequila is one of the largest yet least regulated businesses between the US and Mexico. And the politicians are officials from Mexican Customs Bureau and SHCP.

"Fucking idiots. They thought I was gonna ask them to smuggle coke under the tequila crates. With all the fucking Pier 1 sofa and Ford pasenger seat manufacturers in Juárez, I've had more than enough trucks to move products across the border." When Amado brought up money laundering, the tequila exporters expressed concern regarding possible investigation of tax evasion from ATF, putting more pressure on Amado to increase their cut.

They eventually made a deal less favorable to the cartel and that's why Amado's a bit pissed when he's on the phone.

"Why are you telling me this?" For the first time that night, you ask softly.

"Those cabrón. They don't deserve what you bring to the table. You pour your heart and soul, making the best feast I've ever had. You deserve to know what happened." 

You've never thought you'd hear that from Amado. He didn't have to tell you anything. It makes you lower your guard. You want to get closer to him, without any agenda.

"Does this mean my body won't be put in the trunk of one of your auto collections tomorrow?" You try to lighten it up.

Amado kisses you from behind. The position is awkward but neither of you care. 

Making out with Amado in the bathtub makes the night better than your wettest dream. 

The Mexican's gonna make you cum again with those magician hands of his.

"You...haven't told me if you like the jacarandas mochi." You're so screwed. Maybe you'll never get the answer because Amado's too busy sucking you tits.

Amado clears his schedule the next day. He brings you to the Asian boutique where he bought the Japanese painting.

"One of my guys found this place. I thought you might be interested..." That's cute from a drug lord. But you're not that kind of person.

"A) I don't need a Buddha artifact home to find my inner peace, and B) only Pacho wears shirts with Chinese characters taken from a poem back in the Tang Dynasty. Seriously, he's ridiculous. Come on, let's go."

Instead, you two spend the day trying different Asian food you can find in DF. From hotpot to Peking roasted duck, from pho to char kway teow. Amado seems to enjoy the Chinese food more than others.

"Most Asian restaurants in North America are run by the Chinese, from San Francisco to DF. Since you guys can't tell if an Asian cook is from China, Japan, Vietnam or Thailand, he or she would quickly learn dishes from other Asian countries. We are always the most hardworking people." You explain to him.

"Oh, I love hardworking people." He's so full of shit but you can't help smiling. 

Amado finds a fortune cookie note saying "Happy New Year of Monkey." Then you explain Monkey is one of the Chinese zodiac signs which repeat every 12 years. 

"So 1956...I am a monkey? Cool." He's surprisingly quick with math.

You write the Chinese character of monkey on a napkin and Amado seems fascinated by it. So you suggest that he could get the Chinese character tattooed, "Next time you can show that to Pacho. He probably would get one, too."

Holy shit, he's really doing it. 

The way the tattoo parole Amado brings you to is cleared makes you believe it's part of the cartel business, which makes perfect sense. 

"You don't have any tattoos? Not at all?" You're surprised when the tattoo artist prepares Amado's skin on his forearm, first cleaning then shaving.

"We've fucked three times, once in a bathtub," Amado grins, obviously in a good mood, "Don't you think it's a bit late to ask? Or I fucked you too hard you didn't notice?"

Thank God the tattoo artist doesn't even flinch.

OK, you have to get back at the fucker. So when the tattoo artist asks you for the character to make a design, you write pig in Chinese instead of monkey.

"Hold on, that doesn't look like what you wrote on the napkin. Let me see it." Right after the tattoo artist places an outline of the design on his skin, the Mexican stops him.

You're 100% sure Amado doesn't speak or write Chinese. How the fuck does he figure it out?

"What is it exactly? Tell me the truth or you will have an honest conversation with my brother." Amado makes the threat more scary by pointing at Vicente, who stands next to the door with two guns and a pink lollipop. 

"Wait. He doesn't know shit. It was me...I wrote a different character." Your confession is quick, you don't want to see anyone get hurt over this beef.

You thought it's just a silly prank. Now you realize you're dealing with the most notorious narcos of the country. Amado may look like a businessman, reasonable, even decent. He's still capable of getting violent whenever he thinks it is necessary, to an extent you really don't want to know.

You take a deep breath, then apologize to Amado. You are ready for the consequence. 

"Apology accepted. On one condition, you'll have the exact same tattoo as I do when the new design is done." Fair enough.

But you're a chef who often needs to cook right in front of customers. You can't let them see a tattoo on your forearm. 

"How about here?" The Mexican is touching your breast as if no one's around.

It's a small tattoo, just one character. But it's near your heart and you're sensitive as fuck.

You can't move but your nipples are hard almost through the entire process. Amado's right beside you and he sees everything. Someone please help you ease the pain FFS.

The fucker doesn't act on it until you get into the car. Amado shuts the soundproof panel between the front and rear seats and the next thing you know, you're riding the man who just makes you get a stupid matching tattoo. It fucking stings, and itchy. Yet the pleasure is undeniable when your tits being teased, bit, sucked. Amado carefully avoids the tattoo, which makes you want him to scratch the itch even more. You scream his name when you cum with both extreme pleasure and pain.

Amado puts an arm around you when it's over. Two matching tattoos are right next to one another. Your heart is still beating fast from the afterglow, echoing his pulse.

You feel the caress on your beast, it hurts a bit yet the body warmth is nice. Is it how it feels to be marked by someone else? Not many people will ever see it, plus it's not a specific name or symbol that would embarrass you later. It'd be a secret.

"You know what? You won't be able to find a dead body to stand in for you when you eventually betray me, sweetheart. No one else would get a tattoo like this." 

What Amado just says feels like a kick in the stomach. It's cold and absolutely right. Have you been sloppy? Has Amado figured out something already? "Why would I betray you?" You ask, but he doesn't give an answer.

It's the last day of your stay. You have a very special package delivered from Japan.

You gonna make blowfish sashimi tonight for Amado.

Everyone knows it's toxic so it has to be handled with meticulous care. You make Amado watch every step —  a set of fuguhiki, knives with thin blade is unwrapped, you pick them one by one to gut the fish, remove the deadly liver and ovaries, skin it and cut off its head. Then instead of cutting outward like most people do, you turn a knife to cut inward. 

"Careful! You shouldn't hold knife like that." Amado almost jumps in to help. But you assure him it's OK. Then you show off the technique to cut extremely thin and translucent slices of blowfish.

To make the white meat more attractive, you set the slices in a large plate with red poppy flower pattern. They are so thin, the poppy flower is still visible when all's done.

"An ancient Chinese writer used to say, 'The taste of blowfish is worthy of death.'" You joke when you mix the sauce. "Don't worry. I'm a licensed blowfish-preparation chef."

Amado squints, "So you're testing me."

You want to tell him to just trust you, but you don't know how.

"There's no antidote for the tetrodotoxin. But I'll eat it, too. If it's poisonous, our muscle will be paralyzed bit by bit when we're fully conscious, eventually we won't be able to breathe. We're going to die slowly, painfully and desperately."

You take the first bite, Amado follows.

"Why are you so loyal to him?" Amado breaks the silence, "For one, you don't sleep with him. You obviously are not related. And as far as I know, money can't buy loyalty."

"I'll answer it if you answer my question first." The Mexican agrees. "You didn't want me for me, you barely knew me. You made the decision when Pacho said I was the best, he wouldn't last a week without me. You want him, or something that makes you his equivalent. Except being gay, I don't know. You won't fuck his boys, so I'm the next proxy. Am I correct?"

After a pause, Amado nods. Then it's your turn.

"How many female chefs do you know?" Amado is confused for a few seconds, then he gets it.

"There was no place for you in your line of work, just like there was no place for him in this game controlled by men, men who have multiple wives and fuck whores. He sees himself in you. So he takes you under his wings."

"Yes. Pacho is the only one who's believed me. He's also the biggest shareholder of my first restaurant."

Amado then asks what you gonna tell Pacho when you return. "I'll tell him you give really good heads. Maybe he should try it himself." You wink, "No, I'll let him know you're not a cold-blooded bastard. Even though you sometimes make awful choice by dipping sashimi in guacamole, you're appreciative of other people's work." You really mean it, you like Amado. But you'll probably never know if he buys it or if it matters.

After a while, you finish the whole plate of blowfish sashimi. "Seems we're not dead." Amado's poking your cheek with chopsticks.

"No, we are not."

"Last question, why did Pacho send you?"

"Amado, you would've done the same. You know that."

[disarminglys]

genius and the (dream) thieves.

a/n: IT IS FINALLY HERE. this is my @grishaversebigbang​ submission in all its glory with all my wonderful materialki and corporalki. 

Corporalki: @dirtyhandsnet​

Materialki: @xan-drei​ LINK || @phy-be​ LINK || @rainbow-kueh​ LINK || @scarecrux​ LINK || @butterflysclaws LINK

Summary:  Kaz does not like to dream.

Or- no. That is not quite right. He has no issue dreaming, no problem with diving down into the depths of a mark’s subconscious to pull out the exact information that he needs, at the exact moment he needs it. Honestly, he finds the whole PASIV system to be quite useful. Crafty. Easily controlled. There are fewer variables to be worried about when you can change the world at will.

What he means is that he doesn’t like to dream for free.

aka the inception au that i HAD to write.

Ao3 Link here

wordcount: 14521 rating: T (some mild violence/blood, some language)

Fic below the cut!

Kaz does not like to dream.

Or- no. That is not quite right. He has no issue dreaming, no problem with diving down into the depths of a mark’s subconscious to pull out the exact information that he needs, at the exact moment he needs it. Honestly, he finds the whole PASIV system to be quite useful. Crafty. Easily controlled. There are fewer variables to be worried about when you can change the world at will.

What he means is that he doesn’t like to dream for free.

Not anymore. Not when he knows the value of his skill set, and what it can run him on the open market.

Truth be told, Kaz barely takes on jobs these days. And if he’s being hired, either the price has to be high enough, or he’s got to have a personal stake in the matter.

This job was the latter of the two, though the price was certainly high enough.

And for all his preparation, all his hypothetical outcomes, he still could not have predicted the way it would end or where he would be.

--

Van Eck found him in Prague.

It was a show of power as much as it was a reminder to Kaz that he was getting comfortable. When he was in the city, Kaz preferred a corner space in a chic lobby bar. Back to the wall, eyes towards both the front door and the elevators. Everyone wore crisp suits and finely tailored clothes and he fit in quite well amongst them.

Van Eck had arrived in the city that morning - Inej had spotted his private jet touching down in the small airport outside of town. Kaz wasn’t surprised to see his head of security walk through the glass doors. Surprised even less to see a sleek black car pull through and park in the valet drive.

Kaz was surprised by the slow, deliberate way the entire lobby (honestly, probably the entire hotel) cleared out, one by one. It was a neat trick, something Kaz himself should have thought of, because by the time the rotating door revealed the tall businessman, the two of them were almost completely alone.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Brekker.”

Kaz sighed, closing the lid to his laptop and leaning back into the velvet cushion of his armchair. He didn’t need to check his surroundings to know that there would be three men posted in front of the elevator, two by the back door, and a handful out near the car. Van Eck was nothing if not thorough.

“For your line of work, Van Eck, you’re a terrible liar.” Kaz looked up at the older man, noticing that he hadn’t taken off the dark wool coat from where it hung over his shoulders, trying to gauge just how confident Van Eck felt at that moment. Was he armed, or would he leave that to his men?

Van Eck chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his hand free of his leather gloves, tucking them into his outer coat pocket as he casually walked further into the lobby. “I’m an exceptional liar, Brekker. You’re just not worth the effort.”

“Oh, but I’m worth the effort to- what? Buy out an entire hotel? If you need somewhere to burn your cash, I can suggest a few more worthy causes.”

The lack of response told Kaz that his guess was right, and with a tinge of annoyance, he made a note to find a new working spot in the city. Van Eck continued walking towards him, approaching Kaz with a measured kind of caution. There wasn’t any point to try and hide the crooked, pleased smile that came to him at that fact - pleased with the impression Van Eck had of him. One of Van Eck’s men stepped forward to pull the coat from the older man’s shoulders, and Kaz noticed that he was, indeed, unarmed.

Cocky bastard.

