December, 1097

A few weeks later, after another long shift, mom and I leave the Convalescent Garden behind and step back into the metallic corridors of the landship. On the way to the cafeteria we pass one of the observation windows spanning the outer hull. I glance out, expecting the usual muted barrens or the bruised skies of the wastelands.

Instead, I stop in the middle of the corridor.

I step right up to the reinforced glass, both hands flat against the cool pane.

"Whoa…" I whisper.

Mountains surround us on every side, peaks pushing straight up into the clouds, their jagged slopes buried in white. The scale of them makes the whole landship feel small.

Mom stops beside me, following my gaze out into the white.

"We're navigating into the Kjeragi basin," mom explains, her voice a steady hum over the vibration of the engines. "There's a lake down there, completely walled in by the mountains."

"It's so beautiful… Are we docking?"

"We're staying just outside their official territories. Kjerag is deeply traditional, Lethe. The city itself won't welcome us. They're not fond of outsiders, let alone the Infected or the Sarkaz."

"But, I'll double confirm with Amiya and Dr. Kal'tsit," mom continues, a conspiratorial slant to her smile, "the snowy plains outside the city borders are open. You can still play out there in the snow, under our watch of course… if we can find a way to get you out there."

Snow. I imagine cold powder crunching under my sneakers—a whole world painted white. The thrill of it races up my spine.

"Can I?"

Mom laughs. "Only if you finish your vegetables at dinner."

The next two days blur into a comfortable, exhausting loop.

My mornings go to the humid sanctuary of the Convalescent Garden, sitting beside bruised Field Ops and pulling the dread out of their heads. My afternoons are buried in the Archives with Miss Adele, tracing the mountain ranges of Kjerag across her topographical maps until my eyes cross. My evenings are spent tucked into my dorm, waiting for mom to finish her shifts in the triage bays.

It is a steady rhythm.

Then a high-priority chime from my slate breaks the loop. A direct summons to the upper decks.

I make the long trek upward. The administrative levels are always scrubbed clean of the landship's usual chaos. The blast doors of the CEO's office slide apart with a hiss, and I step inside.

The moment I cross the threshold, my Arts brushes against the air.

Amiya's spun-sugar sweetness is there, but stretched thin, buried under a thick layer of grey dust. The taste of endless reports, diplomatic standoffs, and bone-deep exhaustion.

The big desk in the center of the room is empty.

Tucked in the far corner of the office, half-hidden by a stack of filing cabinets, is a plush beanbag sofa. Melted into it is the leader of Rhodes Island.

Amiya looks small. Her jacket is crumpled, her eyes are shut, and her long ears droop far enough to brush the floorboards. She is crashed out.

I take a slow step forward.

"Amiya?" I whisper.

Thwack.

Her ears snap rigid, whipping the sterile air.

She flinches upright off the beanbag so fast she nearly trips over her own shoes, scrambling to stand, hands flying down to smooth the wrinkles out of her jacket and straighten her collar.

"Lethe?!" Amiya gasps. She coughs, nervous, her long ears dropping flat. "I… I didn't hear you enter. You're earlier than expected."

Her face is flushed. The beanbag behind her holds a deep dent.

I clap a hand over my mouth, and the giggle gets out anyway. I tilt my head and give her an exaggerated wink.

"It's okay," I assure her, my voice low. "I wouldn't dare to spread rumors about our CEO slouching on a sofa during working hours."

The panicked static in the air flatlines.

Amiya stares at me a beat too long. Then her shoulders drop, the professional posture slides off her, and she laughs. The grey dust thins, and the sugar rises through it.

"Thank you for your discretion, Lethe," Amiya replies, teasing, with a tired smile. She breathes out and drops back onto the beanbag, patting the empty space next to her.

I jog over and sink into the cushions beside her.

"You look really tired, Amiya."

"Just a lot of paperwork regarding our holding pattern outside Kjerag," she admits, rubbing her eyes. Then she lowers her hands and turns her full attention on me. A mischievous spark lights in her eyes.

"Actually," Amiya begins, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Caladria has been asking about letting you off the landship."

My tail thumps once against the beanbag. Mom had actually gone to the administration for me?

"Well," Amiya continues, her ears tipping back for effect. "Dr. Kal'tsit will deny a purely recreational shore pass in a heartbeat. Especially in a closed-off, deeply religious territory like this."

My shoulders slump and the little flare of hope dies. I should have known. The Grand Dame of Rhodes Island doesn't do vacations, and she certainly doesn't do snow days for pureblood Sarkaz.

But then Amiya leans in closer. Her smile tips over into something cheeky.

"But…" Amiya whispers, her ears tipping toward me. "If you really want to see the snow… I don't see how we couldn't authorize an expedition. With Podenco and a Field Ops escort, of course. To study mountain florals in the outer snowy plains."

My brain scrambles to catch up with the loophole she just carved straight through Dr. Kal'tsit's authority. A logistics mission. An academically sound excuse to step out into the untamed winter of Kjerag.

"Really?!" I gasp.

I don't even think. My arms go around her neck and I hold on hard, my face buried in her jacket.

"You're the best, Amiya!" I cheer, my tail drumming against the floorboards. "You're the absolute best!"

Her arms come around my shoulders, and she gives the hug back with a musical laugh that clears the bureaucratic dust out of the office. She pats my back until I pull away, my cheeks hot.

"I can't assign an Elite Operator to escort you, though," Amiya warns, her smile turning sheepish. "If I pulled Ms. Blaze or Rosmontis off the active duty roster just to watch you and Podenco play in the snow, Dr. Kal'tsit would probably suspend me from the outer hull by my ankles and force me to manually scrub the landship's treads with a toothbrush."

A sympathetic shiver runs down my spine. Given what Dr. Kal'tsit had allegedly done to Dr. Warfarin with duct-tape, scrubbing the mud-caked treads of a mobile city with a toothbrush sounds plausible.

"I understand, Amiya," I say, unwilling to risk our CEO's life against Dr. Kal'tsit's wrath.

Amiya taps her chin, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling as she scrolls through the active personnel manifests in her head.

"Aurora would have been absolutely perfect for this," Amiya sighs, her ears dipping. "She's a Kjerag native and a seasoned defender. She knows those freezing mountains better than anyone else… but she's currently deployed on another front."

Amiya hums, her attention coming back to me. "And our partnered Blacksteel personnel aren't onboard right now, either. It's a shame. I know Miss Franka was quite fond of you during your first logistics mission in the barrens."

My tail drops and smacks the floorboards with an indignant thud.

I set my jaw and cross my arms over the front of my oversized jacket.

"She wasn't fond of me," I grumble, aiming a betrayed pout at her. "She just wants to haze me."

Amiya's shoulders shake, and a breathless giggle gets out of her and crosses the cavernous office.

She is still smiling, but her eyes go distant and calculating. For a few seconds she studies the floor, piecing together the logistics, the schedules, the practicality of a snowy field trip.

Then her ears snap straight up at the ceiling, and her face lights up.

"Wait!" Amiya gasps, her hands clasping together as she leans forward on the beanbag. "I have an idea!"

"Well," Amiya begins. "The Ursus are built for this climate. And it'll be good for the U.S.S.G. too."

The U.S.S.G. The Ursus Student Self-Governing Group.

"Gummy?"

"Gummy and Zima are available right now," Amiya confirms. "They're very capable. Frostleaf can join you as well."

I swallow hard, forcing the phantom ash out of my mouth.

