GODSENT | reyge

4-3; awaiting the swallow's return

Rosarito is a breeding ground for swallows. Reyna doesn't know what kind—but she sees them gather in large flocks inland often enough to recognise one when she sees it. She'd read in a little pamphlet Carlos got from a tour group that these same swallows would migrate from North America to the South, and she's always wondered about the old, sick and injured. Do they stay behind? What happens when they can't do what the rest can?

Perhaps Carlos could answer it. He's always been interested in birds. Why hadn't she ever thought to ask him? How are the children doing now that she hasn't been around to look after them?

Time flies. It has been about seven months since Reyna decided to leave her old life for a vocation unsuited for her with the Protocol. Her fellow agents are still wary of her, mostly. The youngsters care less. Sage, lesser. Something has shifted between them. A lingering gaze here, a brush of a hand there. Sage's hair is an enchanting black, as dark as the raven's feather, her eyes a shade of brown unknown to mankind.

Otherwise, the days pass monotonously—Reyna's not left the headquarters since the strike team sent to Turkey had returned with their captive, the Blackmailer. She doesn't know what Cypher and Brimstone have been doing with her, and she does her best to avoid the holding cell beneath the Range. Shadows always seem to crawl out from the tiny gap beneath the door, and it unnerves her, makes her hair stand on end. It makes her more worried about Rosarito. What had the blackmailer been doing there?

She'd return, but she can feel the lack of Life energy getting to her—she's not been sent on a mission since Everett-Linde, and she heavily suspects Brimstone and Sova want to keep an eye on her. Perhaps Sabine too. Simply knowing that is a very plausible possibility has been irritating, to say the least.

Brimstone and Breach keep fighting in the middle of the night, too, perhaps aggravated by their own nightmares. It combats her helplessness with annoyance and more irritation.

Even her dreams of Lucia are getting worse and more frequent. The fields and plains they played in when they still lived in Basque Country get consumed by fire, smoke and shadow. And in them, she'd watch Lucia burn while she's chained to the ground with black, smoky clawed hands that gouge into her neck, waist, arms and legs—helpless to prevent the situation. Sometimes, Sage is there, watching it all coldly amidst the flickering flames and tall grass, almond eyes emotionless.

She'd wake every morning with cold sweat, gasping and panting, and head to the Range to practise, disoriented. Is she going crazy? Finally driven to the edge by guilt and madness?

If she is, there is a small comfort in knowing she isn't the only one—Sage's heartbeat has been incredibly disturbed, distracted. It's still strong and calming, but there have been increasing instances of it stuttering whilst Sage brews tea or debriefs their young agents after training. Yet, on the outside, she appears remarkably unaffected.

And another: the Sage she thinks she understands would never make an expression as lifeless as the one she repeats in her dreams.

Reyna knows, though. And she wonders what nightmares she's been having.

But with everything else, Sage masks her emotions well, and everything is as normal for her as it always is.

"Reyna, are you with me?" Sage stops talking about whatever she intends to have the agents work on today, lowering her tablet. She's the main planner while Reyna was the main executer—they worked well like that. And despite Reyna wanting to pay attention to her every smooth, calming word, she finds it hard to do so these days when she knows something's troubling Sage.

How icky concern can be. It's annoying.

"Aren't I standing here with you right now, cariño?"