Chapter 30: Fortress

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"Find anything yet?"

I slipped a bookmark into my mother's book and glanced up at Rekkan. He leaned against the headboard of his bed, one bionic leg and one muscular one bent in front of him. He cradled a glass jar in his hands.

"There are a few inconsistencies and a bit of a tone-shift toward the end, but... nothing about a Head Chef." I blew out a breath and scrubbed my itchy eyes. "Nothing to support Stogg's claims."

"Ah." He dragged the syllable out a little too long.

I snapped the book closed. "Ah, what?"

He trailed a finger up and down the glass jar, following the movement of the scuttling critter. "You don't want to hear what I think."

I rolled my eyes. "I always want to hear what you think."

His eyes lifted to mine. "You should forget Stogg, burn that book, and get some sleep."

My fingers clamped over the binding as if he threatened to rip it from my hands. "Burn the book? Seriously, that's your advice? My one connection to my mother, and I should just chuck it in the fire?"

He dropped his gaze to the jar once more. "Told you you wouldn't want to hear it."

I clucked my tongue. "Rekkan, the button I pushed to shut down the machine was labeled 'End First Trial.' What if the Head Chef was just waiting for someone to take care of his mess so he could start over and try again?"

He shook his head. "I'm starting to think you don't even want the world to be saved, Zaf. You'd prefer to go on saving it."

The accusation caught me off-guard. "That's not true," I said. "I'd prefer to just be with you."

"Well, I don't know if you noticed," he said, "But you're with me right now."

I opened my mouth—then closed it. He was right, in a way. I had sworn to myself I would protect Rekkan and put his desires first, but now I was right back where I had been before, obsessing over clues. Chasing some altruistic fantasy of saving humanity while ignoring the human who mattered to me most.

Before I could form a reply, a rhythmic pit-pat drew my attention to the door. A small girl skipped into the room. 

I laid the book on the bedside table and offered a tired smile. "Hi, Fennikk."

She halted a few feet from us and propped both fists on her hips, cocking sideways to fully display her bionic arm like a bird spreading feathers. Her shiny new appendage flashed emerald green, sleek molded metal swooping from her bony elbow to her fluttering bionic fingers.

Her eyes flitted to Rekkan, who failed to observe her bionic peacocking. For a bare second, a frown twisted her face. Then she noticed the jar on his lap, and her face lit up once more.

"Whoa," she breathed. "What's that?"

    "Cockroach." Rekkan unscrewed the cover of the jar, pinched a breadcrumb between his finger and thumb, and dropped it in. The roach scuttled over the bread, legs twitching and antennae flicking.

    Fennikk shuffled forward as if drawn by a magnet, eyes fixed on the bug. "What's her name?"

    I shook my head. "It doesn't have a—"

    "Fluffy," said Rekkan.

    My eyebrows shot up. "Fluffy?"

    He shrugged. "Yep. That's its name."

    "Fluffy," Fennikk repeated, resting her hands on her knees to lean closer. "She's so cute."

    "She?" Rekkan itched his scruffy beard, examining the bug. "What makes you think Fluffy's a girl?"

    "Because girls are cuter than boys. Can I hold her?"

    "Nope."

    Her shoulders slumped. "Can I pet her?"

    "Nope."

    A bigger slump, and then a head-tilt. "Well, can I... talk to her?"

    Rekkan glanced at Fennikk and back at the scuttling cockroach, and he lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. "Don't see why not."

    Fennikk curled a green finger near the jar. "Come here, Fluffy! Are you a good girl? You're such a good girl, aren't you?"

    One corner of Rekkan's lips twitched.

    "You are going to love the Refuge, Fluffy," Fennikk continued. "I'm sure there will be lots of cockroaches there. Though none as pretty as—"

    I touched her shoulder. "Fennikk, we are not going to the Refuge." When her face fell, I quickly added, "Maybe you can visit her in the fortress, though."

Rekkan cocked his head at me. "You want to take back the fortress? I thought you'd want to stay here to look for more clues."

"We already saved the world." I committed to the words even as I vocalized them. "And there's a garden that needs planting."

Fennikk clapped her hands, flesh palm slapping the metal one. "I can't wait to see your fortress! But how will you get it back?"

    "We'll work together," I said, at the same time as Rekkan said, "I'll go alone."

    I shot him a scowl. He met my gaze, deadpan.

    Fennikk scratched her head, splaying unruly brown hair. "It sounds like you two are having an argument. When Mommy and I argue, Mommy usually wins. Who wins your arguments?"

    Rekkan set the jar on the bedside table, stoney gaze fixed on me. "It's not an argument. There is nothing Zafaru can do or say to persuade me."

    I twisted a finger through a buoyant coil of hair. "Nothing?"

    He folded his arms over his chest. "Nothing."

* * *

    Four days later, I scaled the fence outside Rekkan's fortress.

    My boots slipped over mud-slickened wire, but my rubber-gripped gloves caught the slack. I swung one foot over the barbed wire at the top, followed by a hand, another foot, the other hand. With quick, concise movements, I descended the fence and dropped onto muddy ground.

I tipped my head back to gaze at the fortress. Long, sleek strokes sliced through the faded orange skyline and brushed the dark blue sky. Beyond, trees stacked in rows of twisted trunks and spindly branches, no longer blanketed in hoarfrost but not yet budding leaves.