I promised I would just be her friend, let her cook, and tell her it tastes good. If I have to cross the frozen snow beside her, I will keep that promise.

As for the other two…

"I haven't met Zima and Frostleaf," I admit, my fingers closing around the dark shaft of my Arts Unit. Her eyes are earnest when I meet them. "But if my CEO says so, I will."

Amiya sits up straighter. The air in the office sweetens with a rush of spun-sugar relief.

"They will be great companions!" Amiya promises.

She pushes off the beanbag and leaves the exhausted slump behind in it. Her posture snaps back into the crisp authority of Rhodes Island's leader as she crosses to her big desk. She taps her digital slate, bringing up the administrative deployment forms.

"I'll submit the paperwork now," Amiya announces, her fingers flying across the screen. She doesn't look up, but a cheeky lilt gets into her voice. "You should go to prepare, Lethe. Unless you want to stay in my office like a couch potato."

"Hey!"

I scramble off the beanbag and brush the wrinkles out of my jacket.

"I am not a couch potato!" I grab my staff. Backing toward the blast doors, I give her a deep and flustered bow. "I will excuse myself then. Amiya. Thank you."

The corridors of the upper blocks are usually a blur of grey steel and uniform white lighting, but today I can barely keep my eyes on the path ahead.

Every observation window hijacks me. Out there the peaks of Kjerag pierce the sky, their slopes under a blanket of white, and fat flakes drift past the reinforced glass while my head runs ahead to the expedition. I'm going to step out into that freezing, beautiful winter.

Thud.

I walk straight into an unyielding wall of fabric and hardware. My center of gravity vanishes from under me.

"Owie!"

I hit the steel floor on my backside with an echoing smack. The Kazdelian Arts Unit slips out of my grip and clatters across the grating.

"That's going to cost you more than you can afford in your lifetime if you damage the focal unit, kiddo."

The voice cuts through the quiet corridor in a caffeinated drawl.

The air tastes like ozone and expensive caffeine.

I tilt my head up.

Standing over me with a stack of glowing digital slates balanced in one arm and a half-empty mug in the other is the Chief Engineer. Her dark hair shifts as she looks down at my crumpled form, a fanged smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Ms… Ms. Closure! Sorry!"

I scramble to my knees and snatch the twisted branch off the floor. Hugging the priceless Kazdelian artifact to my chest, I check the ancient wood over for scuffs and cracks. If I actually broke the relic Dr. Kal'tsit handed me, she would turn me into a permanent biological exhibit.

"What are you doing here, Lethe?" Ms. Closure asks, raising an eyebrow over a slow sip from her mug. "Shouldn't you be watering the ferns or terrorizing the medical wing?"

"I was just looking at the snow!" I defend myself, getting back on my feet and beating the dust off my skirt. "Amiya approved a logistics mission for me. I'm going out into the mountains!"

Ms. Closure pauses, the rim of her mug hovering below her chin. Her eyes narrow.

She leans forward, her grin widening into something predatory.

"Oh, a snowy field trip, huh?" Ms. Closure's voice goes low and conspiratorial. She checks the empty corridor in both directions before looking back at me. "You know, the situation down there in Kjerag is a massive, tangled web of company secrets right now. Lots of moving parts. Lots of highly classified operational intel."

She shifts the heavy stack of slates in her arm and leans a little closer.

"I could fill you in on the real reason we're parked outside this frozen rock," Ms. Closure offers, her tone all the manufactured charm of a backdoor merchant. "Completely off the record, of course. But high-level intel doesn't come cheap, kiddo. I know you've been hoarding your salary… If you're willing to part with that little plushie fund of yours, maybe I can accidentally let a few classified details slip."

My jaw unhinges.

She wants my plushie fund. The hard-earned internal credits I've hoarded for weeks, one at a time, just to buy the oversized shark plushie from HER own general store.

"No!"

I stagger a step backward. The shark plushie is the ultimate goal; no amount of geopolitical Kjeragi secrets is worth sacrificing my cozy dorm decorations.

"I don't want to know any secrets!" I declare, shaking my head so hard my horns swoosh through the air. "My plushie fund is classified!"

Before she can conjure another scheme to drain my bank account, I spin on my heel. There's no time to excuse myself properly. I clutch my staff and bolt down the corridor, squeaking as I go, Ms. Closure's caffeinated laughter following me.

With my internal credits secured against the predatory capitalism of Ms. Closure, I take the rest of the corridors at a walk.

The doors of the Convalescent Garden part, and I hurry inside.

The garden is quiet this afternoon. Lisa is still off at her tutoring sessions, and Miss Beanstalk is, well, probably taking her metal crabs to Doctor. That leaves Miss Lena and Podenco among the greenery. Miss Lena stands at her tea counter sorting a row of small glass jars, and Podenco is down the path from her, tilting a green watering can over a bed of fragile sprouts.

"Miss Lena! Podenco!" I call out, jogging down the winding path.

"What has you so excited, Lethe?" Miss Lena asks, her tail swinging.

I stop between them with my hands clasped against my chest. The grin stretching my face won't go down.

"We're going on a logistics mission!" I announce proudly. "Outside the landship! Into the Kjerag snow!"

Podenco pauses. The water dripping from the spout of her can slows to a trickle. She lowers her arms and turns to me, perplexed.

"We?" Podenco repeats, her ears twitching in confusion.

"Yes! You and me!" I list off the rest of the roster Amiya had just assembled. "And we're going with Gummy, Zima, and Frostleaf!"

Podenco stares at me, her brow furrowing.

"Wait," Podenco says, pointing the spout of the watering can vaguely in my direction. "I'm the primary botanical logistics operative for this sector. Shouldn't I know about a deployment order that includes me?"

I blink, my excitement stalling. That's a very valid point.

"Well…" I tap my chin. "Amiya just approved the idea in her office, like, twenty minutes ago. She was just filling out the digital paperwork when I left. It probably hasn't even hit the logistics terminals yet."

Podenco huffs, amused, and sets the watering can down on the planter box. Her eyes narrow at me, scrutinizing.

"So," Podenco starts, tilting her head. "What exactly are we doing in the snowy wasteland?"

I lean in a little, pitching my voice down for drama.

"Do you want the official version, or the unofficial version?"

The clinking of glass jars at the prep counter stops.

Miss Lena's hands go still. She breathes out through her nose. The serene lavender in the air ripples with a fond exasperation.

"Oh dear," Miss Lena says, shaking her head. Her vulpine ears twitch. She turns to me with a knowing smile. "Dr. Kal'tsit is going to love this."

Podenco blinks, her eyes darting between Miss Lena's resigned smile and my secretive grin.

For a second she just stands there. Then the realization clicks into place.

"Ohhhh…" Podenco breathes out, her eyes blowing wide before she bursts into a ringing laugh. "Lethe! You're going to get Amiya into so much trouble!"

"I'm sure if we bring back some samples," I insist, waving a hand dismissively at the empty air, committed to my and Amiya's master plan. "Any sample! A frozen twig, a handful of snow, a really interesting rock… As long as we hand something over to the logistics desk, no one will look too closely! It's a foolproof plan."

Podenco crosses her arms, and the cheeky smirk widens into a sarcastic grin. Her tail sways, slow and even.

"Sure, Lethe," Podenco drawls, her voice dripping with playful indulgence. "I'll just use my Arts to create some rare mountain flowers right there in the frozen field, just so we can bring back perfectly pristine samples for the Director."

The master plan stalls in my brain. My eyes blow wide and I lean forward. My tail, which had been swaying happily, stops dead in the air.

