David snorted a condescending laugh, making Aelyx regret that he’d asked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Of course she’s mad.” David softened his tone and pointed at the mail crate. “Dude, women send you more than lacy thongs. You got six marriage proposals and a dozen abduction requests last week. Your girlfriend is on another planet while you’re here—surrounded by horny chicks—and now the girl you’re living with is making you dinner. Can you blame Cara for feeling insecure?”
Aelyx hadn’t thought of it that way, but when he considered David’s argument, he guessed he understood how Cara felt. But she didn’t have any competition for his heart. How could he make her see that?
“It doesn’t help that Syrine’s beautiful,” David added with a grin at the object of his unrequited infatuation. “She’d make any girl jealous.”
Syrine rolled her eyes and locked gazes with Aelyx. Does it really upset Cara that I prepare meals for us? What an odd reaction. How else does she expect us to eat?
Aelyx tried to block his thoughts, but a swirl of malodorous steam wafted up from his plate and turned his stomach. Unbidden, his distaste flowed into Syrine’s mind.
Oh, gods. Her eyes flew wide. You hate my supper! You’ve only been eating it to appease me! Without giving him a chance to explain, she grabbed the plate from his lap and retreated to the kitchen, muttering something about ordering takeout.
David let out a low whistle. “You may not know much about girls, but you’re an expert at pissing them off. What just happened?”
Aelyx threw his hands up in frustration. “I was honest.”
“Ouch,” David said, then sucked a breath through his teeth. “That’s the second thing you need to learn about relationships. Telling the truth is overrated.”
In a way, Aelyx agreed. If he’d lied to protect Syrine’s feelings, he would have spared both of them the awkwardness to follow. But deception tended to compound his problems. The conspiracy to end the alliance had cost Eron his life.
David was wrong. In Aelyx’s experience, the truth was underrated.
“I’d better go talk to her,” Aelyx said.
“Good luck.” David resumed fanning smoke out the window. “Oh, and by the way.” He glanced at the postal bin. “You should read those. I mean, some of the letters are creepy, but you get nice ones, too.” He shrugged. “It could make good PR for you to reach out to your fans while we’re still on tour.”
Aelyx supposed that David had a point. “I’ll go through them later.”
He made his way to the kitchen and found Syrine elbow-deep in a suds-filled sink, not washing or rinsing dishes, just staring at the bubbles. When she didn’t move, he cleared a spot nearby and sat on the countertop.
“These are primitive appliances,” he said, pointing one booted toe at the stove. “And unfamiliar ingredients. You did a far better job than I could have. I’ve never managed to prepare anything more sophisticated than toast.”
She replied with a grunt and snatched a washrag from beside him.
“The meat here is dense,” he said. “It cooks differently.”
“Not that differently,” she finally replied, scrubbing an item beneath the water’s surface.
“But all skills take time to master.” He used a comparison to make her understand. “Would you expect Cara or her brother to braise a flawless roast in our Aegis kitchen?”
Syrine scoffed. “Of course not. They’re human.”
“You’re missing the point. If cooking makes you happy, then keep practicing. But don’t do it for me.”
She stared into the sink. “I thought it would be a nice gesture. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“You know what would be nice?” he asked. “A simple apology for what happened on the transport. That’s all I want.”
When she grumbled something unintelligible that definitely wasn’t an apology, Aelyx gave up and left the kitchen. Syrine surprised him by following close behind, wiping her sudsy hands on her pants.
“I’ll help sort your stupid fan mail,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “But I won’t touch their disgusting undergarments.”
He shook his head in bewilderment. Why couldn’t she just say she was sorry?
When they rejoined David in the living area, he’d settled on the opposite end of the room, reading his magazine while cool air from the open window cleared the haze. He peered at both of them from above Sports Illustrated. “Everything okay?”
In typical fashion, Syrine ignored him and dragged the postal crate into the living room, where she dumped its contents onto the area rug.
“We’re going to sort the mail,” Aelyx explained. “And we’ve nominated you as Keeper of the Thongs.”
Syrine snickered and lifted a large padded envelope from the heap.
“Uh, hold on.” David sat upright and tossed aside his magazine. “I just remembered something.”
“This one’s heavy,” Syrine said, giving it a shake. The clink of metallic pieces jingled from inside the envelope. “No satin or lace in here. I’ll take it.”
Palms forward, David shouted, “No, wait! I forgot to pre-screen this batch. I always let the bomb-sniffing dogs—” He cut off when Syrine tore open the top of the envelope.
After that, everything happened in an instant.
David bolted off the sofa and grabbed the envelope from Syrine’s hands. His combat boots squeaked against hardwood as he raced to the open window and hurled the package outside. Half a second later, a deep boom sounded from the street, and the windowpanes along the front of the penthouse rattled. David clutched the wall and panted for breath while Aelyx and Syrine shared a blank stare.
Nobody spoke, aloud or otherwise. Aelyx’s mind raced to process what he’d witnessed. He blinked a few times to make sure he hadn’t imagined it, but nothing had changed except a new acrid scent on the breeze.
Had Syrine actually opened a bomb?
Her thoughts must have matched his own. Did that really happen? she asked.
Yes, I think so.
Still in a fog, Aelyx walked to the window and leaned out, squinting at the pavement several stories below. He couldn’t recall which city they were in, but the streetlights illuminated bits of shrapnel littering the sidewalk and confirmed what he wished he could deny. If the sender of that letter had accomplished his goal, those jagged metallic fragments would be embedded in Aelyx’s skull. Syrine could have died tonight, simply for opening his mail.
Thank the Mother for David’s quick thinking—and for the National Guard’s decision to block off the street to foot traffic, or someone could have been hurt when David threw the envelope outside.
The guard detail in the hallway shouted muffled commands and then began ramming the front door. David ran to let them in while Stepha shuffled into the living room, clad in his bathrobe and rubbing his eyes with one fist.
Aelyx froze when he realized the ramifications of this attack. He recalled what Stepha had told the director-general: Any further attempts on our lives will terminate all relations between us.
Bleeding gods, no.
In the wake of Eron’s murder, this was mankind’s second chance. Once The Way discovered the truth about the bomb, they would abandon the human race to their fate. Cara’s people would die—billions of innocents, wiped out as if they’d never existed.
“What was that noise?” Stepha demanded, scanning the suddenly crowded room. “It woke me from a dead slumber.”
Aelyx’s first instinct was to lie, despite his previous conclusion that the truth was underrated. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t summon an explanation to erase the evidence scattered across the street.
David’s arms trembled as he stood at attention, addressing his commanding officer. “Sir, the girl got ahold of a fan letter before I had a chance to screen it—from the looks of it, a homemade shrapnel device.” His voice cracked, and he paused to draw a calming breath. “I assume full responsibility. I shouldn’t have brought in the mail before inspecting it.”