He picks me up, presses me against him. His hair tickles my face. I wrap my arms and legs around him and he carries me to the sofa.
The music trails away, forgotten. He pushes me into the soft velvet. I kiss him fiercely. His fingers run through my short, blue hair. I dance my fingers along the skin of his neck, unbuttoning his shirt. He helps me, shrugging off his coat and pulling his shirt over his head. He has a swimmer’s body, with hardly any fat to speak of, his abs a rippled six-pack. I touch his skin, and he shivers.
A little notebook peeks out of his jacket, and attached to it, I see a small datapod. I half-lid my eyes as I study it. I want it. It’s important enough he keeps it on him at all times in the inside pocket of his jacket, where no one can get it.
He soon distracts me, at least somewhat, from the thought of the little paper book. His lips move from mine, down to my neck. I arch against him, my nerves on fire. The adrenaline of the recent Test is still pumping through my body. I pull him against me, nipping his neck with my teeth.
Those long, nimble fingers work at the zipper at the hollow of my neck. Within moments, I’m exposed to him from neck to navel. He traces the scar down my sternum with his fingertip. It reminds me uncomfortably of Nazarin.
His fingertip moves from the scar to circle my left breast, teasing the nipple until it stands upright. He bends his head and I stare up at the ceiling, gasping slightly.
Bang.
We both start. His head jerks up, and I squirm to a sitting position.
The sound came from downstairs. It sounded like a gunshot. People scream.
“Was that—?” I start, but then my question is answered by an outpouring of screams, more gunshots, and the stampede of fleeing footfalls.
He jumps away, reaching into a cabinet under the alcohol bar and drawing out a weapon and a bulletproof Kalar jumpsuit. I have a feeling they are hidden in every room. What that means cuts through the fear for a moment: this is a man who always expects an attack.
Ensi wriggles from the remainder of his clothes, his lithe body catching the light before he covers it with the black fabric. He hefts the gun, not quite pointing it at me.
“Were you the distraction?” he asks me. There’s a tightness to his voice. Is he hurt by the possibility? How close are he and my sister? “Do you know who’s down there?”
“No.” I don’t have to feign surprise.
A long pause.
“No,” I repeat, meeting his eyes, willing him to believe it. “I have no idea what’s going on. But I’m scared shitless.” I’m shivering, folding in, covering my naked torso with my arms.
The tension bleeds from his shoulders. “Stay here.” He starts to leave, then turns back, grabs another gun and tosses it to me.
I catch it, holding the gun like it’s a snake that will bite me. I’ve had training through brainloads, and done a gun simulation, but I’ve not touched a real one. I wonder whether Tila is experienced with guns. Two weeks ago I would have sworn to anyone that she’d never even touched one. Not now.
Ensi gives me a last look and shakes his head before he pulls the bulletproof hood up, until every part of him is protected and obscured by the Kalar.
I want to ask what’s going on, but he’s already gone.
I stay there for roughly half a minute, listening to screams and gunshots, before I realize that standing there and doing nothing is not an option. I go to the cabinet, my body confused by the whiplash of fear, arousal, and fear again.
There are another few bulletproof jumpsuits hidden in the cupboard, so I shimmy out of my silver outfit and trade it for a black Kalar, pulling it up over my face. I can see through it just fine, and I feel safer.
Like earlier when I went down the corridor to the Test, I have the sensation that I’m just a floating head attached to my body. That this is not me or my life that I’m living, but someone else’s. Not Tila—more like, this is all a dream or a movie, and I’ll wake up, or the credits will roll.
But they won’t. This is me. I’m dressed in a Kalar suit. I’ve just kissed the leader of the Ratel. I’ve committed criminal acts, thinking they were real. It was all me. But I’m also not the same girl that set out curry on the table, waiting for her sister to come home from work so she could tell her about that exciting job in China. I don’t know who I am anymore.
And I have no time to figure that out.
I grab my gun and turn it over, trying to figure out how it works. I press the button and it turns on, humming slightly. It’s not a laser and has actual bullets, but it’s more complicated than the hunting guns we had at Mana’s Hearth.