“But please,” Kaz continued, dramatically gesturing across from him. “Take a seat. I would never turn away an opportunity before hearing the proposal first.”

Van Eck flinched, almost imperceptibly, and Kaz noted it. Two for two.

“I have a proposition for you.” Van Eck started, settling into the spot opposite him. Kaz’s brow arched and Van Eck sighed. “A job.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

Because the thing was - Kaz didn’t need outside work these days. He’d been one of the first, fully formed thieves in the dream business. He’d learned all there was to learn about the theft of thoughts, of information, of work. And by now, with the PASIV program expanding into the legal space as well, his need for going under dwindled.

He had people under his employ for that. He had teams he could hire for that. Kaz Brekker was the most infamous dreamer who didn’t dream any longer. He’s retired.

“What happened to listening to a proposal before turning it down?”

Kaz rolled his eyes, lifting his foot to settle his ankle on his knee and laying his cane across his lap. “I’m a businessman, Van Eck. When was the last time you listened to a pitch for a partnership opportunity yourself?” As the CEO of the largest manufacturers of artificial sugar, Van Eck had one of the few remaining undisputed food empires in the world. Kaz had bios on him, on all his executives, on the history of his company.

He knew, one day, Van Eck would come to him. It had just been a matter of time. Most men with that much money tended to.

More than that, Kaz could tell it pissed him off. And Kaz enjoyed nothing more than making powerful men uncomfortable.

“This is not a simple-” Van Eck paused, took a breath, controlled himself. Kaz’s grin widened, enjoying the way Van Eck had obviously been warned about Kaz’s tactics prior to this conversation, and yet still found himself fumbling. “I have a very lucrative proposition for you, Mr. Brekker. And I promise it will be worth your time.”

Kaz snorted, his eyes falling to his crow’s head cane. He could feel the anger rising in Van Eck across from him, but Kaz wasn’t in any hurry. “And how would you know how much my time is worth?”

“Because I know everything about you. From that shithole town you grew up in, how you were conscripted into the PASIV program out of Juvenile Detention. How you got out and took a device with you and have been unstoppable ever since. You have a reputation, Mr. Brekker. And not a subtle one.”

He knew the stories. He’d heard the rumors. Kaz Brekker was the Nightmare Bringer, the monster under your bed, waiting for you to fall asleep. Because Kaz was a thief, yes, but he was also vengeful. Unforgiving. Manipulative.

I make money in my sleep. He’d once told Inej, just as they had started into this business. Why should I bow to the laws of reality?

“And?”

“And I know how much your services run for. I am willing to match that.” Van Eck looked pleased, like a cat who had just caught his prey. Kaz studied the look, picked up on each and every detail in it.

“I’ll pass.”

And Kaz watched, just as intently but much more pleased, as that pleased look fell off of Van Eck’s face, replaced with one of shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Kaz set down his foot and leaned forward to grab his laptop, stowing it away in his leather briefcase. Van Eck sat with his mouth agape for a moment, then a moment more, before Kaz continued. “I do not take on deals that match a previous price, Van Eck. We’re expanding. Progression does not stall. I’m sure you can respect that.”

“Ten million.”

Kaz did pause at that, sighing. “You know, I do usually prefer the men I do business with to be desperate. But piece of advice? This does not-”

“Twenty.”

A familiar curl in his gut forced Kaz to rethink. To study the situation at hand. He was trying to  judge just how much Van Eck would be willing to put on the table, with all the possible jobs he could have brought him. The pause seemed to be enough for Van Eck to take advantage of, turning to his left and snapping once. The man who had taken his coat stepped forward, and Van Eck slipped a hand into his inside pocket, pulling out a small, sealed manilla folder. He set it on the glass of the coffee table between them, then slid it closer to Kaz.

“It’s hardly the most ridiculous thing you’ve done.”

Kaz’s eyes were on the envelope, mind racing. Inej had built up an impressive enough profile on  Van Eck Enterprises, and based off of that information, Kaz could be reasonably sure what would be inside that envelope. But he also knew how much Van Eck was worth, and how desperate he’d have to be to be here at all.

What does he have to lose?

“Because-” Van Eck could probably assume Kaz was wondering why. “I need it done discreetly. I need no trace, no weak link, and no proof of my involvement. I’m not just speaking on privacy, Mr. Brekker. I want there to be no evidence that the dreaming even occurred.”

And you want someone to take the fail if there is.

“Do we have a deal?”

Kaz weighed the options, his eyes still on the envelope. He knew what team he’d collect, who all he’d bring in. No matter who the mark might be, or whose name would be inside. It could be possible, as all things were with enough imagination. Kaz settled on a thought, and then decided, sitting back into his chair once more.

“Thirty.”

There was a pause, tense enough that Kaz could hear the sounds of a passing truck out on the street. Long enough he felt he could hear Van Eck’s jaw creak. “Thirty-?”

“Thirty million, Van Eck, take it or leave it.” And with that, Kaz stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did. Van Eck’s eyes followed him, wide and uncertain, but as Kaz finished and pulled at the hem of his jacket, straightening it, Van Eck finally spoke.

“Fine. Deal.”

Kaz grinned, reaching down and sliding the envelope from the table, touching the edge of it to his forehead in a mocking kind of salute. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He grabbed his briefcase, slid the envelope inside, and started for the door.

And you didn’t even check the job before you agreed? Inej would ask him, later that night.

Didn’t see the point. The deal is the deal.

---

“You’re telling me you didn’t even check-”

“Save it, Zenik.”

Nina turned to Inej for support, but Inej merely shrugged. The three of them were settled around a small table in the small dining room of one of Kaz’s safe houses. The older woman who lived downstairs had just dropped off enough pisto to feed an army and Inej had been the one to answer the door (meaning that she had, of course, accepted it). Nina, who had arrived in Valencia a few hours before, was not exactly jumping to get into business discussions without food present, which then led to a traditional Spanish dinner - eating and talking about things that did not include the job - for the next two hours.

By the time the job came up, it was well past midnight and Kaz had just poured himself a cup of coffee.

“And you still plan to go through with this?” Nina reached across her plate, picking up one of the photographs spread over the table. She tilted it towards herself, to get a better look, and then tossed it towards Kaz. “This is a kid, Kaz. That’s crossing boundaries I didn’t think you’d cross.”

“This is an information retrieval job, not a hit, Zenik. I’m not asking you to kill a child.”

“But you are asking me to rifle around in his head for something we don’t even know is there.” Nina scoffed, at the idea more than anything, before leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms. “This is a new low, even for you.”

Kaz glanced over to Inej, who was gently blowing over her mug of tea. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see there, but Inej seemed just as unsurprised by Nina’s outburst as Kaz felt, which didn’t make it any easier.

“The question is simple enough, Zenik. 5 million, direct deposit, one job. Information extraction. Yes or no?”

Nina sighed, tipping back her chair towards the wall. “It’s really important to me you understand how fucked up this is.”

“Yes. Or. No.”

“Fine! I’ll do it!” She said, exasperated. Kaz just barely caught the way that Inej smiled at that, a slow, sneaky curve to her mouth. “No way I’d want you bringing on anyone else and screwing with this kid’s brain. No way. After what happened the last time I told you to go screw yourself? I still feel guilty.”

“Jesper isn’t that bad of a forger, Nina.” Inej added, her tone more of a gentle reminder.

“Oh please, Inej. You’re too nice to him.” Nina shook her head. “It was embarrassing and I wasn’t even there.”

Kaz would have preferred to tune them out. He would have preferred to just up and leave and let Inej explain the rest of it. It usually went that way, with the other jobs, but there was a tugging feeling at the base of Kaz’s spine that kept him there through Nina’s babbling.

“Alright then, Brekker.” Kaz blinked, looking up to see that Nina has settled the legs of her chair back on the floor, her focus back on him. Professional. “What about the rest of the team? You’re orchestrating, as always. Inej’s is on Point. You wouldn’t come to me this early unless you needed help filling out the roster- so. Spill.”

Kaz let out a short sigh. Nina Zenik was one of the most talented Forgers in the business, and one of the most infuriatingly perceptive people he ever met. Usually, he liked to keep his time around her limited, for that reason exactly. But she was on his payroll, and he wasn’t about to chance a job like this.

“Jesper-”

“Is on Point too. Yes. You know how much you’ve ruined me for a normal team? No one else uses two Points.” Nina rolled her eyes again, exasperated, before picking up her fork to take another bite from her plate. “Architect? Chemist? You are using a Chemist, aren’t you?”

“Nina…” Usually, Kaz would have snapped back at someone using that kind of tone with him. Inej knew that much. And he appreciated, in a separated sort of way, her trying to check the other girl. But Kaz shook his head, once, letting her know he didn’t need it.

“I have a Chemist.” Kaz reached under the table, pulling another folder from his briefcase and tossing it towards Nina. She reached for it and flipped through, curious, before arching a brow.

“This is an embarrassingly thin background check for you, Brekker.”

“That’s all the information you need to know.”

Nina sighed, clearly annoyed but not surprised with his decision. “Fine, but I’ve never worked with this...Wylan. Before. Haven’t even heard of him around the dreaming circles. You sure he’s up for the job?”

Kaz picked up his coffee, taking a sip. “He has a new compound he’s been working on. It opens the mark up for heightened suggestions.”

“While dreaming?” Nina was immediately curious, and Kaz made note to watch Wylan’s job intake moving forward. He didn’t need Nina Zenik taking jobs out from under him with the possibilities Wylan’s drug could open up.

He nodded. “It’s a compound that keeps the mark under, but leaves the senses up for suggestion. Smells, temperatures, the other dreamers’ subconscious- whatever you can think of. It enforces the architect’s map.”

“And deepens the story you build underneath.” Nina sounded impressed, almost excited. “You realize what this could mean, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Kaz answered, voice flat. “We all get paid.”

Inej snorted, near-imperceptibly, and Nina shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m efficient and successful.”

“Impossibly so.”

“We’re still looking for an Architect.” Inej added in, setting her tea cup down on the table as the taller girl kicked her feet up on the only empty chair, getting comfortable as she picked through the case file. The file itself was nondescript, save for the colorless embossed crow in the bottom left corner. That had been Inej’s idea, when they started this so long ago. And people said Kaz had a flair for the dramatics. Inej glanced towards Kaz, the look telling him not to argue, before her eyes returned to Nina. “Do you know anyone who might be up for this?”

Nina tilted her head back and forth, her eyes passing over the pages that Kaz and Inej had so painstakingly collected together. Paperclipped to the inside flap was a school photo, about five years old, of a bright, grinning young boy. Written along the bottom of the photo in Inej’s clean-cut handwriting was the name “Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

The room was silent for a few seconds as Nina continued to read and think. Kaz was about to comment on it, about to tell her we don’t have all day, when she finally spoke.

“I have a guy who would work.”

Inej and Kaz passed a look between the two of them before Inej replied. “A guy?”

Nina folded a paper over the top of the folder, still reading. “Yes. I’ll need to talk to him first, but he’s good.”

Kaz thought he knew where she was going with this, and he didn’t particularly like it. “He needs to be more than good.”

Nina glared at Kaz over the top of the folder before returning to her reading. “He won’t want the money, though.”

“Everyone wants something.”

Nina was silent for the next few moments, and Kaz finished his mug of coffee. He needed to get more work done tonight before he caught a jet to Marrakech to track Jesper down. Inej, sensing his restlessness, spoke up. “Nina…”

Abruptly, she closed the file, nodding once to herself. “Let me handle it. Where are we meeting?”

“Edinburgh, seven days.” Kaz rose to stand, grinding his teeth at the sharp pain that drove up his leg. It was going to be a long night. Nina nodded, and Kaz pushed his chair away, reaching for his cane.

“You still have connections with the Russian embassy, yeah?”

Kaz looked back to her, face impassive. He asked “Why?” at the same time Inej answered “Yes.”

Nina simply nodded. “I’ll see you in Scotland, then.”

---

Jesper was never hard to find. Not when Kaz put his mind to it.

“I was turning things around, Kaz. One more hand-”

“And you would have lost the rest of whatever money you suckered some loan shark into giving you.” Kaz didn’t so much as look back to Jesper when he responded, his pace set. He could hear Jesper keeping up, though a few steps behind.

