Chapter Text
One hundred and six.
There are one hundred and six screws on the metal grading of the floor. They’ve rusted with time, worn down as people’s feet tracked and tramped over them. This airship must’ve bustled its fair share of passengers for the floor to get so worn down. It’s not quite clean enough that Varian can see his reflection; the steel shows him a blurry outline, a vague shape of a person.
He glances up, locking eyes with one of the women holding him captive. She isn’t exactly elderly, but her braided hair is silver, so she’s got to be pretty old. Her eyes are sharp, though. They stare at him from across the table, unblinking as she stuffs food into her mouth.
He goes back to counting the screws again.
It’s really all he has left to do. They’ve tried bribing him with food, but he doesn’t want to eat. He only stares at the floor, and through the little porthole next to him. The sky outside is vast and endless, the light of the full moon reflecting off the clouds. Varian’s never seen it up this close before—usually he was staring at it from the fields of his father’s farm, far away from any other city so the natural light is pure and untouched.
He wonders if Dad has noticed he’s gone yet.
They appeared at the door while Quirin was still out in the fields. Government officials, they called themselves. What a load of shit. Varian’s not stupid. They’re kidnappers disguised in uniforms. The reason they took him is pressing on his collarbone under his shirt.
He jolts when a piece of sweet bread is shoved under his nose. “C’mon, kid,” the colonel goads, waving the bread around as if that would make it more appetizing. “You’re hungry, right?”
Varian is hungry, actually, but he ignores the gnawing of his stomach and pushes the bread away. “No, thank you.” Even though his voice is soft, he musters up as much of a fuck you as he can in his tone.
The colonel notices. His brows draw down, eyes sharpened with a glare. He smiles, but it’s too predatory to be genuine.
“Leave the kid alone, Andrew,” the woman says. “If he wants to starve, he can.”
The colonel clicks his tongue, retaking his seat across from Varian. “That’s no way to treat our guest, Clementine.” He tears into the bread, the crumbs falling across his beard and lower onto his military uniform.
Varian almost laughs. “Do you normally kidnap your dinner guests under the guise of military intervention?”
The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it—and that gets Andrew’s attention. Shit. Something dangerous lights behind his eyes and he sits up a little straighter. The way he moves reminds Varian of a shark. Fast and hunting for blood. Hungry .
Still, his voice is smooth as he repeats the story he rattled out back at the farm. “If it wasn’t for us, you’d be left vulnerable to the pirates trying to use that thing”—he points to the spot on Varian’s chest where his necklace meets skin—“so really, you should be thanking us. We’re the good guys here, kid. Don’t get it confused.”
Varian opens his mouth to retort. He doesn’t get a chance to before the world rocks underneath their feet.
The turbulence comes out of nowhere. It makes the silverware on the table rattle, the glasses spill, and Varian accidentally bites his tongue. He’s never been on an airship before, but he knows they were notorious for being temperamental. Up thirty-thousand feet in the air, you were bound to get rocked by a stray wind or to.
But a stray wind wouldn’t have this kind of impact.
Andrew is on his feet instantly. “What was that.” It wasn’t a question. Clementine is up too, already peeking out the door. Varian goes to stand, but a heavy hand on his shoulder shoves him back down into his seat.
“Don’t. Move.” Andrew’s voice is low, his fingertips brushing the pistol at his hip.
Varian meets his glare for a moment before turning to look outside. The clouds shift across the inky sky, casting shadows on the face of the moon, but—there! Out in the darkness, backlit by the moon and starlight, floats another ship.
It’s smaller than the passenger boat they’re currently on, mismatched parts and propellers decorating it with all different shades of metal. There are words on the side that Varian can’t read from this distance, but there isn’t an identifying flag waving from the top. That means only one thing.
It’s a pirate ship.
The ship is only there for a second before it dives underneath the clouds. Varian’s pulse skyrockets. He didn’t actually think Andrew was serious about the pirates coming after him! Dad had always said the farm was safe, secluded, away from anyone who would ever be able to find him.
But the colonel had found him. Maybe Old Corona wasn’t as safe as Dad always thought.