I crept toward the cellar door, avoiding the muddiest terrain. A cool breeze played through my hair, and the scant remaining sunlight prickled over my skin. At the bottom of the steps, I peeled off one glove and fiddled with the lock. Five, two, seven.

Click.

The cellar shelves lay bare, and empty cans and torn plastic bags littered the ground. I slipped a hand into my pocket and drew out a single red firecracker and a box of matches.

When the match sparked and spread to the fuse, I chucked the firecracker to the back of the cellar and slipped back out the door.

I darted toward the gate. Mud squelched and snow crunched beneath my boots. The firecracker hissed and banged behind me.

Rekkan waited just outside the fence, rifle raised and boots planted at shoulder width. When I jerked to a halt, my boots slid a few inches into the puddle at the gate, and cold, murky water splattered my pants. I grappled with the bolt in the lock.

Rekkan hissed through his teeth. "Hurry up! I need you out of here."

"I'm trying!"

The bolt disengaged with a scratch and a clunk. The moment the gate swung open, Rekkan pushed past me. When he stood between me and the fortress, he pivoted toward me and jerked his head toward the woods.

"Go!"

I glanced at the fortress and bit my lip. "Please be careful?"

"Get out of here, Zaf! You promised."

I raised my palms and backed through the gate. "I know. I'm going."

As Rekkan tromped through the puddle toward the fortress, I spun on my heel and jogged off into the trees.

I located the agreed-upon oak tree, snagged the lowest branch, and swung up. A bit higher, and the thick tangle of bare branches obscured my view of the fortress. I slipped the backpack off my shoulders and hugged it to my chest, careful not to disturb the glass jar inside.

I waited.

Seconds ticked by with only the occasional twitter of a bird. My stomach wound itself in knots, and the gnarled bark of the tree trunk before me transformed into horrific scenarios. What if the Cutthroat Crew did not run to check out the cellar, and they were able to surround Rekkan instead? What if one had found a gun?

I dug my fingers into the bark and forced myself to breathe.

A door burst open, panicked yells pierced the serenity, and several sets of feet slapped the wet ground. The fence clanged, and profanity tumbled from lips. Then footsteps pounded the ground in a panicked drumroll...

And faded.

I itched to drop down and validate the apparent win—to confirm Rekkan's health with my eyes and fingers—but I had promised Rekkan I would wait. Instead, I strummed fingers over the glass jar inside my backpack.

"He's coming, Fluffy. Just be patient."

When familiar footsteps finally approached, I clambered down the branches and dropped onto the ground.

I flashed Rekkan a smile. "Well, that was easier than I—" My smile dropped. "Rekkan?"

Though he appeared uninjured, his jaw ticked and brow furrowed. "Come," he said, and he closed a hand over my forearm and tugged me back toward the fortress.

We passed through the gate, and Rekkan thumped the deadbolt into place behind us. After we entered the garage, he expelled a heavy exhale and shoved a hand through his hair.

I bit my lip. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

"Fortress is clear." Bitterness sharpened his voice. "And I didn't kill anyone."

I raised my eyebrows. "But?"

"But I really fucking wanted to." His gaze averted and jaw clenched. "That redhead bastard asked if I brought my pet."

I pressed two fingers over his stubble-covered jaw to invite his gaze back toward mine. "Who cares what he says? The fortress is yours."

"Ours." The word slipped from his mouth casually, as though correcting my grammar rather than inviting me to share his life.

I clamped down on a grin. "Ours?"

His eyebrows pulled together, indenting the space between. "I mean, if you... what do you think?"

"I think we should celebrate."

His eyes flicked between mine. "Yeah?"

I planted both palms on his chest and pushed. He stepped back, backpack thumping the wall. With two fingers, I unzipped his jacket. The slow purr of the zipper and creak of parting leather filled the silent room, and heat filled Rekkan's gaze.

Rekkan's hand floated toward the zipper of my jacket, but I snatched both of his wrists and pressed them back, pinning them to the wall on either side of him. I knew he could break free without even trying. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

"Don't move," I said.

His eyes widened... darkened. A lopsided smile tugged his lips.

    My hand slipped under the jacket and traced his coarse flannel shirt. His pectorals flexed beneath my touch. Lower, and his breath hitched. His hands pressed harder against the wall at his sides, and his curled fingers twitched as if fighting invisible constraints.

    Seeing his hands still on the wall, all that power constrained by my simple command, sent a ripple of giddy excitement through me. My stomach swooped, and my heart skipped a beat.

Though he barely moved, he battled a tidal wave. Though he barely breathed, each rasping inhale echoed through the room.

    I itched to tear off his clothing, to see him and feel him everywhere as soon as possible. But now that we finally had time, I wanted to enjoy every step along the way. To watch Rekkan slowly come undone.

"Remember that night in the farmhouse?" I whispered.

    "Mm." The low growl vibrated beneath my hand, a buzz that tingled up my arm and spilled heat through my core.

"You said it was too fast."

This time no response at all, apart from the irregular rise and fall of his chest.

I dropped down to one knee, then the other. The cool, hard ground beneath me only accentuated the liquid fire in my veins. I parted the bottom of his flannel shirt and dipped a finger under the waistband of his jeans to graze his boxer briefs. My head followed my fingers, spilling hot breath onto the narrow strip of exposed abdomen.

With deliberate slowness, I tipped my face up to meet his eyes. His feverish gaze scorched my skin, and shallow breaths escaped his slightly-parted lips.

I spoke in a dark, husky voice I barely recognized as my own.

"Is it still too fast?"


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