“I wasn’t-”

Kaz turned, sharply, into a back alley. The shit-hole apartment Jesper was keeping was just under half a mile away, but Kaz’s patience was fraying and their jet was leaving in three hours.

Jesper followed, breathing hard, and came to an abrupt stop when Kaz did. They were far enough from the street that they didn’t have to worry about being overhead, but Kaz’s voice was low when he turned to face him.

“When was the last time you took a job?”

Jesper’s face paled. “Kaz, I-”

“Last time, Jesper. When was it?”

Jesper’s vest was fraying along the edges. Loud silk patterns over louder colored shirts. Once upon a time, Jesper’s clothes were worth something. Finely tailored, expensive fabrics, well fitting. Now those same clothes were obviously worn, dulled and ripped, held together with haphazard stitching. Five o’clock shadow had changed the planes of Jesper’s face, but Kaz couldn’t tell yet if that was from malnutrition or something worse.

The last time Kaz reached out to Jesper for a job had been eight months ago. When he’d botched a forgery so badly they’d all nearly been stuck in a South African jail for the rest of their lives.

Jesper rubbed the back of his neck, guilty eyes searching everywhere else in the alleyway. Kaz waited, gloved hands wrapped around the crow’s head of his cane. After a moment, the other man sighed. “Ah- the last um. Cape Town.”

Kaz didn’t react. He had known the answer before he asked. “Have you gone under since then?”

“Kaz, I’m so-”

“Have you gone under, Jesper. Yes or no.”

He frowned, deflating. “Yes.”

Kaz’s brow arched, waiting for him to continue.

“It was once, Kaz. They have a den in the east neighborhood. I had a bad night, went under, and that was that.”

“And you haven’t gone back again?”

Understanding crossed Jesper’s face at that question, and the guilty look deepened. Dreaming, when you knew enough about how to do it intentionally, was addictive. Dangerously so. PASIV dens had started cropping up in major cities all around the world - Kaz himself had a working one in Amsterdam that paid handsomely. But the blurring of reality and dreams got harder, the more used to the drug you became.

Kaz had kept tabs on Jesper for eight months. He had more eyes in this city than any others. It was an investment of time, and of favors, and Kaz waited for Jesper’s answer.

Jesper’s jaw tightened as he stood a bit straighter where he was. He matched Kaz’s eyes, intentionally and stubbornly.

“No. Only once.”

Kaz didn’t actually need Jesper to answer the question. He already knew the truth. But still, he saw what he needed to see in that look and nodded, once. “I have a job for you.”

It would have been impossible not to see the hope cross Jesper’s eyes. “A job?”

“Jet leaves in two hours for Edinburgh. Be on it.” Kaz turned, then, heading for the street. His car would be turning the corner in the next few moments and he wanted to be off his feet. He’d made it to the side of the road when Jesper called back out.

“Kaz-”

Kaz paused, not turning back to him but obviously listening. He could hear Jesper let out a sigh.

“Thanks.”

There was no acknowledgement that he heard it, as a black car came to a stop along the sidewalk and Kaz got in.

---

The first crime Kaz Brekker committed was at the age of six. He and his brother had snuck out of their foster home and broke into a nearby house, raiding the freezer and eating as much ice cream as they could find.

Kaz had felt nauseous for two days after. Jordie had told him everything you want in life has a price.

They had been sent to the detention center when Kaz was eleven. He and Jordie had been running jobs for a small gang, taking packages back and forth between warehouses. Neither of them had known what was in the packages. Neither of them had thought to check. They were two orphans without job prospects and futures left for them, and the gang had given them a home. It had ended with both of them found guilty by the city and - thanks to a young, talented defense attorney and a bleeding heart judge - put into the same detention center together.

Enrollment into the PASIV testing program had been optional, with an increased possibility of decreased time. Think about it, Kaz. Jordie had told him, eyes bright. All we have to do is sleep. How hard could it be?

Harder than they imagined. Harder than they could have ever dreamed.

--

Kaz liked Edinburgh. There was a kind of significance to the dark smudges across the buildings. Stains left behind from years of progression, coal, smoke - proof that from what there had been, there is now more. More than that, the marks and stains were proof - proof that it had survived. Proof that it still stood.

Plus - the weather suited him just fine - clouded skies, slight chill, usually dreary. It left him in pain more often than not, but again, a price to pay. His leg was something of a reminder for him now, so even on the bad days, he could handle it just fine. And no one looked twice at his dark wool coat or his tall collar. He was just another businessman, just another body in the masses.

The warehouse was just outside the city, northwest of the city center. A large, two story structure that had - at one point in its life - been used for shipping containers. These days it sat mostly empty, owned by a local businessman, who forgot it existed more often than not.

Kaz has similar set-ups all over the world - a little bit of cash for safety reasons.

He arrived about four hours before the rest of the team was set to be there, but Inej had already started making the main floor home - setting chairs and equipment and tables up in a familiar pattern. She didn’t so much as acknowledge him when he stepped inside, swaying very gently to the notes of a hummed song that Kaz couldn’t quite make out.

For a few moments, he let himself watch her, staying back in the shadows, near invisible in the slowly retreating light. She had always been beautiful, a dancer even now, and it was only in the comfort of these shadows that Kaz ever let himself think as much.

And then the moment passed, and Kaz stepped out into the spacious room. Inej, hearing his movement in the corner, still did not look up.

“Running diagnostics. I’ll need a few more hours.”

Kaz continued towards the back corner, where a storage room and small office sat. “No one is supposed to arrive until after dark.” Both a reconfirmation of orders and a silent acknowledgement of her own early presence. He did not turn to look, but he imagined Inej smiling softly, shrugging once in her dark sweater.

“I prefer working in sunlight.”

He snorted, and if Inej hadn’t been smiling before, she surely would be now. But Kaz didn’t continue the banter, approaching the door to the office and quickly picking the lock. No one - not even Kaz - had the keys to this back room. It was his own form of security.

“Jesper’s coming, then?” Inej had to raise her voice a bit to echo across the space, and it gave Kaz a moment’s pause. A brief moment of tension.

Inej knew about Jesper’s last job. Knew what it cost them, knew how Kaz had reacted. A part of Kaz assumed Inej had most likely been keeping tabs on the sharpshooter, where he was and what he was up to, but she’d never be obvious about it. Not to Kaz.

He thought back to the jet ride. To the couple of hours he spent watching the anxious bouncing of Jesper’s knee. He’d dropped him off at a discreet hotel on the other side of the city. Told him to read, research, rest, and to be there on time.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

And Kaz stepped inside the office, letting the door slam shut behind him.

--

The first time Kaz dreamt, his eyes opened to an open field. The grass was swaying gently around him, reaching up to a cloudless, bright sky. It felt like home, but in that distant, distinct way that was never his. And never would be.

Somewhere, he could hear Jordie’s laughter. An echo along the wind.

But it was warm. It was peaceful. It was safe.

It wasn’t real.

“Well done. We’ll move on to the next testing phase.”

Kaz should have spent longer there. Should have lingered. A part of him wondered if he could ever go back, but he knew better. Had always, in a detached sort of way, known better. That he would never be welcome. That he would never return.

That was Jordie’s dream.

--

From his office, Kaz could hear everyone arrive. Jesper was first - good - with a loud, happy greeting for Inej. She returned the greeting in kind, and Kaz caught himself leaning a bit too much into the noise. Excited chatter, Jesper’s wolf whistle, and then a laugh. He pushed it away and got back to work until he heard the door open again.

Nina’s voice was the next one to echo through the space- greetings, more laughter, a few jokes at Jesper’s expense. Kaz did not hear anyone else among them, which meant that Nina’s architect hadn’t come with her.

She’d given him very little information - the basics for what he’d needed to know to let her bring someone in - so Kaz was curious. Matthias Helvar was a name he’d heard before, but only in connection with the military sector of the PASIV program. Nina had sworn it’d be worth at least talking to him, but Kaz was still wary.

Wary enough that he’d pulled up all the information on him that he could find. He felt better knowing he was walking into this with Mattias’ record, a copy of the warrant out for his arrest, and the knowledge of exactly who he’d need to contact in the Scottish government if deportation was in order.

When the door opened the third time, Kaz stood, collecting the rest of the files to be distributed to the team just as Jesper’s voice made it to his office.

“Oh hello there, darling. I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s-”

“Jesper-” Inej cut in, and Kaz opened the door, crossing the room to join the others. “This is Wylan, our chemist. Wylan, this is Jesper and Nina, who will be Point and Forger, respectively.” That wasn’t the first time that Inej has done the introductions. Kaz found it simpler if new team members met each other with Inej’s more peaceful demeanor. It started everything off more efficiently.

Wylan was young, Kaz knew that when he hired him into the job. And he looked all the part of his twenty years. Wide eyed, in over his head as he stood with the other three. “Point?” He looked from Jesper to Inej. “I thought you were Point.”

“I utilize two Points during my extractions.” Kaz broke into the circle, stepping past Inej to drop the stack of folders on the counter next to the PASIV container. Wylan jumped at his appearance, and Kaz could hear Jesper chuckle.

“Oh.”

“It’s not normal.” Nina chimed in, pushing off from where she’d been leaning back against a couple of stacked crates. He didn’t need to be watching her to know she was rolling her eyes. “Most teams have one Point and one Extractor.”

“We don’t take Tourists, either.” Inej added in easily.

Nina snorted. “Okay, sure, but no good team takes Tourists anymore.”

“Not true. Roddy takes them along all the time. You’ve seen how much people will pay to be part of the action.” Jesper dragged a chair from one of the surrounding tables, turning and settling with his arms crossed along the back. “You can double your pay bringing one sorry son of a bitch along for the ride.”

“You just like gambling with your jobs, Jes. No one who actually has a reputation brings tourists.”

“Ouch, Zenik. Low blow.”

Wylan’s eyes moved between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match, and Kaz felt a low grade migraine beginning to form. He hated these first meetings, especially with any new members added. They involved too much repetition and got very little done compared to what would get them paid. He was exhausted already, and they were still missing one.

Inej came to stand next to him, straightening the files he’d dropped. They stood like that for a moment, listening to Jesper and Nina bicker, until Inej leaned in a bit closer. “I haven’t heard anything from the Architect.”

He looked over to Nina, who was laughing at something Jesper was saying. When she noticed his eyes were on her, she met his look with a serious one of her own, mouthing he will be here. Wait. Kaz pulled up his hand, tapping one gloved finger against the face of his watch, and Nina rolled her eyes at him again.

After a moment, Kaz answered Inej with a low whisper, “We’re not waiting for him.” He tapped his cane on the concrete floor, a crisp thwick, thwick, thwick. Everyone’s eyes turned to him and he watched a frown pull at Nina’s mouth.

“Some of you I’ve briefed on the nature of the job. Others I haven’t. Here-” Kaz gestured to the files that Inej had straightened. “Is all the information we have that you’ll need to know. Anything we uncover during prep will be disseminated appropriately.” Nina and Jesper had both worked jobs with Kaz before, and barely so much as blinked when he began to speak. Wylan, on the other hand, looked lost. Entirely and completely without direction.

Kaz could feel the migraine growing at the base of his skull. He took a short breath as he turned to the Chemist.

“If you have questions - Wylan - ask Inej. I don’t have time for them.” And then back to the group. “This is going to be a very different job. For one- we’ll have two novices with us.”

“Matthias is not a novice, I told you-”

Kaz grestured to cut her off. “He’s a novice to this, Zenik-”

“He’s been dreaming just as long as you have, Brekker.”

“As a soldier with a confidential history that you haven’t looked into, and-”

“He’s a soldier who was legally dreaming with the military, of course his background is locked up!”

“And he’s late.”

Nina opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. Kaz’s brows lifted at her, expectantly waiting for an excuse, and when none came he nodded. Once. Point made.

Jesper whistled and Inej thunked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Not helping.”

“Um.”

The four of them turned to look at Wylan, who was pointing towards the warehouse door. It was dark enough out that the figure in the doorway was impossible to make out. But when said figure noticed everyone turned to see them, they started in, heading closer to the light. Kaz noted the tight clip to their walk. The militaristic way they held their shoulders.

