There are many who say no news is good news. But if someone told me that right now I'd have more than a passing thought to bite them, and not playfully.

It's been 14 days since I sent Lucia that note, and there's been no reply. I'm sure you know me well enough by now to guess that my mind immediately flew to the worst case scenario, but I take the time to remind myself that any number of things could have happened. Maybe she just had to re-relocate and hasn't had the chance to check on account of how busy she's been.

That's what I tell myself for now, resigning myself to getting on with my day again. In that same vein, I resign myself to the idea that I probably won't have much time to entertain any recreational reading. On my way out, I conjure the book on the spiderfolk of Kiue out of storage one last time, setting it on a return cart and showing myself out. A missed opportunity.

I thought briefly about sending a note to Nym about my new theory, in regards to what might be in his brother's office, but if my correspondence is being monitored, that's the exact kind of thing I don't want to allude to knowing anything about. I'll have to make it an in-person conversation. Just… after I've taken care of a few other things. I've been through too much to let something like slow evaporation be the end of me.

By the time I make it back down to the station, the hype surrounding Samsara has long passed, no longer able to reach her as she makes her way elsewhere along those stretches of track behind junctions requiring special clearance to proceed past. I can wait for the next train in peace.

Even Suraokh does not break that peace, initially, as silent as his arrival always tends to be. When he speaks, I cannot actually be sure how long he had already been by my side on the bench.

“You have proven to be quite a handful, is that on purpose?"

“Goddammit you need to approach more gradually than that," I shoot, trying to recapture some of my composure. A furtive glance around us indicates that while people are noticing us but paying no special mind, Suraokh's sudden materialization escaped attention.

“I'm afraid you're not the one making demands here," the kangaroo says, his glass eyes fixing on mine. “We're going to talk about your little adventure."

“Out here in the open? There are people everywhere."

The tiny dots of light in his eyes roll. “Watch this."

He stands, lifting an arm to wave at the nearest vigil officer, going so far as to get right up in their face and pace around them. They do not respond.

I begin to stand as well, about to test that myself, but with my knees still bent in mid-rise, Suraokh slides right back over and places his hand on my shoulder. “Nobody can actually hear us. As far as anyone actually listening knows, we're talking about our scarves."

Relief is momentary, rising to the surface of my face and evaporating in the dry heat of exasperation as I finally look down and take note of his attire. “Ohhhhhh gods, you did get the same one," I groan, sinking back onto the bench.

“I said I would, yes. You see, I like to do what I say, which conveniently gets us right back on topic…" His hand, still on my shoulder, grips vice-tight as he plants himself down again, pulling down on me to bring me to eye-level. “Because I believe I strongly implied bad things would happen if you let your secret slip."

My gaze freezes on his, taking note of the distant, too-deep points of light in his eyes, reminiscent of our escape from the place in which he made me like this. “You can't hurt Nym," I mutter, trying to call his bluff, but fear makes me stumble over my words.

“I very well could, if I wanted to. But I don't," Suraokh says, and for some reason I believe him. I make a conscious effort to doubt and yet I cannot bring myself to, as if he's placed a reassuring hand directly onto my brain.

“You," he continues, “are moving far too near to unraveling things more dangerous than you understand. If it will keep you from continuing to endanger yourself and others…"

He seems to bemoan his lack of eyelids; the way his body compresses seems incomplete without his face scrunching to match.

“…I will answer a few questions."

I, however, make excellent use of my eyelids, taking a long, slow blink. “You… you didn't mean you were going to do bad things, specifically?"

“Vagueness typically saves me a lot of moderation work by offloading it onto the assumptions of others."

Yeah, that tracks. “…Is there a catch?"

“Just confirmations, with total honesty. We stick to the things you know you don't know. What you do not know that you do not know, I will make no effort to illuminate."

“...Can I talk about it?"

“Ohhh, just use your best judgment." It's not like him to groan like that. I didn't actually know that he could. “The topic I was worried about has already been broached, beyond that I don't particularly care."

“Good. I'm on my way to Yhana's place, and I'm going to talk to her about my condition, since it might have affected her too."

“Good. I already said I don't care. Shall we begin then?"

I sit back, but I am no more relaxed, and I do not take my eyes off of him. “Alright. Let's talk about you first; a powerful thing like you probably doesn't need whatever a man like Jen can offer. Are you getting something out of this?"

“Yes. His end goals play well with my own. I am happy to serve to that end."

“And you truly only serve him?"

“I would not even say that much."