Shouts ring out from the hall. Panic claws up his throat. Clementine is long gone, lost somewhere in the voices. There’s a loud pop , and then smoke fills the hall like a specter, curling fingers under the doorframe. Andrew quickly slams the door shut. His gaze sweeps the room—past the mess of the fallen utensils, past the splay of food and drink, past Varian—before landing on the radio in the corner.
Andrew’s movements are jerky as he stalks over to the radio. Is he nervous? Scared? Varian’s eyes dart back out the window to the door. The tap-tap-tapping of the radio keys matches the frantic beat of his heart.
He can’t just sit here! Not if those pirates are coming for him. Not if they’re coming for the shard. Unconsciously, Varian’s fingers brush against the jagged stone. He needs to get out of here. Maybe he could hijack an escape pod? Get back to the farm before the pirates could get to him? Take Dad and run somewhere far, far away into the mountains?
He’d have to get away from Andrew first.
His eyes drift over to the mess of the foodstuffs on the floor, landing on a dark green wine bottle.
Even though the colonel’s back is to him, Varian moves slowly, as if he were approaching a wild animal. The other man is entirely focused on tapping out a mayday on the radio. Varian’s hand trembles as he brings the bottle up. He holds his breath and swings.
The man collapses to the ground instantly, shards of glass exploding as the bottle cracks across his skull. Varian drops the remains of the bottle and refuses to check to see if Andrew is bleeding.
He bolts to the door and peeks out a crack. The corridor is still smokey, and the shouting sounds farther away now. Maybe he could…
He stiffens when a giant figure appears at the end of the hall. They’re marching closer, heavy footfalls radiating off the grating floor.
Shit . He slams the door shut, a nervous hand raking through his hair. Those footsteps are closer now, and Andrew makes a pained noise from the ground. He’s out of time.
Then, Varian gets an absolutely crazy idea.
The outside air is freezing this high up. It hits him like a slap of frigid hands. He forces himself to bear it, opening the porthole wider and lifting himself up to squeeze through. His fingers are shaky and sweaty with adrenaline as they grasp the outside of the porthole, working to slowly ease himself out onto the ledge.
Varian’s stomach swoops with the movement of the airship and he clenches his eyes shut. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down .
He presses as close to the cool metal as possible. The wind whips and claws at him like a starving animal. Sucking in a ragged breath, he glances toward the window on the right. If he can just get to that, he could sneak back in and make a mad dash to one of the escape pods.
Slowly, achingly slowly, he inches to the left. The ship shudders again— just another smoke bomb, that’s all, it’s not going to start falling out of the sky —and he makes the mistake of looking down into the inky blue darkness below.
Oh fuck . A wave of dizziness washes over him and he clutches the side a little tighter. Oh, he’s definitely going to throw up.
“Hey, kid!”
Varian’s blood runs cold at the sound of another person’s voice. He startles when a man in a black mask leans out the window and makes a swipe for him.
“Get over here, you’re going to fall!” the man cries.
“ Don’t!" Varian shrieks, inching faster toward the other window to avoid the man’s hands. “Don’t touch me!”
“We just want to—” the rest of that sentence gets cut off as the man is strong-armed away from the window by another masked person. This one is a woman. Her mask is purple, and oddly has a few colorful flowers stitched onto it.
“Eugene! Don’t scare him.” Strands of her long blond hair whip around her hidden face in the wind. She leans out the window and offers Varian a smile—which probably would have been encouraging if he wasn’t literally hanging by his fingernails thirty-thousand feet in the air .
“We’re not here to hurt you,” the woman says, her voice calm and yet firm. “Please, let me help you back inside—”
And Varian is so focused on her, so enamored by her bright green eyes, that he forgets how close he is to the other porthole. It’s only when it swings open, when another masked pirate—this one larger than the both of them combined—leans out, close enough to brush shoulders with Varian, does he remember.
The man says something, but Varian doesn’t hear it. The surprise and fear give the wind enough leverage to finally dig its claws into him. His feet slip, and for one heartstopping instance, he dangles weightlessly in the nothingness. He hears the woman shout, but he can’t make sense of her voice, the noise lost to the roaring in his ears.
And then, he falls.
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ ☾⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
It’s on nights like this that the stars feel too far away.