“Nice of you to join us, Sergeant Helvar.” Kaz turned back to the group, gesturing for one of the empty chairs. “If you can hurry up, we may be able to actually get started.”

The figure slowly came into the inner ring of light, showing his closely cropped blond hair and strong jaw. Kaz wondered, for a brief moment, if they were genetic traits or if the military only went after a singular type of figure. But the thought passed as quickly as it had appeared.

Nina smiled, sitting up a little straighter. Matthias glared at every single one of them before finding the only open seat and settling. An elongated pause followed as everyone sized each other up before Inej - graceful Inej - coughed.

“Right.” Kaz continued, as if on cue. “We have two novices with us. And an untested drug.”

Simultaneous, and most likely the most in sync they would ever be, Jesper, Nina, and Matthias all asked in unison- “A what?” Wylan, at the same time as well, blanched.

And so Kaz gestured to him. “Wylan is a new Chemist, has never been under, but has a history of complicated compounds. Due to the nature of this job, he’s creating a new solution. Wylan, why don’t you explain.”

The eyes all turned to Wylan - in his university sweater and terrified eyes. Kaz gestured, when Wylan didn’t immediately start explaining, and he sat up a little straighter.

“The theory- I mean, because it’s just a theory. I won’t actually know-”

“I don’t have time for your confidence issues. Now.”

Wylan swallowed thickly before a new set to his jaw settled. “It’s a different type of combination effect. Rather than the rigid system that’s been built, it allows for suggestions from the outside world as well as the dreamers.”

“You mean like the projections?” Nina asked, suddenly leaning a bit more towards Wylan, curious. She’d gotten the explanation from Kaz, sure, but actually having the Chemist in person always excited her.

“No.” Wylan shook his head. “It’s more like if you had multiple Architects, under one level. Each of the dreamers will supply the world, and it will build over itself in an attempt to bring it all together. ”

“So like limbo.”

Jesper’s voice quieted the conversation for the few moments, the weight of what he was implying heavy in the air. Kaz was not the only dreamer amongst them who had been to limbo, and therefore the implications of a regular dream being anything similar didn’t fit well.

“Um.” Wylan, uncertainly, looked to Kaz. When Kaz nodded, Wylan nodded as well. “I guess- yeah. Each of the dreamers will have an equal say on how the world functions, what projections appear, and how the world evolves as we go.”

“Which-” Inej cut in, taking control of the conversation just as the tension started to expand to an incurable point. “Means we’ll all need to be synchronized on our vision. The plan, the layout, everything. It’s part of why we have two points-” She looked to Jesper and gave him a small smile. “And part of why we’re starting prep so much earlier than normal. We need to be a united front. A team.”

Nina snorted, and didn’t bother to hide it. Inej gave her a pointed but pleading look, and Nina let out a breath in response. Kaz, on the other hand, watched the way Wylan was worrying the sleeve of his sweater.

“There’s something else.”

“Better be good news.” Jesper chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. Wylan seemed to lose more color (a feat of will, Kaz assumed) and everyone got quiet once more.

“It’s not.” Wylan coughed, then straightened his back once more - resigning himself for whatever response was to follow. “It’s not bad news, either, really. It’s just something to be aware of.” He looked to the group, before his eyes fell back on Kaz - who hadn’t turned his own away from the boy since the beginning of this conversation. It could be Kaz’s imagination, the pointedness to Wylan’s words, but there was something there. “Because of how much the dream will depend on us all equally, it will also affect the dreams in turn. When dreamers go under, there is a part of your brain that remembers that this is a dream. That’s the same part of your brain that loses connectivity, when you fall into limbo. That’s why it’s so easy to get lost down there.” He swallowed, as if building up the nerve. “In the same way the compound opens up the mark for suggestion to the dream, it will open each of the dreamers. And if the dreamers don’t kick themselves out...”

The silence following only lasted a moment before Jesper - always Jesper - broke it. “If they don’t…?”

Kaz could feel Inej’s eyes on him. Secret, unassuming, but with purpose. Kaz ignored them, the grip around the head of his cane tightening.

What’s the point of waking up, when your dreams can look like this?

“It means-” Kaz broke in, the tightness to his voice hovering just under the surface. “The team is just as susceptible to losing themselves in the reality of the dream as the mark.” A beat. “It means that we have just as much of a chance of getting lost in the dream and being unable to ride the kick. Just like limbo.”

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath in turn. When Kaz got fed up with the tension, he pushed himself to stand, favoring his good leg.

“I sure hope you’re all in control of your mind enough to survive. The money won’t help you if you’re in a coma.”

And with that, he turned back to his office, feeling their eyes on the back of his neck.

Think about it, Kaz.

He left the rest of the night to Inej.

---

The first time Kaz Brekker shot a gun was in a dream.

It was probably a bit backwards, assigning low level juvenile delinquents to a program that taught them how to create, handle, and fire automatic weapons. Even more so when the skills that had gotten them into the detention center in the first place were the most valuable while they were under.

Jordie was much better with the weapons than Kaz had been. It could have been his size, or simply the fact Kaz didn’t like how much attention they drew. He preferred the actual search and seizure.

The program was designed to test the limits of the dream. Because while the origins of the dreaming program were meant for soldiers, in order to effectively test those limits, you needed a control group who had less eyes on them and less to lose if it didn’t work. A couple of soldiers might not attract attention, but when the state wanted to keep testing even after it was ruled an illegal trade? That’s where the detention centers came in.

These tests came in the form of puzzles. Tests that had to be done by completing a task. A lot of these tasks involved finding items hidden in a variety of different settings - cities, forests, deserts, small towns. Each of the children were given items they could use at first, but then  encouraged to come up with their own as they ‘leveled up’. They started off with things like baseball bats, crowbars, shotguns. Then graduated onto maces, medieval swords, battle axes. Items that would help them during the tests themselves.

And those tests could range - some involved finding hidden targets - folders, trinkets, answers, items. Others pitted the children against each other - games of chase, of tag. Over time, these tasks grew in severity and complexity. Winners would have days taken off their sentence. Losers, days added. They picked up on tips and tricks that some of the kids had known going in - guns were useful for range, but loud, drew a lot of attention. Knives were more easily hidden but less effective at long range. Axes could be customized, bows and arrows could be more quiet, and some of them were better at longer games of survival than others.

The first person Kaz Brekker murdered had broken Jordie’s nose during dinner earlier that week. Kaz had missed his chest, the shot landing somewhere in the boy’s stomach, and Kaz stood over him as he begged to be woken up. That he didn’t mean it. That it hurt. That, near the end of it, he was sorry. Kaz watched, unblinking, for the five minutes it took the boy to die.

That boy never bothered Jordie during lunch, again. Or Kaz, for that matter. Very few of the children did.

They settled into a kind of rhythm - Kaz was better at the puzzles and Jordie was better at the people. Who to talk to, what projections were worth keeping alive. As a team, they were unstoppable. Separate, they were unforgiving. And the memories of what they did - real or not - were a heavy weight the two of them bore together.

Kaz remembers watching Jordie, gun in hand, jaw quivering as he tried not to cry. Kaz remembers the searing pain of a subconscious’ knife tearing into his stomach and leaving him to bleed out. Kaz remembers the rush of a successful theft and the joy of a job well done and the crushing, suffocating disappointment of waking up, his eyes fluttering open to low popcorn ceilings and wrist cuffs and fluorescent lighting.

Kaz remembers most vividly the image of the light fading from Jordie’s eyes each time they opened in the same room, leaving a little less of himself there to be woken up.

Years later, Kaz had done research into what happened to the program after he’d gotten out. What they were testing for and what kind of results it produced. There was information on the associated companies, how concentrated it had been on their area, and then the names of the individuals brought on. Where they went when they completed the program and were released. Who survived the testing, gotten out, had a life.

Or, more specifically, who hadn’t.

---

Kaz did not like running any of the prep meetings. He saw very little use in the dramatics behind explaining what Inej had put so much time into collecting in each of their folders. Each job that Kaz ran came with a certain set of expectations - of time, of attention, of professionalism, of when to show up and when to perform. Kaz did not run meetings, that was part of Inej’s responsibilities, which made Nina and Jesper’s look of immediate shock a valid response. Annoying, but called for.

He dropped another file - appearing identical to the others - down on the desk. Papers and reports and photographs were scattered around it, and though it barely made any noise at all, everyone went silent.

“We start test runs on Thursday.” He explained, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane as he settled into a nearby chair. Wylan’s eyes went wide at that, and Matthias’ attention shot towards Nina. It was to be expected - it had been less than a week since they began their preparations - but Kaz paid no mind to the obvious hesitation in each of them. “The layout of the dream will need to be complete by then. I take it you can manage that much, Helvar.”

Matthias’ eyes finally pulled away from Nina, turning his cold gaze onto Kaz as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Kaz turned to Wylan. “Compound testing will start next week, as well. It will need to be strong enough for all of us to go under at once, and for the dreamer to hold the map.”

“Kaz-” Inej sounded concerned, stepping in to take Kaz’s attention away from the paling Chemist. Probably for the best. He didn’t want to chance Wylan passing out and losing a day of work. “You told me we’d have a month before going under, why are you shortening my timeline?”

He leaned back in his chair, hearing the wood creak under his weight. Dark shadows clung to the beams that held up the warehouse roof.Along the blocked-out windows he could hear the distant sound of rain on glass. The space heaters they’d brought in kept the center of the room warm enough that the chill didn’t stick, but it was getting colder. Fall was settling in.

“Things have changed.” Inej didn’t like that answer, judging by the way her jaw tensed, and Kaz shrugged. “Kuwei’s father just passed. The funeral is in three days, and Kuwei has decided to take some time off from his classes. He is planning to backpack across Europe. We have six weeks.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Originally, he’d planned for plenty of time for testing, for trials and errors. Originally, the whole job was going to take them about five months, potentially more. There were now too many moving parts and no time to control them all, and Kaz hated every second of it.

The clock was getting louder. Closer. Faster.

“Six weeks.” Inej repeated, glancing to Jesper, who shrugged back to her. It was an impossible task, for all of them. Kaz knew that. Kaz knew that even on their best days, six weeks was pushing it.

“Yes.” His team traded looks, uncertain and hesitant and afraid, and Kaz let out a short breath. “Which is why I’m coming too.” Wylan and Matthias didn’t understand why Inej, Jesper, and Nina’s attentions all snapped back to him. They kept looking between the others, hoping to find an answer in Nina’s slacked jaw.

It was Jesper who finally broke the silence. “You’re joking, aren’t you.” A beat. “This has to be a joke.”

“Kaz Brekker doesn’t have a joking bone in his body.” Nina didn’t take her eyes from Kaz, so when he lifted his own to her, she was staring directly at him. He could feel Inej grow tenser at his side, but he didn’t need to see her to know what she was thinking.

Kaz regarded the Forger for a moment, and then a moment longer, as if waiting for her to test him. To say too much, and cross a line. Nina, as if aware of his silent challenge, said nothing.

“Kaz…” It was Inej, closer to his side now, voice barely a whisper so the others couldn’t hear. “Do you really think that’s…”

He did not have time for this conversation.

“Wylan. Update the equation. There will be six of us.”

Startled out of his trance, Wylan’s voice cracked a bit around the word. “Six?”

Kaz nodded, once, tapping his cane on the cement floor beneath it. “Six. We’re all going under. It’s the most efficient way to keep complete control over the setting.”

“B-but you told me three? I don’t have enough-”

“Double it, then.” Kaz was losing his patience. “I already purchased the supplies. And Helvar- you’re going to have Wylan help you with the layout. I want sketches in twenty four hours.” Matthias jumped, though it was nearly imperceptible.

“What? Why?”

“If you have the time to ask, you’re running behind.” Kaz reached back over his shoulder to grab the folder, handing it to Inej who quickly read through the articles, absorbing the information before she shook her head as she handed it off to Matthias.

Kaz didn’t wait to see if Matthias would look at the information, because it didn’t really matter. “Zenik, you and Jesper are going under tonight. Inej has a PASIV set up.”

“Yeah-” Jesper cut in. “So Nina could practice her aliases.”