"Wait?" I gasp, staring at Podenco in awe. "You can do that?"

Podenco stares at me, flat, for one agonizing second.

The air in the greenhouse bubbles. The yuzu of her aura goes carbonated with amusement.

"Of course not, Lethe," Podenco laughs, shaking her head like she can't believe I fell for it. Hands on her hips, she fixes me with an exaggerated teacher's stare. "Haven't you been studying your Arts theory? Creating organic life from scratch is impossible. Originium Arts just manipulate existing energy and matter. They don't just spawn plants out of thin air."

The realization hits me, and then the heat does, all the way up to the tips of my ears.

I just failed a basic pop quiz on the exact material I had spent the last two months agonizing over in the Archives.

"I mean… I…"

I duck my head, my hands flying up over my burning face. Podenco's ringing laughter fills the Convalescent Garden, joined a second later by the melodic chuckle of Miss Lena from behind the tea counter.

I peek through the gaps in my fingers, looking between the two of them.

"Please don't tell Miss Adele," I whine, the plea muffled against my palms. I shrink back, trying to make myself small. "If she finds out I forgot the fundamental limits of energy manipulation, she's going to tell Ms. Skyfire… and Ms. Skyfire is going to send me a pop quiz from Victoria! I will review the chapters tonight, I swear!"

Miss Lena covers her smile with her hand.

"Your secret is safe with us, Lethe," Miss Lena promises, her eyes crinkling with fondness. "But I highly suggest you do review those chapters before your excursion. The snow is beautiful, but the cold is unrelenting."

"I will. I promise," I declare. "I will study the limits of energy manipulation tonight."

Before Podenco can tease me any further, a synchronized chime echoes through the humid air of the greenhouse.

My digital slate buzzes against my hip from inside my bag. Right beside me, Podenco reaches into her apron and pulls out her own terminal.

I fish my slate out and tap the cool glass. A high-priority deployment banner drops down from the top edge, stamped with the official Rhodes Island rook in black and white.

Podenco reads the screen, her eyes scanning the bureaucratic text. Her ears perk straight up.

"Well," Podenco announces, flattening her voice into a mock-serious official drone. "Here's the order. Research and reconnaissance mission. Cataloging local fauna and flora. Confirm topography matches existing records."

She lowers the slate, and the professional facade melts.

"Well, Lethe," Podenco teases, winking at me. "It's safe to say, Amiya crafted a complete mission just to let you build some snowmen."

My face splits into a grin.

Amiya actually did it. Our CEO had woven a web of administrative paperwork around the cold logic of Dr. Kal'tsit, just to give me a chance to play in the snow. My tail thumps against the floor tiles, quick and helpless, and gives away everything.

"A snowman!" I gasp, my eyes shining, and turn my hands over, my mind already buzzing with the architectural possibilities of packing freezing powder into perfect spheres. "I'm going to build the biggest one in all of Kjerag!"

"Not in that outfit, you aren't."

Miss Lena's voice cuts through our celebration.

Miss Lena has stepped out from behind the tea counter.

Her eyes sweep over my current attire: the dark pleated skirt, the insulated stockings, her knitted leg warmers, and the oversized grey jacket.

"Well, since you two are going out, we need to make sure you have high-altitude and winter gear," Miss Lena instructs. "Catastrophes don't hit Kjerag. But the altitude and cold themselves are dangerous enough."

My eyes drop to my knees, suddenly underprepared.

"I… I don't have a winter coat." My tail curls in. "Or snow boots. I only have my sneakers."

Podenco tucks her slate back into her apron. "Don't worry, Lethe. The Logistics Department has specialized gear for all deployment environments. We just need to go down to the department storage and get you properly fitted."

"We will do exactly that," Miss Lena agrees, stepping forward to rest a warm hand on my shoulder. "I will speak with Erika. We will ensure you are layered, insulated, and perfectly safe before you take a single step off this landship. We cannot have our favorite palliative care assistant catching frostbite."

I spend the rest of the afternoon finishing my shift in the Convalescent Garden. I measure out the doses of dried chamomile for Miss Lena and sort the sterile bandages, keeping my hands busy so the anticipation of the snow doesn't run away with me. But my mind is already out in the white powder and the freezing alpine air.

Eventually, mom comes. She is glowing, the delicate feathers near her temples puffed up with joy.

Mom walks right up to our table. She doesn't even glance at the botanical charts. Her eyes sweep over me, and she taps her chin.

"She just really needs a new jacket, a pair of boots, and a scarf," mom muses, turning toward the counter. "What do you think, Lena?"

Miss Lena sets down her jars.

"That would work, Erika," Miss Lena says. "With proper layering, she will be perfectly insulated against the Kjeragi winds."

Mom nods, satisfied with the secondary opinion. Then she pivots, her gaze landing on Podenco.

"You too, Podenco," mom instructs. "You need a much thicker jacket and snow boots if you're going to be digging through the frozen dirt out there."

Podenco doesn't even try to argue. She gives a brisk nod.

"Let's go together," Podenco suggests, her tail swishing.

The logistics department didn't hold back.

Beneath the insulated fabric of my brand-new winter gear I'm still wearing my dark pleated skirt and thick tights, but my familiar oversized grey jacket is gone. The new parka is heavy, and it shuts out the draft coming through the open deployment bay. Printed diagonally across the back in bold white lettering are the words RHODES ISLAND. Wrapped around my neck, resting just above the black monitor collar, is a thick woolen scarf that smells of fresh laundry detergent.

"Since this is a short-range mission, you are only provided a tracked vehicle for snowy conditions."

The voice belongs to Miss Whislash, a Kuranta of House Nearl who joined us as a training instructor shortly after we left Kazimierz. She points a gloved finger at the armored transport resting in the bay.

Her voice carries a bright lilt, but under it is the ringing authority of a seasoned combat instructor. My Arts brush against her. She tastes like spiced apple cider sprinkled with sharp cinnamon, wrapped in the expensive richness of polished leather. It's an encouraging flavor.

She gives the armored hull an affectionate pat before stepping back to let us board.

Behind her waits the team Amiya has assembled for us.

Frostleaf stands off to one side, leaning on the frozen shaft of her halberd. Her expression is flat, her eyes half-lidded on the floor grates. She looks as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world than babysitting a logistics run in the snow.

The flavor bleeding off her arrives as a physical chill. Frozen pine needles, cold juniper, and the metallic bite of a rusted blade buried in the snow. It's detached, guarded, quiet.

And then, there are the Ursus girls.

Zima stands near the spiked treads of the snow vehicle, a heavy fire axe resting over her shoulder. Her presence is a wall, and the hair on my arms stands up. She burns the back of my throat like harsh alcohol and blazing firewood, and under all that fire sits a crushing weight of cracked concrete and old iron.

Right beside her is Gummy, ignoring Zima's brooding, humming to herself as she double-checks a large insulated bag filled to the brim with her signature honey biscuits.

I force myself to offer Gummy a wavering smile. Under the humming, the phantom of the rotting abyss she carries is still there.

I swallow the ash coating my throat and edge closer to Podenco, shrinking into my parka.

"Podenco…" I pitch my voice so only she can hear it over the idling hum of the tracked vehicle's engine. One detached mercenary and two traumatized Ursus teenagers are supposed to be our shield in the mountains. "…are we really safe?"

Podenco catches the shrinking in my posture.

"Don't worry, Lethe," Podenco declares, her voice ringing with cheeky confidence. She sweeps a hand toward the front of the vehicle. "I'm sure Zima will even punch the Feranmut if she shows up. Right, Zima?"

