The Sky that Nobody Sees

The Pieces Between

Reminded of the children who had no idea she even existed, Inladris was dry-eyed when she rose queasily from the cab outside Volkov Tower.

"Tired of Master Lyashev already, Madam?" Abram asked with a smile as he opened the gleaming door for her.

"What? Oh, you know me, Abram."

"Go upstairs," the woman instructed.

Inladris stepped through the door Abram held. People milled around her, and Inladris curled away from them, as though bayonets prickled from their shoulders, blackened at the edges. She made her way to their private elevator and poked in the code with a skeletal hand. The elevator didn't come from the top floors, so Thranduil must be in his office.

As soon as the shining doors slid shut before her, the woman said, "Your heat sensor is engaged. It'll detonate the moment anyone else gets too close to you. It will also detonate if your own body heat gets too far away."

"I understand," Inladris said, and the elevator pinged, releasing her to stumble forth into their hallway, where she prayed no one else would be.

Her phone rang.

"Let it go."

Inladris reached into her pocket for her phone.

"Don't even look at who it is."

She knew who it was. She knew Abram had called him the moment she turned her back. He was trained to spot things like this. Distress. Intimidation. Horrible, fracturing panic.

She opened their door, stepped inside, let it fall behind her.

"Might as well take a seat, Inladris," said the woman. "Or do whatever it is you do for fun."

"I may be sick."

"Not my problem."

Inladris went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water that spilled over the side.

Then she stood at the island, because she was too jittery to sit, and watched the door. Her soul shook jarringly inside her.

"What am I supposed to be doing?" she whispered to the woman.

"Just wait."

Inladris wiped her eyes. Her phone had not stopped ringing in her pocket.

The small light indicating that the door had identified someone and unlocked flashed once, and Inladris's hand flinched. The glass burst upon the tile floor.

The woman sighed.

The door opened. Thranduil already had his sidearm drawn, and Inladris lifted a finger to her pale lips, barely able to keep it there.

The microphone was either on the earpiece or the vest. Inladris was sure the woman would hear her unbuttoning her coat.

They'd tried to teach her the hand signals they used, the Family. She couldn't consistently remember them, though, particularly when under stress, which was why they preferred that she not visit them while they were working, for the most part.

Thranduil looked side to side, eyes flicking through the rooms he could see from the front door, which he slowly, silently closed behind him. He looked to her again, and slid his eyes.

She shook her head. There was no one here but her. She was alone but for him.

He took one soundless step toward her, and she violently shook her head, thrusting her hand out toward him. She sucked in a ragged breath.