“Not tonight. The Russian over there is a decent enough Architect, maybe, but he has the imagination of the arctic tundra.” Nina winced, but didn’t argue. Kaz continued. “It will work for some, but not the entire level. You two are going to have to pick up some more flair if we want this to work. Plus, we don’t have time to work out kinks. You haven’t really dreamed in eight months, Jesper, and I will not accept mistakes because you’re out of practice.” That shut Jesper up, and when Nina didn’t chime in to fill the space, Kaz gestured over to the PASIV set-up, where he’d left a pile of more folders. More information. More research. “Four sets, four cities. Inej is going to check your work when you’re done.”

Kaz could feel it in Nina’s eyes - resentment, and an unspoken snark. Eight months isn’t two years, Brekker. You should be the one practicing. But Kaz didn’t allow her the time to speak, turning his back to the two of them, ending the conversation and turning to his work.

When there was a moment of silence following, he looked back to everyone - annoyed. Impatient. He motioned towards the PASIV with his cane. “Go, you heard the deadline.” And then he turned back to his desk.

With his back to the room, he couldn’t watch each of them move off to their separate corners. But he could still feel Inej’s presence settling at his side. When he glanced to his right, she was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, staring back out into the rest of the team.

“This wasn’t what we agreed to.”

“Plans change, Wraith.”

“Not yours.”

Kaz didn’t bother responding to that, looking through the material they’d already set out on the table. Early sketches, profiles, photographs. He kept looking, moving and stacking pages together where they went, when Inej’s voice dropped again to that whisper.

“Is this really a good idea?”

Inej knew why Kaz hadn’t gone on the last couple of years worth of jobs. Had been on the last job Kaz had gone under for, and had seen the way the world had fallen apart around them. The darkness, the smell of death, the chaos of an unseen assailant. Knowing Inej, she had probably seen Jordie as well. A face in the corner of all of Kaz’s dreams.

Kaz found what he was looking for, a stack of photographs of a young boy and his father on vacation. Kaz’s eyes fell to the cover of the book in the boy’s hand. He stood.

“Doesn’t matter. The decision has been made.” He passed the photo to Inej, who glanced it over - a photo she’s seen a hundred times. “Give that to Matthias. See what he can make of that book.”

Inej frowned at him. “Kaz-”

But he was gone before she could finish.

--

“It’s not meant to hold this many dreamers.” Wylan’s voice shook- both with strain, emotion, and exhaustion. He was scared, but he was also annoyed. Kaz idly found himself wondering what he would be like when he snapped.

“Unfortunately, Wylan, that’s why you’re here. To make it hold this many dreamers.” Kaz settled into the leather armchair that Inej had gotten Jesper and Matthias to drag inside for their practice sessions. Due to the fact the dream itself would have to last hours longer than normal, she found it important to bring some comfort to the process.

Kaz, with expert fingers, slipped the needle into his arm. Inej was sleeping next to him, and Nina next to her. Then it was Matthias, and then Jesper. They’d been under with the four of them a few times now, with varied results. But this would be the first time Kaz would be under with them, and Wylan was visibly nervous.

“I haven’t had enough time to prep-”

“You’re preparing now.” Kaz flicked the vein in his arm, pulling his leg up onto the footstool and settling into the cushions. Kaz closed his eyes, forcing the tension out of his limbs and shoulders. “Make sure you get it right.”

And then he was under, a blink of an eye and darkness. Emptiness. The loss of self. Of everything around him.

The sensation was familiar enough - the feeling of falling, the feeling of loss, the panic and the warmth and the familiarity of a reality that is not, wholly, yours.

Kaz opened his eyes in the middle of a storm. It was freezing, ice and snow and shards of rock flying around him. Distantly, he could hear Nina yelling. A part of the earth around them shot up into the sky, and Kaz noticed someone who had to be Matthias knocked to the ground. Nina jumped off to the side, avoiding another piece of earth and ice.

Jesper was somewhere in the flurry, screaming “What the hell is this?”

And Inej, who Kaz found immediately at the sound of her voice. “Some kind of earthquake!”

“No.” Nina’s voice sounded guilty. Like she knew exactly what was happening, and as if she was standing right next to him. “We’re under attack.”

This was supposed to be a simple creation dream. They had started to decide on the layout, on the general weather. It was going to be in the north, a kind of tundra (had to make it easy for Helvar, after all). It would be an empty landscape, it would have weather, and that was that. It was supposed to be a trial run of the compound, not an event-heavy training dream.

“I need a distraction!” Jesper was still out there somewhere, in the sleet and rocks and wind.

“Get down!” Wylan’s voice - which meant he was here now, too. Had followed Kaz under like he was told to. Officially, they were six under with the new compound. Kaz tried to feel satisfied with how it was working. Proud, in a way, that Wylan’s chemistry panned out. But when he looked around to find the boy, his eyes fell to Inej, who was signalling to him. A familiar look.

He settled back against a large rock slab, settling his weight, threading his fingers together. Inej started running, and in half a moment, she used his hands as a springboard to get over the slab of rock keeping them held together.

There was more screaming, shots rang out, and then the storm started to settle. Kaz, now able to see more than five feet around himself, took a look at the scenery. The location. The damage. They were all in costume, different clothes and different looks that, somehow, still managed to fit the feel.

Another explosion. Another rock fell. And then the six of them started to collect.

Nina looked haunted, exhausted, and Matthias was helping her to her feet. Jesper was checking the pistols in his hands, like he was truly enjoying them for the first time, and Wylan looked both terrified and pleased with himself.

Once they were all in ear shot and Inej had returned, Nina brushed off the front of her red...he assumes it’s a robe. Some kind of cloak.

“What was that?” Jesper finally asked, sliding his pistols back into the holsters at his hip.

“That was...me.” Nina admitted, out of breath. “I don’t know why. I usually have more control over this kind of thing.”

“It’s the compound.” Wylan admitted, just as guilty. “It’s stronger than I thought. It’s something to know going forward, too. If we all are going to be able to bring in this level of chaos-”

“You all need to train your subconscious more strictly.” Matthias muttered, with a hand still at the small of Nina’s back. “We can’t deal with that during the mission. Right, demon?”

But Matthias’ voice was a little too far off for Kaz to really hear him. Too far away for him to notice everyone’s eyes turned to him. Instead, he was staring off to the horizon. To a single dark shape right outside of his vision. Inej, who approached him then, tugged at his sleeve.

“Kaz.”

He blinked, pulling himself from the trance. Inej was staring at him. As was Matthias, and Nina. Jesper and Wylan were fumbling with the pistols and the explosives split between them, unaware, and Kaz was momentarily thankful for that.

There was another set of eyes on the back of his neck, Kaz knew, but he forced himself to keep attention here. To ignore the slowly building feeling of panic that started bubbling at his gut.

“We’ll need to up the practice times. Everyone needs to be comfortable being this open.” The irony was not lost on him, no, but he didn’t need that look from Inej, either. “Now- get settled. We need to start building together. Wylan-” Wylan jumped, turning his attention to Kaz like a student being reprimanded. Kaz motioned to the wreckage around them. “This is your compound. Show us how to use it.”

Wylan nodded, stepping in closer to Matthias and Nina to start explaining some of the finer details, and the conversation moved. Kaz could still feel Inej’s eyes on him, which is why he found himself jerking his arm away. “I’m fine.” He muttered under his breath.

Inej, suspicious, simply nodded and turned to the others.

When Kaz looked back to the horizon, the figure was gone. But in its place was the barest brush of a warm wind. The smell of grass. A shining, bright blue.

This is Jordie’s dream.

---

The first time Kaz watched Jordie die, it was at his own hands.

It was an accident. Jordie wasn’t supposed to be the body on the other side of the door. Kaz had been hunting, running from the fear of something following him. He’d been prepared to protect himself. Do anything necessary to protect himself.

Jordie, later, admitted he didn’t know it was Kaz he was hunting. There had been this need to find whatever was running from him. This urge to collect it. Save it. End it.

There was so much blood. Warm, and sticky, and thick. Jordie’s face was surprised, before it lost all color, and he crumbled into him. Kaz, terrified, unsure, panicked, young, desperately trying to press at the gushing blood like if he could just make it stop it’ll be fine.

When they woke, Jordie had promised him it was fine. It wasn’t the first time he died. Wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked.

It had taken three weeks for Kaz’s hands to stop feeling sticky. Stop feeling warm.

He still wore gloves, to this day, to protect himself from the feeling.

---

The breakdown of the dream was supposed to be as followed:

STEP ONE: Get Kuwei under.

This has been left to Inej. She was the only person Kaz could trust with access to his funds, and the professionalism needed while blackmailing.

She had been given the full length of the job to secure this step, and even with the shortened timeline and her annoyance with that limitation, she had it handled.

"A hostel?" Kaz's brow arched up at her, and Inej ignored his condensation.

"His first stop is in Sweden, but he is going to Amsterdam for a festival with some friends from his university. Four days. Everyone is staying in the same hostel." She dropped a stack of photos and a blueprint of room designs on his desk. "Co-ed rooms, four sets of bunk beds."

"I take it you bought out the room?"

"I bought out the floor." Inej looked down to the watch on her wrist as Kaz looked up to her. When she noticed him staring, Inej shrugged. "It was more efficient. And I was pressed for time."

Kaz felt his lip curl into a grin. "Not bad, Wraith."

Inej rolled her eyes as she turned to the door, leaving Kaz with a quick- “Don’t cut my timeline again, Kaz.” before leaving as silently as she'd entered.

STEP TWO: Convince Kuwei of the world.

The biggest problem with this job was simple: the mark was Kuwei Yul-Bo.

The only son to the first known Chemist. The only son to the man who not only built the dreaming world, but who left an indelible impact on how you dreamed. Before Bo Yul-Bayur, there was no real understanding of how to make the dream stable. Night terrors turned into manufactured nightmares where the chemistry of the brain couldn’t separate what was internal or external. It was chaos. It cost the first few testers their lives, and a lot of people a lot of money.

Enter internationally renowned chemical engineer Bo Yul-Bayur.

Finding sedatives that worked to keep sleeping bodies under but left the minds and imaginations stable enough to create and master the creation of dreams was his first step. The second and third involved his sudden removal from the board after a cross interaction with a couple of heads of state, his mysterious disappearance, and the widespread access to the chemical makeup and equation for his most successful solutions.

Bo Yul-Bayur could be single-handedly credited for creating the dreaming underground. Kaz owed him his life savings, and all the recognition and respect the world kept from him.

However, that also complicated the situation when it came to his son. And this was the only reason that Van Eck would have stooped down to asking for Kaz’s help.

Because sometimes your greatest asset is the fact you’re the only criminal insane enough to agree to the job.

Kuwei was, in every essence of the term, the Son of Dreaming. Which, for Kaz’s purposes, meant that a militarized subconscious was the very least of what they could expect.

Normal jobs, and a good portion of abnormal jobs, would end there - a militarized subconscious not only meant a quick death once you went under, but could - depending on the level of militarization - risk your sanity. It hadn’t been as dangerous in the first few stages of the dreaming underground, but as marks and rich men became more aware, the need for extra levels of protection grew.

That meant this job, Kaz’s job, would have to be out of the box. It would have to be undefined. Beyond abnormal.

“Let me get this straight-” Nina pressed her fingers to her temple, her voice cutting directly into Kaz’s explanation. “You want Kuwei to be the one building, and populating, and creating the dream?”

Kaz felt everyone’s equally concerned eyes turn to him as they waited for his answer. It was raining (it almost always was this time of year in Edinburgh) and Kaz’s leg (as it tended to do) ached. But that was only partially at blame for the sour look to his face. “Isn’t that what I just said, Zenik?”

Jesper leaned to his left towards Wylan and probably thought he was whispering when he explained, “Another word of advice- Kaz doesn’t like to repeat himself. Like. Ever.” He was, of course, loud enough for everyone to hear.

And Nina, as always, was unfazed by the look. “How do you think that’s going to work? We just go in unaware and unprepared into Kuwei Yul-Bo’s mind?”

“Nina-” Inej tried to mediate, but it was Matthias who spoke up.

“I didn’t sign up for a suicide mission.”

Jesper laughed. “You didn’t sign up for jack shit, Helvar.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion, Fahey.”

“Enough.”