Zima doesn't hesitate for a single microsecond.

She grips the handle of her fire axe, her posture puffing up with bravado. The fiery alcohol of her presence flares as she throws a challenging grin at the snow-capped peaks in the distance.

"Hell yeah!" Zima barks, her voice echoing across the flight deck. "Fer… Feran thing doesn't stand a chance!"

I stare at her. The freezing air of the open deck stalls in my lungs.

She doesn't even know what a Feranmut is.

My mind flashes back to the hushed aisles of the Archives, to Miss Adele's gentle but terrifying explanations of the ancient entities that shape the very earth of Terra. The literal goddess of the mountains that the people of Kjerag worship. And Zima, armed with nothing but a fire axe and Ursus stubbornness, just threatened to punch her in the face.

I let out a long sigh. My horns dip, and my tail gives a defeated twitch against the floorboards.

I'm doomed. Resigned to my fate, I clutch my Kazdelian Arts Unit to my chest and climb up into the tracked vehicle.

I settle into the spacious back row. Podenco slides in right beside me and bumps her shoulder against mine, while Gummy takes the seat on my other side, blonde head already bent over her insulated bag, humming a marching tune as she reorganizes her rations. I press back into the upholstery and try to blend into it, to draw no attention at all to the rotting abyss I know is hiding under those cheerful hums.

Outside, Miss Whislash is employing her most persuasive instructor voice on our final deployment hurdle.

"Come now, Frostleaf," Miss Whislash encourages, her melodic tone cutting through the biting wind. She claps her hands together. "It's just a short drive to the survey zone! Consider it an exercise in vehicular navigation!"

Frostleaf lets out a long-suffering exhale. The frozen pine of her pulses with a note of boredom. She gives Miss Whislash a deadpan stare, done with the mission before the engine has even turned over.

But she doesn't argue. With a dull clatter she stows her halberd in the external weapon rack and trudges around to the driver's side, dragging her boots against the floor.

As Frostleaf hauls herself behind the steering wheel, Zima vaults into the front passenger seat and pulls the heavy armored door shut with a thud that goes right through my ribs.

"Buckle up, kids," Frostleaf mutters over her shoulder, without a scrap of enthusiasm.

The heavy vehicle hums to life, the engine roaring as it prepares to carry us out of the landship and into the freezing, snow-blind wilds of Kjerag.

We rumble over the frozen terrain, the treads grinding the pristine Kjerag snow into packed ice beneath us. The cabin heater is blasting against the mountain air that leaks through the reinforced seals, but I keep my chin tucked into the thick woolen scarf mom had provided.

Up front, Zima is already restless. She shifts her weight in the passenger seat, her boots kicking at the floorboards.

"How much longer?" Zima groans, leaning her head back against the headrest. "If I have to sit in this tin can for another hour, I'm going to chop the door off just for some fresh air. There's absolutely nothing out here to fight!"

"Patience, General!" Gummy chirps beside me, unfazed by Zima's threats against Rhodes Island property.

Gummy reaches into her bag, the crinkle of the packaging loud over the engine's roar. "We're on a logistics mission! We aren't looking for fights, we're looking for flowers and rocks! And we need energy for that!"

She pulls out a big golden-brown honey biscuit. Without warning, she leans forward and shoves it into Zima's face.

"Eat!" Gummy commands cheerfully.

Zima scowls and snatches the biscuit out of her hand with a huff. She takes an enormous bite, grumbling something in Ursine around a mouthful of crumbs.

"Blyat!"

Gummy's bubbly energy doesn't stop at the front seat. She spins around, hair bouncing, and pulls out two more biscuits, holding them out to me and Podenco with a beaming smile.

"Here you go! Fresh from the ovens this morning!" Gummy announces, her voice ringing with enthusiasm. "Gummy made sure to add extra honey for Lethe!"

The biscuit waits in front of me.

I force my hands to uncurl from my artifact and take the warm pastry from her.

"Thank you, Gummy," I say, pitching my voice into a grateful chime.

I take a bite.

The golden crust gives way to a pillowy center. The sweetness of the honey blooms over my tongue.

"It's really good," I tell her, and the smile I give her is a real one. "It's the best kind of sweet, Gummy."

Gummy's face lights up, her smile stretching from ear to ear as she hands the second biscuit to Podenco, who takes it with a happy wag of her tail.

"What about you, Frostleaf?" Gummy leans as far forward as her seatbelt will allow, waving a fourth biscuit toward the driver's seat. "Gummy has plenty!"

Frostleaf doesn't even turn her head. Her eyes stay locked on the snow-blind horizon. The pine of her presence doesn't thaw a single fraction.

"No," Frostleaf says. "I need my hands on the wheel. Eat it yourself."

"Okay! More for Gummy!"

Gummy takes a happy bite of her own biscuit, undeterred by the icy rejection. She starts humming the marching tune again, the sound vibrating through the back seat. The tension in my spine starts to melt.

Then the world lurches.

Screech.

The treads of the vehicle lock up. The deceleration defies every law of momentum.

"Oof!"

I'm thrown forward, lifted right off the upholstery. My arms are useless against the force. I flail, my horns pitching toward the back of Zima's seat.

Before I can face-plant into the reinforced leather, an arm snaps across my chest and pins me back against the seat. Podenco and my seatbelt save me from disaster.

I gasp, my eyes blowing wide, my tail lashing behind me. "Wh… what happened?!" My heart hammers against my ribs. "Did we hit something?!"

Up front, Zima is bracing herself against the dashboard, her axe clattering against the chassis. "Hey! Watch the driving, Vulpo!" she barks.

Frostleaf doesn't apologize. She doesn't even flinch. She shifts the heavy transport into park, the engine dropping to an idle, and leans back in the driver's seat, unbothered by having nearly launched her entire team through the windshield.

"We are here," Frostleaf says flatly.

I slide out of the transport, making sure of my footing before I let go of the door frame. Thankfully, I'm still in one piece.

My thick winter boots sink into the powder with a muffled crunch. The freezing Kjeragi air bites at my cheeks, but under mom's careful layers and Miss Lena's hand-woven leg warmers I stay warm all the way through. I pull the woolen scarf a little tighter around my chin and take a deep breath of the crisp alpine air.

I step to the edge of the snowy ridge and look out.

The view takes the breath out of me. Spread out far, far below us is a pristine basin, walled in by the staggering snow-capped peaks. In the very center lies a frozen lake that gleams like polished sapphire under the overcast sky. At the waterline I can just make out the scattered specks of Kjerag's civilization. It all looks peaceful.

Thwack!

Something hits me square on the very tip of my left horn.

"Ouchie!" I yelp.

I drop my hands from my scarf and bring both winter gloves up to clutch my crown.

I whip around, my tail lashing a spray of loose powder into the air.

Standing just behind me is Podenco. Her hands are coated in white powder, and a cheeky smirk is plastered across her face. Without missing a beat, she drops into a crouch and starts packing a second sphere of snow between her gloves.

"Oh! Finally some action!"

Zima's voice booms across the snowy ridge, dripping with excitement.

She abandons the axe outright, dropping it into the snowbank. Her bare hands dig into the freezing powder and scoop up a chunk of snow roughly the size of a melon. With the uninhibited strength of an Ursus, she winds up and hurls it at Gummy like an artillery shell.

"Incoming!" Gummy chirps happily.

She doesn't even flinch. With practiced efficiency she unholsters the vault door strapped to her shoulder, impossibly heavy, and slams it into the snow in front of her.

