Silence settles between us again before he says quietly, “There is another.”
I glance up. Varek is watching me again. Not assessing this time. Something else.
“You are searching,” he says.
I freeze. “Don’t start.”
“You have contacted your sources.”
“They’re notsources.”
“They are.”
“They’re people who owe me favours.”
“Yes.”
“That’s different.”
“It is not.”
I glare at him, but he doesn’t budge.
“You are asking about the rifts,” he continues.
My shoulders tense. “And?”
“You are attempting to find a path home.”
The word hangs in the air.
Home.
Earth.
Australia.
Dusty roads and red dirt. The smell of eucalyptus after rain. My mum yelling at the telly during cricket like the players can hear her from Melbourne. Long summer evenings. The mines out west. The stupid V8 Thomas insisted on buying even though it drank fuel like a dying star.
I swallow. “Yeah,” I say roughly. “I am.”
Varek doesn’t look surprised.
“When you told me the Pyronox mentioned it,” I continue, “I started asking questions.”
“Solan.”
“Yeah, the Pyronox. The one bonded to the human male.” It seems there’s been a lot more happening outside of the city than I realised, especially recently. Sure, I’ve seen the rifts, each one making my hairs stand up on end, but that so many humans have travelled through so close together is unprecedented.
“Jack, Solan’s mate.” Varek nods once. “He believes a rift can be… reversed.”
“Or stabilised, I expect,” I say. “Or something.”
“Something.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Look, I’m not exactly working with peer-reviewed research here, all right?”
His gaze flickers faintly with something like curiosity. “You wish to return.”
