Page 56 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“How much do you know about Lyra?” she asks.
“Not much,” I admit. “But…enough.” Enough to recognize the way she flinches from kindness. Enough to know she hides behind the next job, the next planet, the next half-truth—because standing still means feeling everything she’s buried. But maybe I don’t know her at all. Maybe I just want to.
Evie turns to look at me over her shoulder, understanding in her gaze.
“I love that idiot like a sister, but trust me when I tell you—Lyra is a beautiful star orbiting a black hole. She’s got the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met, and every now and then, she needs someone to help her course correct. It’s been too long since her parents died. Too long connected with Brill. She’s got too many enemies and too few friends. Underneath her reckless exterior, she’s tending a heart that’s been broken longer than it’s beenwhole. I see how you dummies are looking at each other—all gooey-eyed. You should know what you’re in for. Loving Lyra is…well, it’s both the easiest and the hardest thing you’ll ever do,” she explains.
Evie’s words settle heavy in my chest, like grit caught in gears. A beautiful star orbiting a black hole. Yeah. That sounds right. I’ve been watching her spiral for days, pretending I’m not being pulled in too.
“You were pretty hard on her,” I press, though my voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Especially for someone who professes to love her.” But maybe Evie’s right, and maybe I’m the next fool to mistake her gravity for warmth, her proximity for affection.
“I know,” Evie nods, slumping down into her chair. “I know. We’ve always been this way. And things have been…strained…between us. These last few years, she’s been even more reckless. More destructive. She’s making stupid decisions out of desperation and she’s stopped listening to me. I don’t want to see her crossing that event horizon, you know? And I certainly don’t want her dragging anyone else in with her. But I’m sorry if I offended you, or misjudged y’all’s situation.”
“She’s trapped,” I say. “And any cornered animal is dangerous. I understand why she took the idol. If I were in her shoes, I don’t know if I’d do things any differently. But as much as I dislike her motives and her actions, she’s played it pretty straight with me so far.”
Evie replaces the decanter of plumrot and collects the glasses from her desk. With a smug tint to her nonchalance, she tilts her head.
“If she’s been straight with you so far, why are you sticking around for this alleged proof? She could—and would—give you a list of names, I’m sure. If you trust her enough with your life, I wonder what’s keeping you on her ship, Ranger.”
Before I can open my mouth to argue, a flickering hologram of one of the Dreller mechanics appears in the middle of Evie’s desk. In an instant, her cheeky expression morphs into that of a hardened leader.
“TheAldrin-136has major hull damage and minor damage to the light speed engines. In order to refine and machine a repair, it’ll take about six cycles. The light speed engines can be fixed before then, but obviously it won’t matter if we don’t get the hull put back together in time. There are other minor repairs that need doing, too—a lot of things are worn out or starting to wear out. If I’m honest, the whole thing needs probably eighteen cycles in dry dock for a full work up,” the Dreller grunts out.
I’m not certain how long a cycle is on this station, but I know we don’t have the kind of time he’s suggesting. Evie seems to be of the same mind, because her brows narrow and the muscles in her jaw flex.
“Is that the best you can do, Ty?” she asks. “Our guest needs this faster than that.”
The mechanic crosses his thick, muscular arms across his chest and frowns.
“Technically, we could do a patch job on the hull and fix up the light speed, but I don’t know how well it’ll hold. The ship is space-worthy but…”
“I have every bit of faith in you,” Evie says. “You’ve got one cycle to get it in a good spot.”
The Dreller looks like he’s about to argue with his boss, but when Evie raises her eyebrow in challenge, he meekly nods and ends the communication.
“Tyrell is the best mechanic onHephaestus,” Evie tells me. “Don’t worry about Lyra’s ship. He’ll get it fixed up and probably in better order than it’s been in a long time.”
“I’d ask how long a cycle is, but I suppose it doesn’t matter as long as Kraxis doesn’t know where we are,” I say, running myfingertips over the fluffy moss on the wall. “Though the sooner, the better, obviously.”
“I’ll keep my comms open and my scanners running. If he farts within range, we’ll know,” she says. “In the meantime, knowing my Pinky Pie, you’ve been eating like shit for the past few weeks. We’ve got a top-notch cook here—lemme take you below for some grub while she cools off.”
I follow our Strythian host through the winding corridors of the rickety salvage ship, barely keeping pace as she hurls information at me about theHephaestus,from its inner workings to the job promotion coup that earned her her title. When we finally reach the mess hall, it appears as equally underwhelming as the rest of the ship—the notable exception being the mouthwatering smell of spices and freshly baked bread.
Evie slides a tray over to me and piles several plates high with food—some things I recognize, others entirely new. She plops a glass of water and a mug of fragrant tea in front of me and grins at my bewildered, hungry expression.
“We don’t stand on ceremony here, Ranger Asterth. Dig in,” she says, shoveling a steaming yellow puree into her mouth.
The first bites are incredible and I close my eyes to savor the sautéed vegetables, piping hot breads, herby salads, and creamy cheeses. When I dip into a spicy, savory stew, I moan audibly and Evie chuckles.
“Told you so,” she says, shoving her empty plate to the side. “So, Xylothia, huh? Never met a Xylothian before. Seem to remember them keeping to themselves quite a bit, and that was before theArkanium.”
I almost drop my spoon, and Evie winces at my expression.
“Ah, shit. Sorry. I’m sure you knew people on it. We don’t have to talk about it, if you’d rather not,” she offers.
I nod, unsure why I feel suddenly protective of my past when Evie’s been more kind and welcoming than Lyra, and yet I spilled more to her than I have to…anyone, really.
“I’d rather not talk about that,” I reply, as gently as I can.