Bang.

Zima's snowball strikes the reinforced steel plating of the vault door and explodes into a blinding cloud of white shrapnel. Gummy peeks out from behind her impenetrable shield, her round ears twitching, and lets out a ringing laugh.

"Not even a scratch, General!" Gummy cheers.

I watch their war for a second before my attention snaps back to the threat. Podenco is already winding her arm back, her eyes locked dead onto my oversized parka.

"Oh no you don't!" I declare, my Sarkaz pride taking over.

I drop into a crouch, my hands grabbing at the snow. I try to pack it together, but my thick winter gloves are clumsy, and the powdery Kjeragi snow keeps crumbling between my fingers. What I finally manage to mash together is a lopsided lump of ice.

I stand up, puffing my cheeks out, and lock my eyes onto the smirking Podenco. I pull my arm back and throw it with everything I have.

My whole body weight goes into the throw, a copy of the aggressive lunging motion I had seen Zima use.

My arm whips forward. The snowball releases.

It arcs through the cold mountain air with no momentum behind it at all. It doesn't even make it halfway to Podenco. It drops into the snowbank a full meter short of her boots and bursts into a disappointing little puff of white dust.

The silence that follows is deafening.

My arm stays outstretched in my throwing stance.

Podenco looks at the tiny crater my snowball left in the snow. She lifts her head slowly. The smirk on her face widens into a victorious grin.

"Was that supposed to hit me, Lethe?" Podenco teases, tossing her own perfect sphere of a snowball in her hand. "Because you're going to have to do a lot better than that to defend the logistics team!"

Before I can mount any proper defense against her impending retaliation, she pivots.

With one practiced motion, Podenco hurls her packed snowball at Frostleaf, leaning against the transport.

Frostleaf doesn't even bother to dodge. With a casual elegance, she twirls the shaft of her halberd. The heavy blade flashes in the pale morning light.

Snick.

The snowball is cleaved in two in mid-air. One half splatters against the armored hull of our tracked vehicle with a dull thump, while the other sails past Frostleaf's shoulder and disintegrates into the snowbank behind her.

I stare at Frostleaf. That was unfair, but it was incredible.

Podenco opens her mouth, probably to complain about the misuse of polearms in a snowball fight, but the words die in her throat.

She freezes.

Beside the vehicle, Frostleaf's slouch vanishes. Both of their heads snap toward the snow-covered tree line bordering the basin. Their ears twitch and pivot like radar dishes, locking onto a sound I can't hear at all.

The Ursine snowball war stops dead.

Zima doesn't say a word. The snowball she was packing falls from her hands and crumbles back into the drift. Her hand goes to the grip of her axe.

Gummy shifts her stance. The bubbly cheer she has worn all morning is gone. She hefts her vault door and steps in front of me without a sound—a wall of Ursus steel.

They move forward in step, putting their bodies between me and whatever is hidden in the snow.

My hands wrap around my Arts Unit. My tail tucks tight against my leg.

The winter wonderland is gone. We are Rhodes Island Operators in the wilds of Terra, and we are not alone.

The crunch of snow under boots breaks the silence.

From the shadows of the pines, two figures step out into the clearing. They're Zalak, bushy tails twitching behind heavy winter cloaks. Both of them have a hand on the hilt of a drawn sword.

Zima growls low in her throat, her boots digging into the powder. She hefts her fire axe, ready to launch herself forward and cleave the strangers in half. Beside her, Gummy's grip tightens on her vault door, braced for the clash of metal and blood. Frostleaf lowers her halberd.

I press my eyes shut and reach out with my Arts, bracing my stomach for the acid sludge of killing intent. Rot, maybe—the taste of scavengers. Rusted iron.

But there's no malice in it.

It's earthy, like toasted grain and sun-dried leaves. There's caution, but none of the metallic bite of hostility, none of the venom of a battlefield. Underneath it, just curiosity, steady and grounded.

The man stops a safe distance away. He doesn't raise his sword. Instead he lifts his free hand in a slow gesture of peace and points a finger at the thick woven armband on his upper arm.

"We are the Browntail clan," the man announces, his voice steady and carrying across the frozen ridge. His eyes sweep over our armed vanguard and linger on the Rhodes Island logos printed across our gear. "We have no intention of coming into conflict with Rhodes Island personnel."

Beside him, the woman lets her shoulders drop. She lowers the tip of her blade, ears flicking toward the scattered powder where Zima's snowball had burst against Gummy's vault door.

"We only heard a commotion and came to investigate," she explains, her tone even.

The breath I was holding breaks loose in a shudder. The terror in my spine melts away, washed out by the earthy truth of what they're feeling. They really did think they were under attack because of our snowball fight.

I don't hesitate. I step out from the shadow of Gummy's vault door.

"Wait! Zima, Gummy, it's okay!" I call out, breathless but certain. I rest my gloved hand against the cold steel of Gummy's shield and push it down. "They aren't lying. There's no bad taste in the air. They aren't going to hurt us."

The woman's eyes dart from the Rhodes Island emblem on my parka up to the horns on my crown, and then to the tail swishing behind my boots.

"Tyfel…" the woman murmurs in Kjeragi. Her voice is barely a breath, but it carries a tremor of superstitious dread.

The man steps in front of her, his hand tightening a fraction on the hilt. The point of his sword stays low, but his stance hardens.

"Do be warned," he says, and the polite curiosity of a moment ago is gone from his voice. "We won't welcome you into our settlements."

"Der Tyfel tar nid ynecho." I hear the woman whisper to her partner.

Without turning their backs on us, the two Browntail scouts step backward. Their boots crunch against the packed powder as they retreat into the shadows under the pines. Within seconds the Kjeragi wilderness has swallowed them.

But I don't loosen my grip.

I close my eyes and let my empathy brush against the freezing alpine air. The toasted grain hasn't faded. It has only retreated, anchored just past the clearing.

They haven't left. They're watching us from the tree line, holding their breath in the cold to make sure the armed outsiders don't march down into their sacred basin.

My gaze falls to my winter boots, the sting of their rejection burning behind my teeth. To them I am not a palliative care assistant looking for mountain flowers. I am a devil of old.

"Tch. Trusy."

Zima spits the word into the snow. She sets her axe over her shoulder and glares at the pines. "We didn't want to see your stupid tents anyway!"

Frostleaf says nothing. She shifts her weight, the halberd loose in her grip. But her eyes are locked onto the exact cluster of pines where the scouts are hiding.

A sharp clap breaks the silence.

"Let's go gather samples!" Podenco declares.

She turns to me with an encouraging smile.

Podenco marches over to the tracked vehicle and pulls out a temperature-controlled terrarium and her trowel.

"Come on, Lethe," Podenco calls out, waving me over. "Amiya went through a lot of administrative red tape to get us this logistics run. We can't go back to Dr. Kal'tsit completely empty-handed. We need to find something interesting before the sun goes down!"

I take a slow breath. The freezing air fills my lungs. I force my chin up and pull my eyes away from the tree line where the scouts are hiding. I have my own family right here.

"Okay, Podenco," I reply, my voice steadying as I hurry over to her side.

Gummy falls into step behind us. She hefts her vault door and hums a new tune, our own wall of Ursus steel.

"Gummy will help look!" she chirps, scanning the snowbanks. "Maybe we can find some sweet mountain berries for the biscuits!"

We step away from the ridge and start along the perimeter of the basin. The snow is deep enough that I have to lift my knees high with every step. I keep my Arts Unit against my chest and watch the white powder and the scattered patches of alpine vegetation clinging to the rocks.