The village of Ironhaven’s only cafe is always busy this time of night. Most places close once the sun’s gone down, meaning Hugo’s stuck elbowing people to force his way through the crowd. People filter in and out, scrambling for a warm meal after a long day of work. Amateurs . Don’t they know the night’s barely begun? The mines haven’t even closed for the evening—they’ll miss out on a good few hours by going home on time.
Hugo keeps a firm grip on the empty thermos in his hands. The little handle is a rusted, almost scratchy metal, but he knows if he drops it Donella will kill him. It’s her favorite, after all. He slowly pushes his way to the front counter, weaving through the thong of bodies, until finally he can set the thermos down with a small thunk .
“Meatballs for the boss,” he says flatly. This far into the store it’s easy to see the bubbling pots of soups and sauces for sale—and the smell is more than enough to get Hugo’s stomach rumbling. This place is Donnie’s favorite for a reason, he supposes; she’s always had good taste.
“Hello Hugo!” the employee greets. An older man, mid-fifties at least. Hugo never has learned his name, even after dropping by day after day. “You’re working late, Donella still back at the mines?”
“Yep, things are finally busy for a change.”
The man smiles behind his thick mustache. “Glad to hear it, give her my regards, would you?” He spoons a thick ladleful of sauce and meatballs into the thermos with a grin.
“Will do,” Hugo says as he tosses a few meager coins on the counter. He won’t; she wouldn’t care for them either way. Better to save the breath.
But at least now he’s got dinner. So it’s a good start.
Outside the store is considerably cooler than inside. It’s a blessing after the stifling heat. Ironhaven’s always a little hot this time of year with summer heat embedding itself deep into the bare stone and leeching away all night. It’s nearly impossible to feel a chill until the fall.
Hugo weaves his way through quaint cobblestone streets. He passes the short, stubby houses that are packed close to the street like they’ve grown right out of the dirt. Thatch roofs and strong timber reaching for the sky. How Hugo would like to join them.
He reaches the outskirts of the town quickly and heads directly for the mine. It’s up at the top of the mesa, buried deep into the mountain looming above the town. A benign god, always observing. Watching.
Judging.
But as he scales the tall, rolling hills leading to the mines, he spots something in the sky. At first he thinks it’s a meteor; it’s a bright, blue light that twinkles as it falls—but it’s falling too slowly to be anything natural. A soft, slow descent.
Hugo squints at the light. It looks like whatever it is will land right on the mine—right where Donella and the others are. His feet start to move faster at the thought. Depending on what it is, it could be dangerous. Or expensive.
It’s too small to be an airship, or even a glider. But it’s so bright .
As Hugo draws closer to the entrance to the mine, a large pit dug deep into the earth with a large series of cranes and pulleys spiderwebbed across it, he feels a pulse of shock. He’s close enough to see what the light is—or, more specifically, who it is.
Because it’s not an airship, a glider, or even a meteor. It’s a boy , a teenager about his own age, slowly sinking to earth. Hugo lets out a shout of shock at the sight, sprinting down the lip of the mine’s entrance and bolting for one of the cranes. The boy looks like he’s about to land on it, drifting closer to the ground every second.
Around his neck glows a blinding, blue light. A necklace, from the looks of it, shining in the darkness. The teenager’s limp, unconscious, his hair and clothes fanning out as it caught in a breeze Hugo can’t feel.
The blond runs faster, nearly tripping down into the pit in his haste. Hugo just manages to catch himself as he hops up onto the crane. The metal creaks under his hands—rust scatters like snow under grasping palms—but it holds strong, just like it always has. Hugo pants from the exertion. He only just manages to set down the thermos and get into place; if he was even a moment later the boy would have fallen past him and deeper into the mine.
Hugo holds his shaking arms out, unsure. Is this… is this what he should be doing? Surely someone had to catch the other teenager, right? Would the weird object around the other boy’s throat react badly?
Well. It’s a little too late to be worried about that now.
There’s a brief second in time before the falling boy makes contact with the skin of Hugo’s arms. It’s almost like he floats above for a moment, slowing his descent before touching down, and it nearly makes Hugo’s breath hitch. The glowing necklace—because it’s definitely a necklace, chain and all—flashes one last time before going dark in the blink of an eye. A streak of blue, the same brilliant color as the stone, flashes through the boy’s hair—growing out from the root until it hits the tip—before also going dark.