The sharp edge of Kaz’s tone was enough to knock Wylan back a bit, the bottles around him clattering at his wince. It was an effective silencing tool, and everyone’s attention returned to Kaz, waiting for whatever explanation he would surely give.

“It will be his dream.” He confirmed. “But it will be our direction. Wylan’s compound-” Wylan blanched once again at the attention, but Kaz kept going. “Is going to open him up to suggestions. The more of us who are under, and who are going under with the same idea, the more Kuwei will accept it.”

“Which means,”  Inej stood, then, the sudden movement jerking them all out of the trance they’d fallen into. “We have to be in agreement when we go under. If any of us question the world, or what we find there, it will invite unrest.”

Wylan swallowed enough for it to echo up in the rafters. “U-unrest?”

“If he is the dreamer and questions the dream, we will end up sitting ducks.” Nina explained, still massaging her temple. “Why is this different from normal? We always go in with an understanding of the dream.”

“It’s more than an understanding. It’s a United Front.” Mattias muttered darkly. “You mean to tell me that you expect this group to be in step? Complete cohesion? You’re insane.”

“Then maybe you should get to work.”

STEP THREE: Work the narrative from the outside, inward.

The plan hinged on Kuwei’s subconscious accepting the dream as his own. But more than that, it hinged on Kuwei’s interest in it. In wanting to see the story play out. If he was distracted by the story, his subconscious would fill the necessary open safes with his secrets, and then it would be up to their work to find the information Van Eck was looking for.

Additionally, if Kuwei fully accepted the storyline, the projections - if given the opportunity - would be ample resource to find out what information it is that Kuwei was hiding.

Which meant that the majority of the dream would be a combination of a narrative to be played out and accepted, as well as an engaging enough setting that would allow complete acceptance of the world and its laws. Part of that involved Wylan’s new drug, and part of it involved the richness of the world itself.

The latest nights they pulled were in going over this aspect - refilled mugs of coffee and Jesper’s restless tapping pulling them through session after session.

And in the end, it was Kaz who broke through the initial hurdle, his eyes held tight to the file that Van Eck had given him as it laid open across his desk.

“Make it a heist.”

Nina and Matthias froze where they had been bickering, exhaustion and their exceedingly unnecessary sexual tension driving almost every disagreement to yelling. But it was Inej who sat up from her spot on the floor, turning to Kaz with a curious eye.

“A heist?”

Kaz nodded, once, and heard Jesper’s fidgeting freeze and felt Wylan’s eyes turn to him too. He tapped his finger on the file, though not for any kind of direction. “Kuwei likes adventure novels. And pirate stories.” It was in the research- Inej was always thorough. “So we make it an adventure. He’s been kidnapped-”

“Because of something he knows.” Nina joined in, picking up on the direction that Kaz was moving in and stepping in to take the seat to his left, leaning over the files on the table. “Something important, world altering, that no one else knows but these people are willing to do whatever it takes to find.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to be the pirate?” Jesper asked, looking from Nina to Kaz and then to Inej. “If he likes those kinds of stories, why would he dream-”

“Because the people you tend to admire in stories aren’t the ones you end up being in real life.” Wylan answered, having left his rustic laboratory in the corner to join them. “Your favorite characters aren’t usually the ones you identify with the most.”

Kaz nodded in agreement. “He’s an academic. Dreaming for a life of adventure, but never quite able to find it outside of books. He needs to be saved by the characters he idolizes.” Kaz paused, waiting to see if anyone would fill in what he was referring to.

“We’re not saving him.” Mattias’ low growl was obstinate, and Nina shot him a quick look. “What?”

“And so we- the heroes- show up and save him from his prison.” Jesper grinned, a kind of alight excitement burning behind his eyes. Kaz knew that look was dangerous- that look had gotten them both into nearly every problem they’d ever run into- but it was contagious.

“You know…” Inej was feeling it too, smiling when she caught Kaz’s eye. “This might just work.”

“Might?” Matthias cut in again. “We’re going to have to do a little better than might.”

“Oh, thank you for your contribution, Helvar.” Jesper cut back, even as he was grinning.

“Enough.” But despite it all, Kaz could feel it too. The excitement of a next step, the energy of movement. Progress. He turned to Matthias, expectant. “Now, tell me about this prison.”

STEP FOUR: Find the information required by the job.

Every dreaming job is different - it is why, as an industry, it attracts the more creative criminals. Some extractions are straightforward - bring a mark into a dream, build safes and rooms for the mark to fill, steal the file, get out without it appearing suspicious. In the early years of dreaming, and dream-theft, enough of the population did not know about PASIV devices or dreaming that you could go under without anyone realizing it was happening. But as it grew more popular, and as it grew more widely known and subconscious security became the norm, the art of the theft had to get more creative.

Gone were the days of a simple maze. Gone were the years that personal security was all that was needed to protect your mind. These days, Kaz Brekker got what he wanted by being creative. By thinking outside of the dream, and then the box, and then the space within that.

For this job, it was going to involve the prison. A heist (seeing as Kaz has found that hiding behind the obvious works well in dreams) to break Kuwei out. And buried within that narrative, the information. They would depend on the projections, too. They were looking for an actively hidden amount of information, information that would have gotten Kuwei taken - if the narrative is to be believed. They would find out from the projections that Kuwei would supply what the information is that they’re down there to take, find said information, and break Kuwei out.

Kaz, in deciding to join the active crew members and go under, would be tasked with the information itself. The story did not need him, though he would play whatever part would make the most sense and would create the least amount of resistance. But he was not necessary, and would instead spend his time doing what he has always done best.

Breaking into safes- or in this case, cells.

STEP FIVE: Play out the remaining dream-time without a kick.

This is where things got a little more complicated. They were only going under one level, which left them vulnerable to Kuwei, if he had any training at all, to notice the constructed nature. And since they were only going under one level, and to uphold the authenticity of the dream, they would not induce a kick.

It would keep them under for much longer than they were used to. It would force them to play out the roles with Kuwei’s presence. Whatever happened to the narrative of the dream would have to be upheld for days, maybe weeks, after the actual event.

This is where their flair for the dramatics would come in handy.

STEP SIX: Leave undetected.

If everything went as it was supposed to, the compound would leave Kuwei’s system with enough processing time that it would feel like an intense dream, and nothing more.

They would leave their rooms at errant intervals that worked with their stories, and they would all cover their own returns to Edinburgh. They would reconvene at the warehouse in one week’s time to receive payment and their exit meeting, and from there, would be on their way.

Another job completed. Another payment received.

---

The last time Jordie closed his eyes, Kaz had been mad at him. He remembers that much.

It had been about something stupid - one of the directors of the project, man by the name of Pekka Rollins had offered the brothers the chance to take part in testing a new compound. They would be the first humans it had been used on. There were dangers, there were always dangers, but Rollins promised years taken from their sentence and Jordie’s attention had been caught.

Kaz didn’t like the idea. Something about the man’s off-putting grin and well to do nature did not sit well with him. He tried to mention it to Jordie, that his gut didn’t trust the way Pekka Rollins had looked at them, but Jordie had snapped back.

We don’t really have a choice, do we? I don’t want to spend my life in jail, and time is running out.

Jordie had a point, which Kaz knew. Because of the way the tasks had worked, Kaz and Jordie had only taken one, maybe two years off their combined sentence. Jordie had less than a year before he hit eighteen and would be moved to the adult prison. As the days went by, Kaz wanted Jordie get more and more worried about the counter. The dwindling numbers of days he had left.

But I don’t trust him, Kaz had pleaded. Not this time. Please. We’ll make it up somewhere else-

Doesn’t matter if you trust him. We just have to get the target and get out.

Jordie, I don’t-

It’s not up to you, Kaz. I already agreed.

And the dream, at first, had seemed normal enough. Dark streets of an old city. There were canals that wove through the tall buildings, and the air was putrid. Damp. Kaz and Jordie had taken off, into the city and into the lives they would need to complete the task.

Then there was the plague.

It wasn’t abnormal, facing disasters and catastrophes in dreams. The program wanted to test the limits of creation, and men - more often than not - gravitated towards the weight of death. Hurricanes, tornadoes, mass shootings, holocausts. But this was Kaz’s first plague, and with the setting, it was cataclysmic.

Kaz had gotten sick. And so had Jordie. They weren’t even aware that they could- but it felt as real as anything Kaz had ever experienced while awake.

He’d passed out, at some point. And Jordie alongside with him. When his eyes opened, it was on a barge - a barge of bodies. Dead bodies. Projections.

Except that wasn’t the whole truth, was it? Because amongst them, Kaz had found Jordie. Bloated, pale, cold. Kaz was still feverish - had to be - because he remembers screaming for hours. Hours.

Wake up!

Jordie did not. Not then, and not when Kaz finally woke back up topside, either. They had to sedate Kaz a second time just to get him out of the room, and the image is burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them.

Pekka Rollins, thoughtful and curious, standing over Jordie’s unresponsive body.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

---

The plan, at first, went as it had supposed to.

The Ice Court was near-flawless. Their jobs as convicts breaking in was set. Every projection they met fulfilled their roles and reinforced the status quo. They were here for the plot, all of them pawns to a greater need.

Kuwei was inside. Kuwei was part of the dream. Kuwei had taken the bait.

When Kaz opened his eyes in the truck full of bodies, he nearly lost consciousness a second time. Whether it was the detail the other members had placed in their set-up, or his own anxieties poking holes into the plan, it had almost ruined everything.

Almost. But not quite. Inej had grabbed his arm and held him up upright and Kaz pulled himself back together again.

After that, things fell into place. They each knew their roles, where they were supposed to land and where they were supposed to be. Kuwei, picking up on the threads of the story that their subconscious fed him, played along. He would be inside an inner cell, waiting to be executed or tested on or whatever it was that he would assume would be worse, and the rest of the team would arrive to save him. Six people, six heroes, six parts of the reward. The projections agreed, leaving notes on why Kuwei was held, what was happening, what they would need to find.

Except that things - as they did - started to go wrong.

A woman from Inej’s past arrived at the grand party. She was not supposed to be part of the attendees, but there she was, in all her peacock feathers and dangerous sneer. The old Commander from Nina’s time in the military whisked her away into the cells for a grand tour, and Nina had followed. Matthias had been the Architect, which meant that the most of his subconscious would color the setting itself, but even he couldn’t be prepared for the weight it would be on him. He followed after Nina, panicked she was lost to the dream too.

Wylan was a nervous wreck of a boy - doing his best to keep up but doing the most to attract attention to himself. Jesper did his part to keep Wylan from dying before the mission even began, but Kaz knew better than to assume that would keep up.

Kaz, after the initial run in with the truck of other prisoners, was able to hold it together. They made it into the cells, they made it out of those cells. And then they were running - Kaz had a safe to find, if there was one. Kaz had the information to gather. Kad had his job, before all else.

And then there was Pekka Rollins.

Kaz was not prepared. Not prepared for him. They’d gone under in training and Kaz had been able to hold his armor together for that, but this. This was different. This was heavier. Kaz was supposed to be working. He was supposed to meet Inej down by the boiler room. But they were on the stairs, the clock ticking down, when the feeling settled in his gut.

When Kaz turned, it was Jordie’s face that was waiting for him. Sickly pale, ghost-like, bloated, but solid. He watched Kaz from a floor that was not originally in the layout, a line of cells that was not supposed to exist, and then he turned around. Started to walk away.

Kaz knew that this was the drug. Knew that this had nothing to do with the plan, and would ruin everything if he took too much time. But Jordie glanced back to him, color suddenly returning, and grinned.

You’re not going to let him go, are you baby brother?

Bells. There were bells ringing. That was his cue. But Kaz took a step forward, because Jordie was there. For once, for real, he was just thirty feet down that hall. Was stepping through a door. Kaz had spent his life learning how to get through doors - whether locked or otherwise - and he would not let this one get in the way.

Jordie disappeared, and Kaz could hear Pekka Rollins’ echo of a laugh. Strong. Settled. Comfortable.

For a brief moment, all Kaz could see was Pekka standing over Jordie’s body back in the testing room. A disappointed shake of his head as he turned away. The panic in Kaz’s chest because Jordie was supposed to be waking up, Jordie is supposed to be waking up. It’s a dream. It was all a dream. Everything that happened, everything that Kaz had done, it hadn’t been real. Then there was the feeling of large, strong hands under his armpits. Dragging him away. Someone pulled a sheet over Jordie’s body.