"Look for anything with thick, waxy leaves or dark stems, Lethe," Podenco instructs, kneeling in the snow to inspect a buried root system. "Plants up here have to be incredibly hardy to survive the altitude. If we can cultivate them in the new micro-climate pods back in the garden, Miss Lena will be thrilled!"

"I'm looking!" I promise, dropping to a crouch beside her, determined to make this expedition a success.

I shuffle over toward a rocky outcrop. The wind howls across the ridge while I search the landscape for any break in the endless white.

Then I see it.

Tucked into a narrow fissure between two frost-rimmed stones is a splash of color. A small flower, its petals pale violet, surrounded by silver leaves coated in a velvety fuzz. It's clinging to life up here on nothing but stubbornness.

"Podenco, Podenco! Look!" I call out, dropping to my knees in the snow. I point a gloved finger at the fissure, my voice ringing with excitement. "What is this called?"

Snow crunches behind me as she hurries over.

"Oh!" Podenco gasps and drops into a crouch beside me. She leans in close, her eyes wide with academic delight. "It's an Alpine Frost-bell! They only bloom at incredibly high altitudes, and they usually stay completely hidden beneath the snowdrifts until the spring thaws."

She turns to me, her smile radiating pride. "What a find, Lethe! Miss Lena is going to be so impressed!"

A bubbling thrill blooms in the center of my chest. I actually did it. I contributed to the garden.

Podenco doesn't waste a second. She sets the terrarium down in the snow and readies her trowel. She works with careful, held-breath patience, cutting a wide circle around the base of the plant so she doesn't sever or shock its root network.

The afternoon flies by in a comfortable rhythm. The freezing air bites at my nose until it tingles, but the steady pace of the gathering keeps the cold from settling into my bones.

A short distance away, Gummy wades through a deep snowdrift, humming a folk tune. She has found a cluster of dark-leafed bushes and is plucking frost-coated mountain berries off them, dropping them into her insulated bag.

Zima, on the other hand, is out of her element. With no enemies to fight and no danger to confront, her restless energy has nowhere to go. Every few minutes she grunts in frustration and kicks a pine trunk with everything she has, bringing down clumps of snow onto the powder below, purely to vent her boredom.

And then there's Frostleaf.

She leans against a pine tree, her weapon within arm's reach. Her headphones are up over her ears, her eyes half-lidded, apparently lost in the music.

The slouch is a lie.

Under the beat of her music, her ears keep up a small constant twitch. Her eyes haven't drifted from the snow-draped tree line once, holding the exact spot where the two scouts retreated. She has no interest in the team's playtime. She is our shield against the dark of the woods.

"It is getting late," Frostleaf states.

She pulls her headphones down around her neck. Her eyes scan the darkening tree line one last time. "The temperature is dropping. We need to go soon."

The twilight purple of the sky is melting into a deep indigo. Above the peaks, the light of Terra's twin moons begins to bleed through the clouds, casting long silver shadows across the untouched powder of the basin.

The logistics run is over. But a fierce reluctance bubbles up in my chest.

"I want to build a snowman, before we go!" I declare, my voice carrying across the frozen ridge. My tail gives a quick pleading swish against the snow.

The reaction is immediate.

Zima abandons her assault on the pine tree. She spins around, folding her arms.

"A snowman?" Zima barks, a grin stretching across her face. She cracks her knuckles, the sound sharp in the cold. "Move aside, kid. You're going to see how Ursus builds."

Gummy doesn't miss a beat. She seals her bag of berries and bounces over, her boots kicking up sprays of powder.

"Gummy will make the biggest base!" she cheers. I make myself ignore the phantom taste of her trauma and look at her instead.

The two of them go to work, and it's a display of uninhibited physical strength. They drop to their knees and roll snow without effort. Boulders of packed ice I couldn't budge are hoisted into the air and slammed together by Zima and Gummy in seconds.

I scramble around the perimeter, gathering fallen pine branches to serve as arms. Handfuls of loose powder go into smoothing the seams between the snow boulders. I want to contribute something.

Podenco doesn't join the snowy warfare. She stands near the open doors of the transport, cradling her terrarium of Alpine Frost-bells. She watches our breathless teamwork with a fond smile, content to guard the botanical spoils.

"Done!" Zima declares, stepping back and dusting the powder off her hands with a proud huff.

I step back.

The snowman is enormous. Zima's packing methods have left it lopsided, and it leans into the wind, but it stands tall and proud. I step forward and jam the two thick pine branches into its sides for arms.

The stick hands and the round body glow faintly under the twin moons.

"Something is missing…" I tilt my head, inspecting our creation.

I pull off my right glove, ignoring the bite of the freezing wind against my bare hand. Then I step up to the sphere of packed snow serving as its chest and press my index finger deep into the icy surface.

Carefully, I trace the outline of a rook. I carve the lines of the Rhodes Island emblem into the frost, making sure the logo sits squarely over where its heart would be.

I look up at Zima, Gummy, Podenco, and Frostleaf. The warmth in my chest has nothing to do with the mountain air.

"This is a Rhodes Island snowman," I announce. "He is one of us."

After we take a picture with the snowman, a very reluctant Frostleaf included, we climb back into the vehicle.

The all-terrain vehicle rumbles down the dark, snow-swept track back to the landship. The ride is much quieter than the ride out. The adrenaline of the snowball fight and the standoff with the scouts has burned itself out, leaving a comfortable exhaustion in the heated cabin.

Even Zima's energy has ebbed a little. She leans her head against the cold glass of the window with her eyes closed, while Gummy hums a sleepy melody beside me.

I lean my head against Podenco's shoulder.

Before the silhouette of our home even breaks through the dark, I can feel it. The hum of Rhodes Island's engines carries up through the frozen earth, through the chassis of the vehicle, into my bones. The mechanical heartbeat of our sanctuary. After hours out in the wilds, that vibration feels safe.

The vehicle lurches as its treads hit the reinforced steel of the deployment ramp. We roll into the bright cavern of the deployment bay, the engine whining down to a halt.

I reach for the door handle, a tired but victorious smile on my lips. We found the mountain flowers. We built our Rhodes Island snowman. We survived the cold.

But the moment the armored door pops open, my smile shatters.

The air in the deployment bay is wrong. The scent of machine grease and melting snow is swallowed by a drop in temperature that has nothing to do with the winter outside. An ancient stillness. A glacier that does not move.

I swallow hard, clutch my staff to my chest and step down out of the cabin, my winter boots hitting the floor with a hesitant thud.

A short way from the transport, under the clinical lights of the hangar, stands Dr. Kal'tsit.

Her coat is immaculate, her hands are folded behind her, and her green eyes are locked onto me. The authority coming off her makes the deployment bay feel as small as a quarantine ward.

Standing right beside her is Amiya.

Our young CEO looks nervous. Her ears droop, and her hands are clasped together in front of her jacket. When she meets my eyes, wide and scared, she offers me a weak apologetic smile. Her spun sugar is stretched paper-thin, with a faint static of burnt caramel running through it.

I shrink back against the armored hull of the transport, the dread overriding what is left of the heater's warmth.

Zima steps past me, oblivious to the pressure in the air.

"Tch. Bureaucrats," Zima mutters under her breath. She doesn't spare Dr. Kal'tsit a second glance as she marches off, unbothered by the glacier standing in our path. Frostleaf follows in her wake without a sound, her face an unreadable mask of exhaustion.