And then, like dead weight, the boy drops into Hugo’s embrace.
He has to adjust to the sudden burden. It’s almost enough to knock Hugo off the crane, it’s so quick, but he manages to pull the other boy to his chest. For a moment he fears the worst but–no, no, the dark-haired boy’s breathing; he exhales with quiet, fluttery breaths that ghost along Hugo’s cheek. Upon further inspection, Hugo can see a smattering of freckles across those tanned cheeks, like stars across the sky, and a streak of blue in raven hair like a comet’s trail. He’s easily one of the prettiest people Hugo’s ever seen… though the blond grew up in a mining colony. Not much room for pretty things in a place like this.
Speaking of.
“Donnie!” he hollers. There’s a sharp clang from the workshop below. She’s definitely down there—probably ignoring him. “ Donnie !”
The body in his arms is getting heavier by the second. There’s no way Hugo’ll manage to get him down without drawing attention, so might as well get some help.
There’s another harsh clang from below followed by the subtle whrr of a machine spinning to life. “What—” Donnela’s voice snaps “—do you want?!”
“There’s a guy up here!”
One of the machines makes a louder noise, cutting Hugo off. “A what ?” Don’s voice drifts up.
“A guy!”
“Hugo, will you stop playing around?” Oh, she sounds upset. “Get down here, I need your hands!”
The blond shifts his gaze from the unconscious boy to the ladder leading down into the mines, then back to the boy. Oh, dear.
“ Hugo!"
“Coming!”
He’s forced to set the mystery boy down on the metal; his hands are gentle, more gentle than he’s used to, but the teenager looks so peaceful… Hugo would feel guilty if he woke up from rough treatment. He carefully slips his arm out from under the other boy and grabs Donella’s thermos before scampering down the ladder and into the main loading area of the mines.
It’s a massive space, cavernous and deep. It’s like standing in the center of a bowl and looking up—like the edges of stone threaten to close off the sky and lock them all in darkness. Metal machines are packed into every square inch of space, seismographs and radars, digging machines and soil extractors, cranes and buggies, the list goes on. All built by Donella’s capable hands… and sometimes with a little help from Hugo.
As his boots hit dirt, Hugo’s immediately met with the sight of his mentor’s legs sticking out of the access door of one of the larger machines–the one running the elevator, specifically–and sighs. Stupid thing’s been on the fritz since before Hugo was born.
“Look in the gearbox!” Donella’s voice is almost metallic from within the belly of the machine. “I think something’s come loose, I’ve almost—” a series of loud clangs “—got the timing belt back in place.”
Hugo knows better than to argue.
He scrambles up the machine to an open compartment, quickly shoving his hands deeply into the gearbox. Hugo’s deft fingers twist and pull at wires and gears, tweaking and tending and tilting the gears until finally he hears a click.
Donella lets out a noise below, pushing herself out into the open once more. She wipes at a smudge of oil on her cheek before putting her hands on her hips and looking up at Hugo with a frown.
“What took you so long?”
Hugo’s eyes flick back up to the crane—to where the mystery boy sleeps—and back to his mentor. He should tell her the truth. Should tell her that a floating boy fell from the sky and landed in Hugo’s arms, like a fairy tale. That something in him is already alert and concerned about this person who glowed with the energy of a star, who surely needs his help.
He should tell her.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just got distracted.”
Right, sure. Distracted is a word for it. It’s enough for Donella, though, and she shrugs.
“Well get over whatever’s distracting you. We’ve had a good night, tomorrow should be just as good.” She wipes her hands on the front of her pants and takes another look at the machine in front of her. “Might be time to call it a night. We can get up early tomorrow, eh kid?”
“Sure,” Hugo’s voice is distanced, even to him. His eyes have somehow drifted back up to the mystery boy on the crane. “Tomorrow… sounds good.”
He barely registers when Donella leaves.
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ ☾⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
Reddish light blooms behind Varian’s eyelids. Mm, no, it’s too early to start tending the fields, isn’t it? Five more minutes. He turns his face away from the light, dimly registering that he’s laying down on something much softer than the hard cot he slept on the airship.
The airship .