The bells continued, and if Kaz had been paying attention, he’d know that this was the exact moment that Inej would be climbing. That Jesper and Wylan would be waiting, anxiously, at the bottom of the shaft. Nina and Mattias would be gathering Kuwei. Would be bringing him along. Kuwei, fully entrapped in the narrative, would follow. He’d understand. He’d be a part of the story.

Kaz was supposed to be joining them down in the boiler room. He was supposed to be taking the shaft up, and out. They are so close. So very, very close.

But then the door is gone. A gunshot echoed from somewhere down the hall. Jordie’s laugh, and then silence.

It’s not up to you, Kaz.

Kaz ran after it.

---

The very few times that Kaz dreams, unencumbered and undirected by any device, it always starts off the same. A quiet field, a low breeze, and grass up to his knees. He can smell hay, and pollen, and somewhere far off, livestock. The sound of the field is all around him - buzzing and fluttering and moving. Alive. Everything is alive, and it is warm.

And then Jordie is there. Somewhere. Off in the distance or hiding beyond the ridge. Kaz is never quite sure when Jordie got so good at hiding, that was Kaz’s talent, but he’s always just out of sight.

Kaz calls out - “Jordie?” - and runs after him.

Then it all changes. In the blink of an eye, the grass at his legs are limbs, the wind pulling at his face are fingers. The smell of death, and rot, and dark decay envelop him. Jordie’s voice echos off in the distance, calling out for him but hauntingly distant, and Kaz always comes to a stop.

In his hand is a card, blinding white against the background of death, and a single crow on its face.

Kaz recognizes his totem, recognizes that he is the only one who knows it, and Jordie’s voice gets louder. Louder, and louder, and louder, until the two words ricochet like bullets in Kaz's skull.

Wake up.

But Kaz can’t. Not this time.

---

What do you mean he didn’t wake up?

He’s not waking up, Inej. Try for yourself. I don’t-

Wylan, what’s happening?

It’s the drug. His subconscious clung too heavily to the stimuli. It’s-

What does that even mean?! Why isn’t he waking up?

Don’t yell at Wylan!

I-I- It’s like he has sleep paralysis. His subconscious thinks he woke up, but it believes what we gave it. He believes what he all saw down there is real.

You mean he’s still in the dream?

How can he still be in the dream? Matthias is up. Shouldn’t it have fallen apart?

Yes. It should have. Unless he memorized the maps himself. His subconscious could have clung to what I showed all of you…

But the dream is over. The drug should have worn off.

Unless he fell deeper.

He’s in limbo…

No! God damn it Brekker, of all times?

What are we going to do?

We have to go back in there.

What?! Are you insane? Into his subconscious?

It should mirror the same world we built for the dream. Same stories, same rules. It’ll just be what his subconscious built of it.

Oh, great. So not only are we going into his limbo, but we’re going into his version of the fucked up dream we built for Kuwei? You have to be kidding me.

You all don’t need to go, I can do it.

Are you serious, Inej? No way. You’re not going alone.

He’ll need us all. Without the complete picture, he’ll know something is wrong.

We should go down now. Before he’s locked in there for a lifetime.

I need more time. I need to make sure they know we finished the Kuwei job. They’ll be waiting for an answer…

Then we’ll go down first. Inej, you can join after. Okay? It’s only two levels deep, right? So it shouldn’t be too sped up.

Okay. I guess we’re doing this.

The demon should be paying us a lot more than just-

Matthias, not the time!

Okay. Everyone get back to your device. We’ll sync up and go back. We’re all prepped for this world anyway, right? On my count. Three, two, one--

---

Kaz opens his eyes, blinking twice to shed the heaviness.

It’s dark, and there is a weighted, warm sort of moisture clinging to the air around him. It makes his leg ache.

He sits up, slow and cautious, with one thing on his mind. It’s a familiar thing, something he is comfortable with holding, comfortable with carrying and knowing and understanding. It’s something he’s lived with his entire life, and something he will most likely continue to live with, however long that may be.

It is sweet, in the back of his throat.

Van Eck will pay for this.

Revenge, as it were, was the greatest form of motivation. And Ketterdam knows it well.

[dr-archeville]

INDY Daily: After Earth Day, a Look at New Environmental Bills in N.C.

It’s Friday, April 23

Just one week left to nominate your favorite local businesses in the INDY's Best of the Triangle for 2021!  Where’s the best pizza?  Who’s the best OBGYN? What’s the best reason to live in the Triangle?

Nominate your favorites now! Top four finalists make it to the finals.

Good morning, readers.

Yesterday was Earth Day, which, in this newsletter at least, was a bit overshadowed by some of the terrible things happening here on earth. But there are still important legislative proposals being filed at the state level so let's take a moment today to look at some environmental bills introduced this session.

Senate Bill 549: Improve Pipeline Safety State Sen. Natasha Marcus, a Mecklenburg Democrat, filed this bill in response to the nation's largest gasoline spill in two decades, the Colonial Pipeline spill in Huntersville, near Charlotte, back in August, releasing 1.2 million gallons of gasoline into the Oehler Nature Preserver and near several residential neighborhoods. The bill would give the N.C. Department of Environmental Quality $200,000 to to study the "condition, safety, and environmental impact" of pipelines that transport petroleum products through or within the state. Here's more info on that spill.

Senate Bill 572: Coal Ash/Structural Fill Modifications This bipartisan bill would modify the requirements for the use of coal ash as structural fill and would conform the state's coal ash requirements to meet federal standards set by the EPA.

Senate Bill 699: Polluters Pay The bill would require corporate polluters to cover the costs of cleanup and alternative water supplies to homes affected by contamination.

House Bill 230: NC Managing Environmental Waste Act of 2021 The bill would address the issue of plastic waste by giving financial incentives to cities and counties with plastic waste reduction programs, establish a pilot program to reduce plastic waste at state operated food service facilities, and direct the Joint Legislative Oversight Committee on Natural and Agricultural Resources to study the issue of plastic waste.

House Bill 501: PFAS Manufacture Use/Sale Ban The bill would ban the manufacture and use of PFAS (or forever chemicals) in North Carolina. A companion bill would implement measures to prevent and address contamination from discharge of PFAS into waterways. 

House Bill 563: Renewable Energy Tax Credits The bill would reinstate a tax credit incentive for investing in renewable energy properties. House Bill 632: Waterway Protection Act The bill would strengthen buffer requirements, restore local authority in setting riparian buffers, and require remediation for the destruction of streams.

House Bill 633: Reinstate Solar Tax Credit The bill would reenact the tax credit for investing in solar equipment.

House Bill 634: Improve Ambient Air Quality The bill would place restrictions on heavy truck idling. 

House Bill 635: Hydraulic Fracking Statewide Ban The bill would ban the "dangerous, polluting, and unnecessary practice" of fracking throughout the state.

House Bill 636: Clean Energy Grants The bill would appropriate millions of dollars for clean energy grants.

Did I miss any? Let me know! Have a great weekend everyone.

For more information, resources, and promotional opportunities please contact sales@indyweek.com

Like the INDY Daily? Share it with your friends and ask them to subscribe!

Orange County

At its meeting yesterday, the UNC Board of Governors discussed returning to normal operations for the fall semester, increasing out-of-state enrollment caps for the system's historically Black colleges and universities from 18 to 25 percent, and made appointments to the Board of Trustees for multiple universities for four-year terms, including UNC-Chapel Hill.

One of the appointed UNC-CH trustees, Malcolm Turner, is the head of strategy and corporate development for sports betting site DraftKings, a fantasy sports betting operator that includes betting on college sports. While the Board of Governors is supposed to vet potential trustees, a former trustee, Dwight Stone, told the board that none of the five nominees UNC Chancellor Kevin Guskiewicz put forward made it to final consideration.

"The chancellor put forward, and the board chair, five nominees to the board," Stone said. "Not a single one was moved forward to this group. I find that unbelievable almost. … That input from a chancellor is needed, well thought through. They look through any number of avenues of their needs, both financial, institutional knowledge, et cetera, and obviously, none of those candidates that he put forward were valued enough to be moved to this board. That’s disappointing."

In March, UNC-Chapel Hill requested joint jurisdiction between the Chapel Hill Police Department and UNC Police be expanded to include all off-campus Greek housing, meaning officers from either department could respond to incidents at fraternity and sorority houses. The move is to improve students' safety, Chancellor Kevin Guskiewicz explained.

Durham County

Shooters, the Durham bar that's popular with Duke students, received a warning from the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services for failing to adhere to COVID-19 restrictions.

Wake County

Downtown Raleigh businesses are preparing for possible unrest in the wake of the police killing of Andrew Brown in Elizabeth City.

Epic Games CEO Tim Sweeney, who is the richest person in North Carolina and whose Cary-based company is worth $29 billion, will give 7,500 acres of land in the mountains that he purchased during the recession to the Southern Appalachian Highlands Conservancy to protect rare plant and animal habitats from development. In partnership with Audubon North Carolina and Coastal Land Trust, Sweeney will also pay to conserve the two-mile Hustaff Island, one of the state's last privately owned, undeveloped barrier islands located between Lea Island and Topsail Beach to the north and Figure 8 Island to the south.

Elsewhere

Protests in Elizabeth City continued for a second night following the killing of Andrew Brown.

What exactly happened during Brown's shooting, which occurred while a deputy was executing a search warrant, remains murky: body camera footage from the deputy, Tommy Wooten, hasn't been released and the State Bureau of Investigation is looking into the killing. Witnesses say sheriff's deputies fired at Brown's car multiple times as he drove away; his car skidded out of his yard and hit a tree, and when officers opened the car door, Brown was dead.

Brown, 42, was a father of 10. Friends and relatives, including Brown's son and his 92-year-old grandmother, say he was good person and a good father who wasn't violent and didn't own guns.

The deportation order for Juana Tobar Ortega (pictured above with her family), the first immigrant to seek sanctuary in North Carolina, was rescinded by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Ortega, who immigrated to the U.S. from Guatemala, lived in a Greensboro church for four years to avoid deportation. Today, she returned home to her family in Asheboro.

A spat between an Asheville needle exchange clinic and its neighbors could threaten syringe exchanges across the state. Senate Bill 607 seeks to ban mobile exchanges, require engraved needles, background checks, forced treatment, and more, as opioid overdose deaths climb to an all-time high.

There's broad support, as there should be, for a North Carolina bill that would allow incarcerated women to give birth free of shackles before, during, and after delivery.   

Statewide COVID-19 by the numbers: Thursday, April 22

2,236 New lab-confirmed cases (954,765 total; seven-day average leveling)

1,149 Current hospitalizations reported (seven-day average going up; 12,505 total deaths, +25 over Wednesday)

36,519 Completed tests (12.06 million total; most recent positive rate was 4.9 percent)

6,711,907 Total vaccinations administered (State data not updated daily)

Today's weather Cloudy in the morning, then mostly sunny in the afternoon with a high of 67 degrees.

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[alarawriting]

Writeober 2020 #23: Space

Through the polarized faceplate of her suit, the sun was a round, sharply edged disk of brilliance, sitting low to the horizon, surrounded by a black sky.  The polarization blocked the stars if she looked sunward, but nightward, once she let the plate adjust, she could see the earthshine of the half-planet hovering ghostly on the horizon.  The solar plates were a forest of bright mirrors around her, glittering only slightly less brightly than they had a week ago at high noon.

“Lavonne, you moving on to Serenity this week?”

Serenity.  She smiled bitterly to herself.  She stood now in the Sea of Crisis, Mare Crisium, and she didn’t know when she’d be moving on to Serenity again. At least she hadn’t been working at Fecundity this moonday – the irony would have been a little over the top. “No, I’m seeing Mal.  Gonna help bring the water trucks in and then it’s my days off.”

The com in her suit had lousy sound quality, and it was audio only, but she still thought she could hear Jenia’s grin.  “Oh, yeah, I forgot.  He’s coming in this run, isn’t he?”

“Comes in every other night. One month out, one month back.”