But I cannot just walk away. I am an Operator of the Medical Department, and my ultimate superior is waiting.

Dr. Kal'tsit takes a single measured step forward. The click of her heels echoes like a strike across the cavernous deployment bay.

"I trust this heavily expedited, highly irregular logistics excursion yielded tangible results, Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit says. Her voice is flat. "Rhodes Island does not expend fuel, maintenance hours, and Field Ops escorts simply to facilitate recreational snow play in foreign territories."

Amiya winces, folding in on herself as she clutches her hands together.

I swallow.

I look at Amiya, and then at the glacier standing in front of me. Amiya had stuck her neck out, bending the administrative rules to give me this trip. If I cower now and admit it was an excuse to build a snowman, Dr. Kal'tsit will never authorize another shore pass for me, and Amiya will be reprimanded.

I force my spine straight.

"It wasn't just play, Dr. Kal'tsit," I declare, my voice steady.

I turn back toward the tracked vehicle. "Podenco! Gummy!"

Podenco steps out from behind the armored door, the terrarium held level in both hands.

Gummy bounds down the ramp beside her, her vault door clanking against her back. The cold coming off the Medical Director doesn't touch her at all. Her fabricated sunshine pours out as bright as ever while she holds up her bulging bag.

I step forward, gesturing to the terrarium in Podenco's hands.

"We secured uncontaminated, high-altitude flora," I explain, meeting Dr. Kal'tsit's eyes. "Podenco successfully excavated intact root systems of the Alpine Frost-bells. They are incredibly rare, highly resilient plants that only bloom in extreme conditions."

I reach for the academic cadence I had learned from Ms. Skyfire. "They are the perfect specimens to test the calibration of Ms. Closure's new micro-climate pods in the Convalescent Garden. Miss Lena can study their cellular resistance to cold for potential medicinal applications."

Dr. Kal'tsit's eyes shift from my face to the pale violet petals behind the glass. She doesn't say a word, but her ears give a small calculating twitch.

"And that is not all," I press on, gesturing toward Gummy.

Gummy unzips her bag, revealing a huge haul of mountain berries.

"Gummy harvested these from the outer ridges," I report, keeping my tone professional. "They are rich in natural vitamins and antioxidants. Fresh, uncontaminated mountain berries are a vital dietary supplement."

I grip my staff and plant my feet on the deck. "We accomplished the mission parameters, Dr. Kal'tsit. We brought back vital logistics for the Medical Department."

The cavernous deployment bay falls silent.

The only sound is the idling hum of the landship's engines and the distant clatter of logistics Operators. I stand there, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for the executioner's blade to fall. I wait for her to tear apart my flimsy medical justifications.

Instead. The freezing drop in the air eases. The glacier doesn't melt, but the punitive edge of her presence dulls into indifference.

"The acquisition of uncontaminated, high-altitude botanical specimens is an acceptable return on the vehicular expenditure," Dr. Kal'tsit finally states. Her voice remains flat. "Ensure the Frost-bells are immediately transferred to Perfumer's containment pods. The nutritional yields are to be processed by the cafeteria staff under Medical Department's dietary guidelines."

I let out a shuddering exhale. She bought it.

"Yes, Dr. Kal'tsit," I reply, offering her a crisp bow.

"You are dismissed, Lethe," Dr. Kal'tsit commands. She turns on her heel. Without another word she marches away toward the administrative elevators, leaving us standing in the cold wake of her presence.

The second the elevator doors seal shut behind her, the atmosphere of the deployment bay shatters.

The burnt caramel static around Amiya dissolves, breaking into a bright wave of spun-sugar relief. She slumps forward, letting out a long, breathless laugh.

"You did it, Lethe!" Amiya gasps. She rushes forward, her eyes shining with pride. "That was brilliant! You sounded exactly like a proper medical researcher!"

Podenco lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief, leaning against the armored hull of the transport. "I thought she was going to confiscate my terrarium and put us on janitorial duty for a month," she laughs.

Even Gummy cheers, holding her bag of berries up over her head. "Victory for the logistics team!"

I finally loosen my death grip. My knees wobble from the adrenaline crash, but I can't keep the grin off my face. My tail, which had been frozen in terror, uncoils and starts to wag.

My shoulders drop and I reach into my bag. My fingers brush my communicator. I pull it out, waking the screen with a tap, and navigate to the photo gallery.

"Look, Amiya." I step closer and hold the glowing screen out toward her.

The image is perfectly imperfect. It catches the lopsided bulk of the snowman standing against the backdrop of the Kjeragi mountains. Zima is beside it, arms crossed, a triumphant grin plastered across her face. Gummy holds up her bag of berries, beaming. Podenco stands tall, cradling her precious terrarium, while Frostleaf lingers at the very edge of the frame, looking apathetic but present. And right in the center, wrapped in my parka, I'm pointing to the Rhodes Island rook carved into the snowman's icy chest.

Amiya leans in. The exhaustion shadowing her features melts away. Her long ears perk straight up. The air in the deployment bay sweetens.

"It's wonderful, Lethe," Amiya says, her voice gone quiet, her eyes warm. "You all did such a great job. He really looks like one of us."

I lower the communicator. "Is Rosmontis on the landship right now?" I ask, hopeful.

Amiya's smile softens. "Yes, she is, Lethe. She's resting in her quarters after her morning training."

"Because…" I tap the screen again, pulling up the encrypted messaging channel and the string of excited texts I had received just before we hit the deployment bay. "Lisa just messaged me! She said she found a Karlan Trade outpost near the borders. She bought a big pot of the cheese fondue and a whole pile of the sweet milk-fudges! We're going to have the picnic in the Convalescent Garden tonight."

I look up at Amiya, my eyes wide and pleading. "I wonder if you and Rosmontis want to join us? Miss Lena is going to make tea."

Amiya's eyes widen, then her smile returns in full force. The relief of a quiet evening with friends glows off her.

"Of course, Lethe!" Amiya chimes, her voice light. "We'd love to come. I'll go get her right now and let her know."

"Okay!" I beam, my heart fluttering.

I turn around to find the two of them. Zima is already marching toward the armory to stow her axe, but Gummy is still lingering near the tracked vehicle, securing the straps on her insulated bag.

I jog over to her.

"Gummy," I call, mindful not to startle her. "What about you and Zima? Lisa got a huge pot of melted cheese and sweets from Kjerag. Do you guys want to come to the garden with us?"

Gummy turns around, cheeks flushed, her bubbly energy firmly in place.

"Ah! That sounds so yummy, Lethe!" Gummy chirps, offering me a wave. "But Gummy can't tonight. The U.S.S.G. already has plans! We're going to make a big dinner together in the dorms!"

A pang of disappointment settles in my chest. It would have been nice to share the warmth of the garden with her after the snowball fight.

"Aww." My tail slumps. But I force my chin up and give her an understanding smile. I know how important her routine is. "Okay then. I'll make sure to save some milk-fudges for you, Zima, and the rest of the U.S.S.G. for later!"

"Thank you, Lethe! Enjoy the cheese!" Gummy cheers, beaming at me one last time before she turns and skips away toward the residential blocks.

She goes, and I turn back to Amiya and Podenco. We have a garden to prepare, and a mountain of melted cheese waiting for us.

Amiya holds my eyes a moment longer. With a final wave she turns and hurries down the corridor, her loafers clicking as she heads toward the residential blocks to fetch Rosmontis.

I watch her go, before turning back to Podenco.

"Let's get these to Miss Lena," Podenco says, shifting her grip on the temperature-controlled terrarium.

