Born of Fire

Syn growled low in his throat, wishing to the gods that he’d never been born. Without another word, he picked up his own pack and led her to the landing bay and into the belly of a small shuttle.

She dumped her pack in the copilot’s chair. “Why are we using a shuttle?” She took a seat in the navigator’s space.

He sighed, wondering why he’d ever involved himself with her. She was far too naive for the danger in his life. “If the Rits come after us, a freighter wouldn’t stand a prayer of escaping and a fighter would be too suspicious. I’m sure the authorities have a Search and Hold on every fighter that docks anywhere near Broma. Therefore we’re relegated to a shuttle.” That said, he took the helm and launched them.

Once they were safely away and he had their coordinates programmed in their directionals, Syn grabbed her pack out of the chair beside him and dropped it into her lap.

She looked up with a puzzled frown.

Opening it, he began pulling out various items. “This—” he held up a black, cloth hood, “Is part of your suit. You hook it up like this.” He pulled it on and showed her how to fasten the small metal hooks around the hem of the hood to the collar of their shirts. “The hood will protect you from any infrared or bio detectors they might use while scanning.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he said quietly. “If I pull my hood out for any reason, whether you understand it or not, you do the same immediately and keep it on.”

Syn swallowed as her fingertips brushed against his hand. She took the hood from his grasp. For several seconds, he could do nothing except stare at her, wishing for things he knew he could never have.

I am a total idiot.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to finish his instructions. He watched as she fastened the hood and then he checked it to make sure she’d done it correctly.

“Good.” Next he pulled out several explosives.

Shahara inclined her head to him. “Cloaking smoke, numbing gas, and a light bomb.” She touched each type of canister as she named it.

“Very good.” He repacked her gear and made sure her baton was back in its pocket. “Now take off your blaster and put it inside your pack.”

“Excuse me?” she asked in disbelief.

“Do it.”

Shahara bristled at his stern command. She’d never been one to take orders without a fight. “Why?”

He took a deep breath as if he needed patience. “If light hits your silver blaster, it’ll reflect off the barrel. Why the hell do you think mine’s black? Also, the way you carry your blaster, it dangles loosely and could thump against something and alert our enemies to where we are. Something that would be very bad.”

Shahara narrowed her gaze at his sarcasm. “Is there anything else I do wrong, while you’re at it?”

Some of his anger dissipated. “It’s not wrong for what you do, but in my line of work, it’ll get you killed.”

Sighing at the harsh reality of his world, she put her hood within easy reach and prayed that this time everything went smoother for them.

Syn continued his warnings, “You also have to remember that if the authorities have the right equipment, the fuel inside your blaster will be picked up on their scanners.”

Now there was something she’d never heard of before. Dang, technology changed faster than she could keep up with it. “How is that possible?”

“Most blaster charges are coated with trissem to allow individual makers and suppliers to identify their merchandise. About a year ago, the authorities came out with a scanner that can pick up the trissem and expose a concealed weapon.”

“But how will putting it in the pack—”

“The pack is lined with deluva. To date, there’s no scanner that can infiltrate it. So long as we have them, we’re relatively safe.”

What did he do? Stay up every night researching all this? She unstrapped her blaster and did as he’d ordered. “You’re good at this.”

“Yeah, well, on the street a filch’s life expectancy is only twenty-two and I’m doing my best to double that.”

She flinched at his words. “You can’t be serious? Even League assassins have longer life expectancies than that.”

He turned to face her, his features completely stoic. “Assassins have a home quarter with allies. A filch has no one to trust. You’re just as likely to get it from a client as you are from an enforcer. Or a competitor. Believe me, I carry multiple scars from all three.”

Shahara drew her leg up into her chair and thought about his words. She’d never before considered how much danger such a life would hold. It was terrifying. At least as a tracer, she only had to worry about her targets getting her. While she did compete with others for missions, tracers didn’t kill each other over them.

“Yet you trusted Digger, Nykyrian, Darling and the Mothers.”

“I also trusted Caillen.”

A lump burned her throat. Did Syn hate her for her brother’s words?

“I’m really sorry, Syn.”