I raise an eyebrow. “What about Empress Leksan?"

“If she wanted control, do you not suppose she would exert it herself? Ruling from behind the scenes better suits an Archivist than a monarch. Better to enjoy retirement while a busy overachiever takes charge."

I shrug; I suppose I'm satisfied with that. As I'm about to ask my next question, I hear the sound of the next train coming.

“We can move and continue this, right? I'd prefer not to miss this one."

“That will be fine. Another question?"

“Yeah. Do people know about what's in the sanctum?"

The doll leans forward, lacing his fingers. “Actually, a question for you. What do you think you found?"

“No tricks, please."

“This isn't a trick. Answer me and I'll answer you."

“Fine, let's get our seat first though."

“No need, I've taken care of it."

In the same way one might tune out on transit and suddenly find themselves at their destination, Suraokh and I are seated the exact same way, but we're on the train and leaving the station.

I try to glance around as surreptitiously as I can, confirming my new location but I'm still not quite settling into it. “…What was that?"

“Don't worry about it."

“I'm a little worried, did you possess me or something?"

“Much less invasive, I'm just curating your sensory experience, same as everyone else here."

A sense of incredulity starts to rise up in me, perhaps even culminating in a heated beratement for putting his scary little hands in my brain like that, but what comes out is a much meeker, “I'm stiiill not sure how comfortable I am with that."

“Well you had no complaints about it before I told you," Suraokh points out. It's the kind of delivery I would expect to be colored by smugness but I can't even find a tint of it.

“For all you know, I'm not even really here."

“Wha—“

“Back to your answer, please. What do you think you found?"

I glare for a moment, before turning my gaze away and punctuating with a voiceless sigh. “Something nobody was ever supposed to find. I don't even know how a creature like that exists."

“And yet it does, in spite of all understanding."

“What do you know about it?"

“That would violate the scope of my terms here."

“Goddds fine." I throw my hands up as I concede. He knows he's just adding fuel to the curiosity that caused us both such trouble, doesn't he? “Is it something I should already know about?"

“No. You don't even have a word for it."

“Then give me one."

He looks away for just a second, then his fingers steeple as he turns to me again and leans forward. “No. You give me one, or rather your closest estimate."

“Demon?"

“No."

“Is it a god?"

“No. Not by your understanding, anyway."

I pause for a second, fishing for something else, and as I catch it, I find myself hesitating on how far-fetched a guess it is. “…Alien?"

Suraokh pauses too. It's a long one, that even their curated experience they've prepared for me does not lessen. “Yes."

“Bullshit."

“We are having a bullshit-free discussion right now."

“Like, aliens from space? Beyond the Ravel kind of space?"

“That's a complicated answer."

“What's so complicated about yes or no?"

“Because it can't be reduced to yes or no."

I huff in annoyance; even at his clearest he's still creating more questions than answers.

“Fine. Is Jen doing something with them? I know he's got one in his office."

“How do you figure that?"

“When I'm around him, my body reacts a certain way."

“There is nothing wrong with having a preference for older men."

“Fuuuuuuuck right off." If he could smile, I am positive he'd be grinning right now. Aren't Jen and Oleander an item anyway? I move swiftly on from that thought. “I mean I taste blood, and I feel like I'm drying out. It's even more intense in his office, and I felt the same when I encountered… you know, the alien." I feel ridiculous calling it that.

“Perceptive."

“So I'm right?"

“Obviously."

“And he thinks it'll help him win a war?"

“Well why not? The Prelature has divine wrath on their side. You know, in spirit. Jen has found a similar power, of a sort he can get his hands around and actually hold. Tell me which you think is more effective"

“Point taken. Now… how did he learn about it?"

“I will mention, Merion, that I am not a fluxreader; this train ride will have to end eventually," Suraokh reminds me. “Are you sure you want all your questions to be about this?"

I do pause and think on that, caught up in a moment of indecision. But I know already that I still won't get everything I want out of this little reveal either way. “I will get to myself in a moment, okay? How did he learn about it? From you?"

“He was… aware of it. He had some ideas of what it could even be used for when it was theoretical. All I did was show him it didn't have to be left at that."

“What do you get out of this?"

“Come on, is it that hard to believe my intentions are good? We are faced with an enemy seeking worse than our total annihilation. If you possessed knowledge that could potentially impede that, would you not come forward with it?"

“…I mean I guess, yeah."

“And with such reservations remaining on your mind as they do, would you not select someone not only with the means to utilize it, but also a strong inclination for secrecy?"

