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Symbols etched themselves into the disc, sharp and bright beneath his fingers.
Nereth solan.
He stared. “What the fuck…”
Those words had not been there before. He knew they hadn’t. Mara would have noticed. He would have noticed.
He traced the symbols with his thumb.
The shock snapped through him so hard his hand jerked. “Shit.”
He dropped the chip and watched it strike the floor. Static flared out of him instinctively and met the chip’s pulse with a metallic snap.
“Ah!” Ryneth squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his temple as pain spiked there. His vision swam. “Nereth solan.”
The words were forced out of him, again and again, until the syllables dragged in his mouth, slowed by pain and exhaustion.
Something was there. Inside him. Connecting with him. He could feel it reaching, brushing against him from somewhere just beyond his awareness.
His static surged in response, the current rising through his veins to shield him. It pressed outward, driving the presence back.
It was like—
He gasped and his eyes flew open. The penthouse stood empty around him. He was alone. Saved by the one thing that had kept him from ever having real friends.
His static sank back into his blood and receded beneath his skin.
Ryneth crouched and studied the chip on the floor, his fingers hovering above the metal, reluctant to touch it.
The activation seam glinted beneath his thumb.
He withdrew his hand. “What are you?” His eyes moved back to the words. “What do you want?”
Of course the damn thing didn’t reply.
He imagined talking to Mara. Just this once. Just to hear her say that everything was all right. That he was all right.
His vision blurred. The first tear rolled down his cheek and dropped onto the chip with a faint sizzle.
He was tired of running. Tired of hiding. But if he stopped, if he truly showed himself, who would still stay?
No one ever stayed once they saw too much.
Ryneth was a worker. A survivor. He’d done shifts in the mines, in the docks, in the refinery, whatever kept the Ward standing and put food on the table. He wasn’t educated like Daven, not popular, not sophisticated. He was just… there. And all because he had boarded the wrong shuttle at the wrong time.
Daven couldn’t seriously want to make any public statements that involved him.
Ryneth wiped his face, annoyed with himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t fragile. Crying had never fixed anything. It sure as hell had never paid the bills.
A knock on the door made him nearly jump out of his own skin.
He frantically wiped his eyes, glaring at the front door as if he could see through it who was on the other side.
There was another knock.
“Who is it?” If it was Daven, he would have used his holo key.
“Ryneth? Open the door.”