Varian jolts upright, breath catching in the middle of his throat. He fell off the airship. Because it was attacked by pirates . Is that where he is now? Kidnapped by one of them? Or was he still stuck with Andrew?
His hands fly to his throat, and he nearly collapses with relief when they meet the cool, jagged shape of the shard. Okay. He still has the piece of Moonstone, at least. But that still didn’t explain where he is.
He glances around the room quickly. It doesn’t look like much. The ceilings are low with old crumbling beams, and the twin bed he’s occupying groans when he moves. There’s a desk in the corner that’s so cluttered with papers, various tools, and gears that he can barely see the wood underneath. The burning brick hearth looks to be double-sided—a door on the edge of the room confirms that there’s at least another room in this little shack. All things considered, it’s rather cozy. Clearly a space that is lived in and loved.
But someone had to build that fire.
Varian swallows thickly. Not out of danger yet . He’s going to need a weapon.
He tiptoes as quietly as he can over to the desk, keeping one eye on the door. There’s no telling if one of those pirates is going to burst through here any minute. Heart pounding, he reaches blindly for that wrench—
His fingers wrap around something warm and distinctly alive . He shrieks, immediately scrambling back. Heart hammering, he watches as the tip of a tail skitters back underneath the pile of blueprints he must have disturbed.
Oh. A mouse must have been nestled under there. “Sorry,” he breathes. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”
A tiny brown snout peeks its way out from underneath the papers. The little creature can’t be bigger than the width of Varian’s palm, but somehow, he feels judged under its heavy gaze.
Well, he still needs that wrench.
He lifts his arm slowly, carefully telegraphing his movements to frighten it again. It doesn’t matter, because the thing lets out a tittering squeak and bolts off the table. Rude, but one less thing to worry about.
Arming himself with the wrench, he slowly slinks out the door, keeping his back to the wall. It leads into a kitchenette area with a kettle and what smells like cooking bacon. Gods , he’s so hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything on that ship, and falling to your death sure can work up an appetite.
He shakes his head. He can’t lose focus now. The tool gets raised even higher when he spots the figure at the stove.
A blond teenager who looks around the same age as him has his back turned, willowy limbs working the stove. His clothes are patched and worn, but by all accounts, he didn’t look like a pirate.
Huh.
Fate doesn’t allow him to stand there and stare for long. The mouse that had fled the bedroom squeaks from its spot on the counter, alerting the blond of his presence.
“Good girl, Olivia.” He curls one long finger to pat the mouse on the head before turning to face Varian. “Hey, nice to see you’re—the hell? ” The blond ducks just in time to avoid the swing of the wrench. “What are you doing? ”
Varian’s lip curls back into a snarl as he swings again. “Who are you?”
“Currently? I’m the guy trying to make you breakfast without getting clobbered in the process.” The blond readjusts his glasses where they went askew on his nose. He raises his hands in surrender—the tips of his fingers exposed by his gloves are blackened with dirt. “Will you put that thing down? ”
Varian does not. “Who do you work for?”
“A snarly lady with a host of control issues.”
Ugh, this guy. He wasn’t giving a straight answer. Varian meets those green eyes with a glare and raises the wrench again. “Does this snarly lady work for the government?”
Laughter erupts from the blond’s throat. “Donnie? Work for the—oh, that’s hilarious . You’ve got a good sense of humor, Hairstripe.”
Varian frowns. “Hairstripe?”
The blond quirks an eyebrow and pulls at his own bangs to illustrate. Varian stares at him in open confusion before quickly turning to look at his reflection through one of the foggy windows. There was a streak of bright teal in his hair.
Well that wasn’t there before.
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Mom always said the Moonstone was powerful, that it marked the people who tried to use it, but—he only had part of it. A shard. He supposes he should be happy it didn't leave him without an arm or something, but... is his hair going to stay like this forever? Maybe Dad knew of a way to—
Varian deflates a little, homesickness weighing on his heart. He can’t ask Dad if he can’t get back to Dad. What will Quirin think happened when he hears of an attacked civilian airship? Maybe there was a way that Varian could contact him, or make it home before he saw Andrew again.
The blond boy takes his silence as permission to leave his corner, slinking back over to the stove. His groan interrupts Varian’s swirling thoughts.