I slowly shrug in a theatrical gesture of concession. “Okay, okay, I'm satisfied. It's just a lot to take in. …So what about the whole… way I am now. Why do I have to be like a reaper, and why do you know how to change people like that?"

“That's only partly related to any of this. It was a useful tool, and a world as old and storied as Paliputra just has them lying around. You're not the first to receive the Gift that way. Somewhat coincidentally, you are the ninth that I know of. Why do you think the world was moved into the Fray in the first place?"

The question he poses doesn't call what would exactly be considered common knowledge to mind, but it's no secret. There is record of Paliputra once being a nexus for divine activity, at least before the Prelature meddled so severely people had to invent terraforming just to undo their mistakes. But hey, at least the planet turns at approximately the same rate as their homeworld now, right?

“Okay, so there are still a few sites leftover where they used to make reapers authentically, and nobody ever got a chance to clean them up before the Golden Exile," I piece together. “I guess there's plenty of reasons they don't become public knowledge."

“And even those that do know don't typically have the means to use them. Or the means to survive the transformation."

“And what exactly did I transform into? Who are my donors in this case?"

“Well, give me your guesses," the doll prompts. He crosses a leg, turning more towards me as if feeling more casual now that we've left talk of aliens behind. We're onto that totally normal, everyday subject of the divine now, after all.

“I'm feeling pretty sure about Isammet, because, well…" I fan my tails out in an upward motion alongside myself, indicating them with both arms. “Plus, if you were going to choose someone for the benefit of a shade, you could hardly do better."

“Good. And the other?"

“Less confident about that one. I was hoping you could tell me."

“I could tell you anything."

“And you will, because it's a bullshit free discussion."

He argues no further, but his answer makes me wish he had. “Soma."

My mouth twitches as I falter for words, and the only sound between us is the rhythmic rumble of the train, until I finally manage a dry-throated “Why?"

“You were on borrowed time without her," Suraokh assures me, for all it's worth. “You had maybe a few years left before that heart killed you, and then—“

“I'm on borrowed time now!" I shoot back. I can't hold my glare for long; my fingers clutch my face and I rub at my eyes anxiously. “Ohhhh why did you do that; of course the fucking Prelature wants me, I've got something of theirs! I'm the fucking key to it all, right?"

The kangaroo sits there silently, watching me struggle with myself for a good long while, or at least what feels like it, before putting a hand on my shoulder, which I swat away. Unflinching, he continues his justification. “They need you like this, and they would have made you like this themselves, it's true. But you've gotten the Gift on your own terms, out of their grasp, and it is yours to benefit from. Not theirs. You stand a chance now."

“And why is that important to you?"

We hang in that silence for a while, my anxiety building to critical mass in my head before I do what I always do, pack it back down to resolve explosively at another time. Slowly, my fingers slide off my face and I turn to look at him, hopeful I managed to smear away the beginnings of tears.

The sincerity and softness in his voice is almost as astonishing as any revelation he's given me. “Is it that hard to believe I care?"

“I mean yeah, a bit!" I retort. Not the answer he was looking for, clearly. His body language is unusually vulnerable as he draws back from me. “Every step we've taken together so far has been based on coercion, secrets, and threats, so forgive me if I'm not exactly catching the scent of goodwill here."

He lunges. I'm unprepared for it, unable to stop him from grabbing my shoulders.

“Because you can't mess this up!" he says, his voice module crackling as it rises to the closest approximation of a shout it can muster. “You and I are so much like each other but you still have a chance to still be you when all is said and done."

“S-Sura—“ I stammer, but he cuts me off again, his usually motionless mouth articulating fully, fighting against its thread binding and leaving the bones behind on display.

“And if you aren't going to choose that, Merion, I will choose for you."

Those words should stick with me more, I think, but in this moment, I'm barely even processing them. All my attention is on the filaments that, until just now, I had believed to be yarn.

They're bright red.

My lungs suck in a deep, graceless breath as my eyes snap open, the shadow of someone obstructing a view of what would have been the ceiling. I scramble backward, flinging myself against the seat to the vocalized ire of another passenger. Taking stock of my senses, I realize I don't even recognize the person who'd been leaning over me, just a concerned stranger. They're still concerned, why wouldn't they be, I'm sure I look just like a wild animal.

“I'm okay," I breathlessly insist. “I'm okay."

