scar on my cheek. The lighting in the basement of the music store wasn’t bright, but it was bright enough. “Why? You got scared because of something like that ?”
“No.” Sitting across the table from him, I was all too aware that I felt more like a child than an employee. I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees so I wouldn’t be tempted to shove my hair over my cheek, something I was still learning not to do. Not that it made much difference—a week after completing my assignment and both my face and hair weren’t mine yet. One still healing, the other still growing back. “It’s not that. I just don’t need to do it anymore.”
“You’re good. You could get even better still. Hell, the pay would help grease your way into courses, now that you’re eligible, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I shook my head. The thought of it made my stomach curl. As though it were a competition, with prizes at the end. I got what I’ wanted; there was nothing else. “I only did it as a form of training. You knew that.”
“And I’m glad to see you made it.” The brief warmth in his blue eyes told me he meant it. That it was more than just his being relieved at not losing a striker. “But you don’t have to lie about it anymore.”
“Lie about what?”
“The other part.”
I frowned, looked away. The other part. How I used contracts to distract myself from the guilt over Luc’s death, hold it at bay. All strikers had their own reasons for assassinating—from money to rebellion to something more personal. I’d only told Dire it was because I needed to get stronger to face my Alt. Not the rest of it. So how did he know?
“Baer texted me to see if you had come in,” he said in answer to my unasked-yet-clearly-obvious question. “Told me about your brother being a fresh PK. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, especially after meeting you, seeing you stumble around with your answers. Hey, you wouldn’t be the first striker with issues I’ve taken on. Anything is better than that counseling crap the Board offers.”
How stupid of me to think he didn’t know. I was always better at running than hiding. Now I was slowly learning that just staying put could work, too. “And since I was still messing with the system, then what did it matter, right?” I said quietly.
“You help me, I help you.”
I shrugged. It was over. Whatever part I played in the fine balance of worthiness and sacrifice, I was stopping it here.
“So, did it work?” I knew he wasn’t just asking for the sake of asking. He needed to be assured that he didn’t make a mistake by taking me on.
Did it work? The answer wasn’t simple. Dire was still down there, waiting out whatever damage he couldn’t shake. Dire had no Chord to pull him free.
“It … helped,” I managed.
“Good to hear, Grayer,” he finally said, his voice gruff.
I nodded.
“Keep those marks hidden, you got me? The Board finds out, you won’t be spared just because you gave it up.”
“I know. I’ve gone this long without getting caught, haven’t I?”
“And don’t forget to come by this place once in a while, if only to save me from having to track you down to make sure you’re not dead somewhere.”
“Thanks.”
“You never know—you might change your mind one day.”
But I never did go by to see him after that. My marks were enough of a reminder of what I’d done. As I slowly pull open the front door to the store and step inside, I hope his being right about my changing my mind will be enough for him to forgive my avoidance.
I can never forget the face of someone who almost got me killed, but I’m still surprised to see Hestor behind the counter.
I walk past customers waiting their turn at the plug-in and downloading stations, arrive at the counter, and wait for him to look up from whatever he’s doing.
“Yeah, what can I—” That’s as far as Hestor gets. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second
“No.” Sitting across the table from him, I was all too aware that I felt more like a child than an employee. I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees so I wouldn’t be tempted to shove my hair over my cheek, something I was still learning not to do. Not that it made much difference—a week after completing my assignment and both my face and hair weren’t mine yet. One still healing, the other still growing back. “It’s not that. I just don’t need to do it anymore.”
“You’re good. You could get even better still. Hell, the pay would help grease your way into courses, now that you’re eligible, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I shook my head. The thought of it made my stomach curl. As though it were a competition, with prizes at the end. I got what I’ wanted; there was nothing else. “I only did it as a form of training. You knew that.”
“And I’m glad to see you made it.” The brief warmth in his blue eyes told me he meant it. That it was more than just his being relieved at not losing a striker. “But you don’t have to lie about it anymore.”
“Lie about what?”
“The other part.”
I frowned, looked away. The other part. How I used contracts to distract myself from the guilt over Luc’s death, hold it at bay. All strikers had their own reasons for assassinating—from money to rebellion to something more personal. I’d only told Dire it was because I needed to get stronger to face my Alt. Not the rest of it. So how did he know?
“Baer texted me to see if you had come in,” he said in answer to my unasked-yet-clearly-obvious question. “Told me about your brother being a fresh PK. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, especially after meeting you, seeing you stumble around with your answers. Hey, you wouldn’t be the first striker with issues I’ve taken on. Anything is better than that counseling crap the Board offers.”
How stupid of me to think he didn’t know. I was always better at running than hiding. Now I was slowly learning that just staying put could work, too. “And since I was still messing with the system, then what did it matter, right?” I said quietly.
“You help me, I help you.”
I shrugged. It was over. Whatever part I played in the fine balance of worthiness and sacrifice, I was stopping it here.
“So, did it work?” I knew he wasn’t just asking for the sake of asking. He needed to be assured that he didn’t make a mistake by taking me on.
Did it work? The answer wasn’t simple. Dire was still down there, waiting out whatever damage he couldn’t shake. Dire had no Chord to pull him free.
“It … helped,” I managed.
“Good to hear, Grayer,” he finally said, his voice gruff.
I nodded.
“Keep those marks hidden, you got me? The Board finds out, you won’t be spared just because you gave it up.”
“I know. I’ve gone this long without getting caught, haven’t I?”
“And don’t forget to come by this place once in a while, if only to save me from having to track you down to make sure you’re not dead somewhere.”
“Thanks.”
“You never know—you might change your mind one day.”
But I never did go by to see him after that. My marks were enough of a reminder of what I’d done. As I slowly pull open the front door to the store and step inside, I hope his being right about my changing my mind will be enough for him to forgive my avoidance.
I can never forget the face of someone who almost got me killed, but I’m still surprised to see Hestor behind the counter.
I walk past customers waiting their turn at the plug-in and downloading stations, arrive at the counter, and wait for him to look up from whatever he’s doing.
“Yeah, what can I—” That’s as far as Hestor gets. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second
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