Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,65
even the academy’s drills could have prepared me for. My shoulders ache from my pack, and after a certain point, I feel like there’s no way I’ll be able to make the jumps from building to building. Gal flags beside me. Wen, as always, skips on ahead.
“There’s a monorail that goes straight to the base,” she explains while we’re bent over, catching our breaths. “But with the Cutters on alert, we’re better off waiting until tomorrow morning to catch it.” I glare, and she shrugs. “They’re ruthless, but they sure aren’t morning people.”
So as the sun settles on the city’s horizon, Wen leads us to a cache. Tucked under a loose metal plate on the roof of an apartment building is a ratty spare blanket, a can of some variety of beans, and a few spare clothes—though I’m not sure some of the shredded scraps qualify.
Gal and I exchange a glance, but Wen’s already wrapping herself securely in the tattered blanket, leaning back under the overhang that protects her makeshift hidey-hole.
Don’t feel sorry for her, I tell myself over and over again. Once you feel sorry for her, you start getting attached, and once you start getting attached you start letting your guard down. And once you start letting your guard down, she slits your throat and Gal’s with that goddamn umbrella and takes everything you carry.
Gal crouches next to her, rooting in his bag. He pulls out a ration pack and hands it to her so carelessly that it hits me all at once how unfamiliar he is with hunger. Wen holds the pack loosely, glancing between it and Gal like she’s not sure if he actually meant to give it to her. He doesn’t notice her hesitation, already digging back in for another meal.
Wen’s gaze flicks to me. I don’t know what to do with it. As I crouch and settle under the overhang with her, I give her a nod that tries to be encouraging and probably ends up condescending. She purses her lips.
“So,” Gal says as he rips his own ration pack open. “We rest here for the night?”
Wen nods. She sets aside the can of beans and pinches the plastic in her hands carefully, tugging it open with unexpected daintiness, like she means to save it for later.
My heart sinks at the sight. I pull my own dinner out, my stomach rumbling. I haven’t eaten since the meager breakfast I stuffed down my throat this morning before I set off to buy a ship. The ration pack doesn’t offer much in the way of flavor. The meat-based mush inside is meant to be reheated, and the crackers that accompany it are dry and tasteless—probably manufactured somewhere in the Archon territories. Still, it’s difficult to resist the urge to inhale it all at once.
Wen doesn’t. She eats like the food’s about to disappear and licks the plastic tray when she’s done, draining the last bits of juice into her mouth. When she catches Gal staring, she makes a face at him, and he laughs like he’s charmed.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says in between careful, moderated bites of his own rations. “How’d you get into this mess in the first place?”
Wen hesitates, turning the tray over and over in her hands. “Destiny,” she says at last, leaning back and tossing the container aside. “Born for it. You know how it is.”
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that.”
Wen bares her teeth. “Nothing on any world for free, prettyboy.”
“I’d say you’re getting one hell of a favor if you’re using us as a ticket into the resistance.”
She considers it. “If you ask around these streets, you’ll get the story easily. But no one tells it right, so I guess that’s up to me.”
Gal’s self-satisfied smirk is barely a flicker on his lips, but I pay a little too much attention to them to miss it. I let my own lazy smile spread, settling against the wall behind us. Wen closes her eyes, drawing a deep breath like she’s gathering herself in. When she opens them, we both lean in.