“Girl, you should get you a man on a short-hauler.  Or a Loonie boy right here.  I tell you, I couldn’t deal with my man being gone two months at a time.”

“It’s good money.  And he’s just going out to the ‘roids, it’s not like he’s on a Saturn hauler or something.”

“Uh-uh.  Not for me.”

“Well, good, ‘cause I wasn’t planning to share.”

Jenia laughed.  “You make sure he takes you somewhere nice with all that good money, then.”

“Nearest fine restaurant’s in Tranquility.  I only got him for three spins, I’d rather eat in the commissary or my apartment and stay in, if you get me.”

More laughter.  “Well, you have a good time whatever way you want it, then.”  A faint beep. “Got shutdowns to do.  I’ll talk to you later, girlfriend.”

“Later.”  Maybe much, much later. She wasn’t saying anything yet, not until she talked to Mal, but this was not going to be a funtime, playing around kind of visit.  Her career on the Moon was probably over, and what happened next depended on what kind of man Mal really was.

***

By two earthdays later, night had fallen.  Most of the crew had moved on with the sun, to Serenity or Tranquility or one of the farther maria like Imbrium.  Lavonne had stayed behind as part of the unloading crew to help the truckers unload their cargo.  It was a legitimate job, part of her regular assignments, but she’d gotten herself assigned to it because of her year-long romance with a trucker.  

Nighttime on the Moon was when the majority of the trucks came in.  Short-haulers came in from Earth with holds full of liquid nitrogen, hydroponic fertilizer, or trade goods, and needed to be loaded up with the fuel cells the solar arrays were here to manufacture.  Medium-haulers came in from Mars or the asteroid belt with water ice or metals from the mines out there.  The water ice, in particular, was vital to the operations here; the solar arrays electrolyzed it into hydrogen for the fuel cells and oxygen for breathing mixes.  Long-haulers came in from Saturn or farther with methane ice, more valuable than water ice because it packed tighter and generated more hydrogen per molecule, but less common in the asteroid belt and a lot more volatile.  Lavonne worked with the medium-haulers, unloading the water ice into the bays where it would be melted and readied to be electrolyzed next lunar sunrise.  When the time rolled around that she expected Mal to be coming in, she took a break from the ice bays and went directly to the cargo hangar.

Malachi Lazaroff was a tall, skinny guy with the oddly elongated limbs of the spaceborn.  In fact, for spaceborn he was short, just under two meters.  He had shaggy black hair in a perpetual mess and skin that might be nicely tanned if it ever went near sunlight, but instead was pasty pale with a grayish tinge to it. He had thick implanted contacts that made his big brown eyes look bigger than they really were, and he moved in Moon gee with the economical fluidity of a man who’d never kicked a ball on Earth. “Lavonne!”  He jumped down from the edge of his truck’s hold and reached her in three steps, grabbing her in a big hug.  “I am so glad to see you, honey, you have no idea!”

They were in the hangar, under pressurization – the ice could theoretically be unloaded topside, since it was night, but iceteroids were jagged and could rip a spacesuit, so truckers and loaders both preferred to bring the trucks all the way into the hangar when they’d fit.  So Mal could afford to be a little exuberant, but Lavonne wasn’t in the mood.  She extricated herself as soon as she could. “What’s wrong, Vonne?”

“Nothing,” Lavonne said, which wasn’t true, and “It’s been a bad month, that’s all, and I’m all tense,” which was.  “Looks like you got most of your haul unloaded already?”

“Yeah, I got in half an hour early.  Some other guy took a hit and got delayed, so I got his window.”

“A hit?  He okay, you know?”

“The way I heard it, he lost half his air when a microid punched a hole in his hull, and he had to detour to Little Mars to resupply after he patched it, but yeah, he’s okay.   He’s just not going to make it to Crisis with his haul; he’ll probably have to come in at Imbrium or maybe even darkside.”

When things went right, travel in space went like clockwork.  You could predict to the minute when a medium-hauler currently leaving the asteroid belt with a cargo of iceteroids would reach Luna, and where it would come in, if you knew the weight of the cargo and the exact position of the truck. The iceteroid haulers who supplied HydroGenius’ fuel cell manufacturing operations would try to come in as close to nightfall as they could.  Iceteroids couldn’t be brought in sunside, or the heat would sublimate them in the cargo holds, and the pressure of 200 metric tons of ice turning to steam had been known to blow ships apart.  But they needed to be in place, in water form, ready to be electrolyzed, when day broke again and the solar panels started back up.  This meant that the best time to bring in a cargo was within a spin or two – a day on Earth -- after lunar night fell, when the biggest hauls still had time to be processed before daybreak.  The big rigs were assigned timeslots and locations based on their cargo size, and if everything went right there would be no deviation.

Usually, things going wrong meant someone had ended up dead.  The hauler whose slot Mal took had been lucky, Lavonne thought.  Trucks could survive a hit from a micro if the trucker was fast enough to patch the damage before he lost too much air. Miniteroids and anything larger hitting a truck would usually blow it to bits.

“So you’re nearly done, here.”

“Looks like it,” he agreed. “You want to go to dinner?”

Lavonne made a face. “Commissary food ain’t shit.  I’ve got a kitchen unit in my apartment; why don’t I cook us up some spaghetti?”

“Sounds good. I love your spaghetti.”

***

She was putting this conversation off.

The kitchen was too small for two people to work, but Mal helped by chopping tomatoes and peppers for her in the tiny dining area. Chopping vegetables under luna-g was a skill in itself. It was too easy to do the work; an Earther’s arm would be too light. A recipe for accidentally chopping off your own finger because force you were used to using on Earth was too strong on the moon, and with greater strength and speed came less accuracy. Spaceborn like Mal were much better at it.

In theory, lunarborn would be even better, but there were no lunarborn. A tangled mess of international law prevented the Moon from either being under the control of any one nation, or under its own control, so there were nothing but company towns up here. And in a company town, you worked, and you went back to Earth if you couldn’t.

Spaceborn couldn’t return to Earth – the gravity would be too much for their hearts – but for them, it wasn’t returning. People born on the stations and outposts and ships had never seen Earth, and a generation after space travel had solved Earth’s energy problems, neither had most of their parents. People who lived on the Moon didn’t live here. Their legal homes were back on Earth. There were no facilities here for children or people too sick or disabled to work; if you got hurt or sick and you couldn’t work, you got shipped back to Earth. It was your home. The Moon was just a job site.

Except that if you’d been working on the Moon for five years or more, the Moon wasn’t just a job site. It was where all your recent work experience was, too. People returning to Earth because they’d quit the job couldn’t get new ones nearly as well-paid, and on Earth, you didn’t get a free place to live as part of most people’s employment… and you were competing with truckers and haulers and technicians who weren’t exhausted by the return to earth-g. No one Lavonne knew who’d left the Moon had a decent standard of living, now.

She got the sauce with its spices, the fake hamburger, and the tomatoes and peppers into pressure cooker 1, and took the spaghetti, nicely boiled, out of pressure cooker 2. “Just waiting for the sauce,” she said.

Lavonne could start talking about this. She could tell Mal the choice she faced, see what he was willing to do to help, see if there was any solution he could think of beyond the paths she’d thought up, paths she didn’t want to take. But she didn’t want to have to interrupt herself when the sauce came up. Also, she wanted to put this off as much as she wanted to have it behind her.

Mal filled in the gaps, telling her about his last run, the methane iceteroid he almost managed to catch, gossip about his spaceborn friends and family. She’d never met any of them, but he talked about them so often, it was like they lived next door. “…and Noah’s having his bar mitzvah month after next, so I was thinking, maybe you could take some vacation days and come out to Mars Station with me, meet my family? I’ve told them all about you and they’re dying to meet you.”

Lavonne was brought up short by the sudden question. Normally when Mal rambled, she didn’t need to listen too hard, and she certainly didn’t need to answer. Last month her answer would have been “yes”, and if she had a choice it would still be “yes”, but she had yet to talk to him. “That’s, uh. That’s lovely. I mean, I’d love to, if things work out.”

The sauce was ready, thank God. She ladled generous amounts onto the two bowls of spaghetti, and walked carefully, almost shuffling but with long strides, around the side of the counter to the tiny dining area. In a hangar, she could walk normally, but in her tiny apartment, with two bowls of spaghetti in her hands, that was asking for trouble. Keep the feet mostly on the ground, that was the way to not go flying.

“What do you mean, if things work out? Is – Are we having a problem? I didn’t think we were having a problem, I thought everything was going okay…”

“It’s not a you and me problem… well, it is, but not in our relationship… well, it kind of is about our relationship, but it isn’t… oh, fuck it. I’m pregnant, Mal.”

Mal broke into a broad smile. “That’s wonderful!” And then he read her face. “Or… it’s not. You… I guess we’ve never had the kids talk, have we? You don’t want kids?”

Lavonne sat down, as heavily as luna-g would let her. “Mal. You’re spaceborn. You’ve got no folks back on Earth. If you and I went off to Mars Station to live together with a kid, there’s no downside to you. But I’m Earther. I got Earth family, and if I have a kid on Mars Station, that kid’s never gonna see his gramma, his aunties, his uncle, he’s never gonna meet his cousins… I’ve got a big family, too. I love ‘em, too. I don’t want to cut a kid off from his heritage.”

“But I can’t go to Earth,” Mal said, nodding slowly. “Well… I feel like that’s a thing we could solve, I mean, people on Mars Station have kids with people on Lagrange 2 have kids with people on Phobos Outpost, and you just shuttle around between the two families. Isn’t it like that on Earth?”

“If both families are on Earth, sure. But…” She took a deep breath. “If I quit my job to go back Earthside, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to get it back again any time soon. And you can’t take a baby into space. I’d be stuck down there, without you, until the kid is three… and without my job, I don’t know how I’d afford to get back up into space. You know, down there, you don’t get to just shuttle around the solar system. You’re rich as hell, or you work for one of the lunar corps or a space corp, or you have a government grant, or you’re in NASA or one of the other national space agencies… and if none of that’s true, you’re gonna spend your whole life down there. Maybe you can afford one tourist vacation, in your lifetime, if you scrimp and save for it.”

“Ah, shit.” Mal sighed. “Okay. I’m seeing the dilemma.”

He didn’t ask why she was pregnant. The laws that restricted human behavior on the Moon were heavily influenced by a number of very conservative governments. Birth control couldn’t be shipped to the Moon. Lavonne had been sourcing her birth control from a black market network that came in from the spaceborn, but the supply sometimes dried up for exactly the wrong few weeks. They’d used condoms, the only form of birth control you could get on the Moon, but in luna-g they worked really, really badly.

“So. I go down for a medical procedure and I get rid of it – and you know if I take a flight down to Sweden or something, they’re gonna know something’s up – or, we have to decide which side of the kid’s family he’ll lose out on ever getting to meet. And if we leave out space, you, his dad, you won’t be able to be with him until he’s grown up enough to get his own moon job. But if we leave out Earth, he’ll be cut off from it forever.” It was also company policy that employees who could get pregnant could not get abortions, and doing so would be justified grounds for dismissal. The company wouldn’t be able to tell she was going down for that reason – but if she went home to the United States, she couldn’t get one without being rich, and if she went from there to Europe that would kill a good bit of her savings, but if she went directly down to the countries where it was legal, the company did know where her family lived, and that it wasn’t Europe. And because the company provided all the medical care up here, if they had good reason to suspect her, they could pull her medical records from Earth.

“That… is a really shitty choice to have to make,” Mal said. “I’m sorry. They should let people form a colony on the Moon. This whole ‘you can’t really live here, you can’t have kids on the moon’ thing is bullshit.”

“Tell me about it.”

He shook his head. “I know… I know my folks would be crushed if I had a kid and they couldn’t see him. But I’m guessing yours would too.”

The Jewish families in space were tight-knit, with a strong focus on families, because all over Earth the Jewish diaspora was like that, after generations of pogroms and antisemitic violence. The Black families in the United States were the same way, after hundreds of years of overpolicing and perverse incentives had destroyed the connection between Black men and the rest of their families, over so many generations. Both Mal’s parents and Lavonne’s would see the loss of a grandchild to a place they could never go as heartbreaking.

“Yeah,” Lavonne said. “I just don’t know what to do.”