Sheepishly, I get back in my seat, everyone in their place, but there's a new unease in the car now, and the piercing gaze of the veiled vigilant stationed here doesn't help. Aside from the occasional awkward glance, I don't even pay them much mind, still gripped by my… experience, if you can call it that.

But I know what I saw. Its bearing in reality is disputable though; maybe the next time I see Suraokh, whenever he decides that is, he'll be his usual, measured self, and that thread will just. Be. Thread.

But,

Even if that's the case, he wanted me to see what I saw.

Goddamn it, Suraokh. If those are really aliens, in the Archival tower, then what even are you?

Eventually, I leave at my stop with less of a scene than before, which I'm thankful for, but I'm far more anxious even so. I barely even pay attention to my surroundings on the way to Yhana and Kyra's apartment. I don't even remember if I told them I'd be coming.

Now and again, sudden noise snaps me out of autopilot for just long enough to assess its source, and it's this awareness that allows me to note the small group of vigil at the apartment complex, pounding on a door the whole while I proceed upstairs. As soon as I'm on the level above, out of line of sight, they breach the door.

Shuddering, I quicken my pace, Oleander's fervent broadcast playing back in head, or at least the highlights of it, and I try to filter them out as efficiently as I can, trying to think of anything else.

But I'm almost there. I'm at the door. Just knock that special way one has to to disarm Kyra's traps, and hope someone answers.

I spend a while hoping. There's nobody home. I don't really know why I knock again after arriving at that conclusion. My back to the door, I slide down to a curled up, seated position on the damp wooden balcony, trying my hardest not to overhear the sound of the raid below me.

I guess no matter where you go, the only phrase law enforcement really needs to exert total control is “stop resisting". The residents in the unit below can be desperately compliant and they end up in cuffs and muzzles anyway, until their terrified whimpering is finally stifled by their captors rifting away with them, to places unknown.

If temples are being more heavily policed, it must not be much of a stretch to go after those with shrines in their homes, too. I don't even know what else they must have done to warrant it.

And what about me, then? If I'm marked by Soma myself then certainly that can't become common knowledge. There's no way anyone outside of Jen's inner circle knows. Hell, maybe he doesn't even know, it could just be Suraokh's little secret since it was so important.

Another piece of the sanctuary I built in my head collapses. I'm really not safe anywhere, am I? I'm starting to open up to the idea of no news, in hindsight.

“Merion?"

I jolt at the sound of a familiar voice, looking up to see Yhana standing there. The expression I wear must be an awful one to behold, as I watch hers shift from a kind of excited confusion to one of deep concern.

“I'm sorry." I don't even know why the first thing out of my mouth was an apology. I know I owe her one for something I'll get to, but right now, it's nothing. All it seems to do is worry her more.

She hurries over, one hand extended to me, which I delicately take to stand up, and the other to knock again, ensuring the ram is inactive. Several seconds pass, spent undoing all the locks visible from this side, and then she shuts her eyes, concentrating on the other side and manipulating the remaining ones with a spell. I'm nudged inside, and my legs carry me to the couch, where I let myself fall face-down.

“Kyra, mind the fucking door sometime!" Yhana calls out, unslinging the basket from her shoulder and resetting the locks. Whatever Kyra's sleepy protest is is too distant and mumbled to make out, but Yhana doesn't even wait for it.

I spend a few minutes just lying there, before I feel her tap my shoulder with her palm more than a few times. Unearthing my face from the cushions, the scent of the cup of tea she's holding out to me entices me enough to sit up and take it from her, letting it warm my hands. The silhouette of her whole form in the stark natural lighting seems to slacken a little bit from sheer relief that I'm even that responsive, and she takes a seat right next to me, where I can see her better.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?" she asks. Neither of us are looking at each other, it's nice and low energy.

“It's a lot," I say, nearly just whispering it into my teacup before sipping from it. It's a strong, black tea with notes of brown sugar, and it's instantly soothing.

“I have time," she assures me.

We both watch Kyra come down the ramp in a baggy robe in mid-yawn, as one does, making her way to join us. “Oh hey, thought you weren't coming back." Though the greeting gets a nasty look from Yhana on my behalf, there's no malice at all in her tone. Her arrival jogs my memory about the Crane field, which also reminds me it'll likely be necessary to use on account of the increased surveillance on me.

Good. I can talk about absolutely everything, then. Solely for Kyra's sake, whatever her reasons for the discretion are, the existence of that little bubble of silence is the only thing I'm keeping secret from Yhana after this.

I stand. “Let's talk about this in the kitchen."