Page 42 of Rising

He pondered that, and I allowed him to browse through the packet some more, waiting to see if he had any questions.

When he said nothing, I figured that was the end of it, but he looked at me, words as cold as ice. “I assume it’s you that has my notebook then?”

Had he been holding onto this the whole time?A chill went down my spine as I realized just how capable he was of concealing his emotions. His motives. He’d tried to maintain the peace between us the better part of the day for this exact moment, aside from our small scuffle. He’d allowed me to do my job and appear as amiable as possible in order to make his inquiry seem small. An innocent accusation. He’d likely confirmed it when he grabbed his stuff earlier at the house, assuming he had misplaced it in his other bag when his first bag was brought to his cell this morning.

“Yes,” I answered confidently, “but since I can’t read Greek, it’s being translated. Hope you understand.” And he should understand. Any reasonable person would have to understand the need to translate cryptic text.Datedtext when your home had been under constant threat for months, and no other real suspect had presented themself.

His body tensed up, and he shifted in his seat, fiddling with his fingers as he refused to meet my eye.

I took note, tossing an extra piece of information at him to see where his head was at. “It shouldn’t be long, though. Nothing of concern, right?”

He shook his head, still refusing to meet my eye. “Right. Okay. Well, glad we came to an understanding.”

The next few minutes consisted of me explaining our training expectations for everyone here and that he’d meet his roommate once we headed to dinner. He appeared zoned out, but I was clean out of energy today to care. Just glad I’d made it through my first official day back, but was ready for it to be over.

There was one stop I wanted to make before we hit The Kitchens as we wandered next door to Prescott and the Council’s Quarters. Knocking on the door, I wondered if he still waited for me every day for our coffee chat, hoping that one day I’d snap out of it and be back. The door opened before my third knock finished and a pretty older woman with light brown skin and silky black hair opened the door.

“Amaia!” Her face lightened as she pulled me into an embrace.

“Luna.” I hugged her back. It’d been months since I’d seen her. She was one of our older emissaries, always on the road. But always in Prescott’s quarters when she wasn’t. I admired her, one of the few women left in this world that traveled alone and held her own. If the biggest threat to her safety wasn’t some sack of creepy shit, I’dalmostfeel bad for them.

“Prescott! She’s here! Sweet Girl is here! Come on in, he was just going over some paperwork for the new trade agreement.” She ushered me inside, before her deceivingly kind face took in Alexiares sulking figure behind me.

I nodded my head in indication that it was okay. Harley barreled in from behind me, Suckerpunch in tow as she headed to her designated corner Prescott had set up with her toys.

Luna and I usedSweet Girlas my nickname mockingly. Poking fun at Prescott’s lack of imagination when it came to the touchy subject of referring to me as his daughter. Though daughter was the best and easiest way to describe our relationship, I didn’t want to disrespect the real dad I had known and loved my entire life, and Prescott never wanted to take that away from me. Often joking he’d never take ownership of raising such a headache.Sweet Girlit was.

Prescott came from the room around the corner and offered me a sincere smile.

“Glad to have you back,” he said, his apology from yesterday lacing the words as my hug sent a signal of my acceptance.

Luna, if nothing else, could always read the room, saying nothing to Alexiares. She offered me one last hug, kissed Prescott’s head and walked out the door. I took a seat in my usual spot as Prescott brought over three cups of coffee, handing Alexiares one before making mine just the way I favored and placing it down in front of me.

We snacked on some pan dulce Luna had brought from her last trip while playing mancala, chatting about unimportant things and enjoying each other’s company. Pretending that the last few months weren’t real. Alexiares said nothing as he sipped his coffee, observing us.

Every few minutes I’d peer up to see Prescott studying my face, my condition. The worry reflected clear across his face, lost in convoluting some plan to help that he hadn’t noticed my own gaze. His eyes were sad too. He’d aged from a few months ago, the wrinkles crested on the corners of his eyes heavier. The worry lines on his forehead creased even when his face went relaxed. My absence had cost him too, probably in more ways than I could ever atone.

After two painfully long games of mancala, Prescott led us towards the door. Saying goodbye as we went our separate ways and he left for a meeting down at The Docks.

“So you guys are … oddly close,” he said, not posing it as a question on our walk towards The Kitchens.

“Do you have a point?” I deadpanned.

He pursed his lips, shaking his head no in response. “Just an observation,” he mumbled.

I stopped in my tracks before deciding to shake it off. It wasn’t as much of an observation as it was an insinuation of more being there.

“Whatever, dude.” Shaking my head, I went back to the happy silence we had walked in earlier.

Harley took off running. The reason became evident moments later as she rubbed her nose against one of the livestock vets. There were quite a few dogs and cats here. Some were brought in as companions people refused to let go of, then we had a few strays who wandered in on their own in hopes of food. Over the years, a few individuals who had thrived as veterinarians in The Before had come to settle. Now spending most of their time catering to the Stables and livestock, but also handling domestic vet work when needed.

The man laughed. He was a tiny ghost of a man, and I assumed he used ghost-like tactics to survive long enough to make it here. You could always tell who was haunted from their time out beyond these walls and who had escaped fairly lucky, rarely having to interact with the undead or worse, people who thrived in a world of anarchy.

“Hey there, Harley”—he grinned patting her head—”General,” nodding in my direction as he took in Alexiares and Suckerpunch. His frown exaggerated as he took in his injuries as Suckerpunch hung back uncertainly, like he could smell the vet on him.

“And what happened here, big guy? Come here, buddy,” he clicked his tongue, crouching low.

“Funny to find you out this way. We were headed to the Stables after dinner,” I explained.

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