I nod. We make our way through the landship's hallways, our steps quick and purposeful. The chill of the winds we had braved earlier is already a distant memory, replaced by the anticipation bubbling in my chest.

As we step into the sensor's range, the doors of the Convalescent Garden slide apart.

A different aroma hits me, thick and rich.

Melted mountain cheese, savory and bubbling. It overpowers the floral scents of the greenhouse, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. My mouth waters, and my stomach gives a rumble too loud to pretend I can hide.

I step into the sanctuary.

The central seating area has been transformed. In the middle of the wooden table sits a portable thermal burner, and on top of it a heavy pot. The golden cheese fondue bubbles, sending plumes of steam up into the canopy. Arranged around the pot are stacked platters of roasted vegetables, cured meats, and thick chunks of crusty bread.

Gathered around the feast is my entire world.

Mom stands at the table, setting out a stack of small ceramic plates. She has shed her gear for the evening and looks relaxed.

Miss Lena is pouring steaming water into her teapot at the counter.

And right beside the table is Lisa. She can't keep still, her tails fanning out in a blur.

Sitting on the wooden bench next to her is Opal. She is wearing a soft sweater, her hands wrapped around her plushie.

I stop on the path. The safety of this room, full of the people who pulled me out of the dark and gave me a reason to live, makes my heart swell until it aches.

I stretch my face into the widest smile I can manage.

"Hi everyone!" I call out, my voice chiming through the rustling ferns.

A chorus of greetings comes back at me, overlapping and warm.

Mom laughs with fondness as she watches me vibrate with anticipation. Lisa waves, and Opal offers another small wave of her plushie's paw. Podenco brushes past me, heading straight for Miss Lena to present her preserved Alpine Frost-bell.

But my attention is hijacked by the thermal burner in the center of the table.

The smell of the bubbling Kjeragi cheese is intoxicating. After a freezing day in the mountains, the promise of it is too much to resist.

I abandon all pretense of patience.

My Arts Unit goes down against the bench with a clatter. I grab one of the long, specialized forks off the table, spear a crusty chunk of bread, and plunge it into the pot of golden cheese.

I pull it out. Gooey strings of cheese stretch and snap, clinging to the crust.

I open my mouth wide and take an ambitious bite.

The regret is instantaneous.

"Hff!"

The cheese isn't just warm; it's liquid lava. It sears the roof of my mouth and clings to my tongue.

"Hot! Hot, hot, hot!" I yelp, the words tearing out of my throat in a muffled squeal.

My eyes blow wide and water from the heat. The fork clatters back down onto the plate, and I start fanning my open mouth with both hands, hopping foot to foot in an uncoordinated little dance, my tail lashing behind me in distress while I try to pull cool air in over the burn.

Mom gasps and reaches for a glass of cold water, while Lisa covers her mouth on a startled giggle.

Right in the middle of my hot-cheese flailing, the doors of the garden hiss and slide apart.

I go still.

Caught mid-hop. My hands still hover near my open mouth, my eyes are watering, and my cheeks are puffed out around the molten cheese I'm still trying to cool.

Stepping into the humid, earthy sanctuary is Amiya.

Walking silently right beside her is Rosmontis.

She stops. Her gaze travels over the arranged picnic, the bubbling pot of cheese, and then locks onto me, frozen mid-flail.

The garden goes quiet, save for the bubbling of the fondue pot.

Rosmontis blinks. Her expression doesn't change.

"Lethe looks funny," Rosmontis states.

Her voice is steady.

The unapologetic bluntness of it shatters the silence.

Podenco bursts into a ringing laugh, nearly dropping the terrarium she was showing to Miss Lena. Amiya presses both hands flat over her mouth, her ears quivering as the giggle escapes anyway. Even Opal's ears twitch, a small fractured sound of amusement coming out from behind her plushie.

I finally manage to swallow the half-cooled cheese in one painful gulp.

The heat climbs all the way to my hairline. I drop my hands from my mouth, ball them into indignant fists at my sides, and fix Rosmontis with my fiercest pout.

"Hey!" I whine, my voice carrying across the garden. "It was hot!"

"Drink, Lethe," mom chuckles, stepping forward to press the cold glass of water into my hands. Her eyes crinkle with delight. "You need to blow on it first. You are a Djall, not a Draco."

I take a greedy gulp of the freezing water, letting it soothe my scorched tongue while the warm laughter of my family and friends fills the sanctuary.

The pain on the roof of my mouth dulls to a manageable throb, cooled by the water and the sweet relief of the milk-fudges Lisa had unpacked in triumph.

The garden is golden light and overlapping warmth. The smell of the cheese has mellowed, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and Miss Lena's freshly steeped chamomile.

I sit back in my chair, hands around a warm teacup, and just watch.

A few paces away, mom leans against the botanical counter, in quiet unbroken conversation with Miss Lena. The air around them blends into something new: honey swirling into the calm notes of warm lavender. They speak in hushed murmurs, trading the kind of tired understanding that only two Medics who have stared down Catastrophes can share.

"All right! The properties are sorted!"

Lisa's chiming voice cuts through the hum of the garden. She bounces in her seat. She has already cleared the empty fondue plates aside, and she unfolds the big colorful board of Pioneers of Columbia right in the center of our table.

"I call the blue pieces!" Podenco declares, sliding into the chair next to Lisa. The yuzu of her presence bubbles with a sharp, competitive carbonation. She points a challenging finger across the board. "And I'm not going easy on any of you just because we had a nice dinner."

Amiya giggles, and it tastes like spun sugar with none of the grey dust that usually shadows her. She takes a seat, guiding Rosmontis to the chair beside her. Rosmontis stares at the colorful paper currency, her ears giving a curious twitch.

Even Opal leans in. She is nestled between my chair and the table, her Amiya plushie resting in her lap. She watches Lisa hand out the plastic houses, her eyes catching the golden light of the burner.

I look at all of them.

My fingers drop to my lap, brushing the fabric of my crossbody bag. The slate is in there, holding the careful, permitted paragraphs I'm willing to let anyone read. Underneath it is the notebook Lisa and Podenco bought me with their pooled savings, and that one has the rest.

I look at mom's soft smile. I look at Lisa's radiant joy.

The truth is a heavy, quiet weight in my chest, but it no longer carries the suffocating terror it once did. The black crystals in my temporal lobe are going to keep consuming. I may not remember the exact, smoke-choked day mom pulled me from the rubble of Kazdel. I have already forgotten the precise moment I first tasted Miss Lena's tea, or the first time Lisa wrapped her tails around me to chase away the cold. The origin points of my life are bleeding out into the dark.

I may eventually forget why I chose to love them so fiercely.

But as the overlapping symphony of their emotions washes over me—the honey, the sugar, the lavender, the bright citrus, the diced strawberries, and the cool river stones—I realize it doesn't matter. The feelings are woven directly into my blood, anchored deeper than any fragile memory.

I turn my head slightly, looking past the hanging ferns toward the blast doors of the garden.

The world outside those doors hasn't gotten one bit kinder, and I don't think it will any time soon.

I reach down and pick up my Arts Unit once more, my fingers curling securely around the smooth shaft.

As long as I'm standing here, surrounded by the people who willingly walk into the fires to shield the innocent, the dark doesn't feel so absolute.

I look back at the table. Amiya catches my eye, offering me a brilliant, unwavering smile. I stretch my face into a massive, radiant grin, pushing myself up from my chair to join the chaotic, joyful fray of the board game.

I have a tomorrow.

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