“It burned.” He sighs, scraping off pieces of charred bacon into a waste bin. “Do you know how expensive meat is around here?”
“No,” Varian says bluntly. Not like he cared, either. I’ve got a few more pressing matters to think of, thanks . He sinks into the chair by the lopsided wooden table, exhaustion weighing on his bones.
“Saved your life and all you’re doing is burning my bacon,” the blond keeps muttering under his breath. “Maybe I’ll just toss you back into the mines and see if you float away again.”
Varian looks up. “Float?”
“Yeah. You were falling from the sky and I caught you. That necklace of yours made you float safely down into my arms. You’re welcome.”
Varian snorts. Sure, he’s never seen the Moonstone work, but people don’t just fly around. That’s not normal. “I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.”
“You callin’ me a liar?” The blond looks playfully offended. Oh, that crooked smirk looks kind of cute on him.
Wait. Where did that come from? Varian fights down a flush—he’s been kidnapped by this boy, he shouldn’t think his kidnapper was cute–!
The blond holds out his hand. “Gimme your necklace. I’ll prove it to you.”
Varian stiffens. This could be a trick. This guy looks like the type to snatch what he could and run. “How do I know you aren’t going to steal it?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I already checked you for valuables when you were unconscious.” The blond winks, and Varian’s face heats. “Ha! I’m kidding. Maybe. Anyway, fork it over.”
Okay, well. He’s probably not going to get mugged by an idiot . Sighing, Varian undoes the clasp of the chain pendant and drops the jagged blue stone into the blond’s awaiting palm.
The boy gives him a sharp, crooked grin. Varian’s heart stutters. Shit. Maybe this would become a problem. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because the boy is throwing open the window and climbing out of it.
“Hey!” Varian rushes over to find out exactly where he’s going. The sharp morning air slaps him in the face as he squints. He expects to see the blond scampering down the hill pathway down into what looks like a town, but—instead he’s climbing up toward the roof of the shack.
Oh, hell . That couldn’t be good.
Those spindly legs disappear on the top of the roof. Varian groans when he realizes that he’s going to have to follow that idiot up there.
Sticking his tongue between his teeth, he swings his legs out of the window. He distinctly does not look down as he finds the little placeholders in the brick that the blond used to climb—though, honestly, compared to falling out of an airship, climbing a roof was nothing.
The blond is up there waiting for him. He helps Varian grab his bearings, large hands pulling him up onto the dew-slick shingles.
The boy beams, glasses glinting in the sun. “You ready to watch something incredible?”
Varian considers responding do I have to , but okay, he is a little curious. He’s never seen the Moonstone work before. “Sure.”
The blond gives him a thumbs up before dramatically T-posing and vaulting himself off the roof.
Varian’s shout of alarm is immediately drowned out by the distinct sound of a crash . He sprints to the edge of the roof to see a very human-shaped hole in the brick and wood loft below.
“Are you okay?” he calls, already climbing down. There’s no way someone could survive that unscathed. Case in point when the blond is laying on his back in a pile of bricks, glasses dusty and askew. Varian can practically see the stars dancing around his head.
“Hugo,” the boy wheezes.
Varian blinks. “What?”
“My name,” he rasps, struggling to sit up, “is Hugo. If I die, I want you to at least know what to put on my headstone.”
A smile worms its way onto Varian’s face. “Varian. Let me help you up.” Together, they work to clear away the brick. “I’m surprised you’re not, um. Dead from that.”
“Eh,” Hugo shrugs, “I’ve been working in the mines since I was a kid. My skull is practically a cannonball.”
He says this like it’s something to brag about. What an idiot. Varian laughs, the noise bright and shocking to them both. It fills him up like sunshine bursting out of a bottle.
“Well at least you laugh like a normal person,” Hugo mutters, a contagious grin on his face. He looks down at the shard still around his neck. “I don’t know why that didn’t work. You were floating .” He undoes the clasp with quick fingers, voice drifting as he gets caught in the memory. “When I caught you, it was like you were weightless. The rock was all glowy and so was your hair–do I have to say a magic spell or something? Are you magic?”
Varian smirks wryly. “I’m just some kid from a farming village.” He accepts the necklace and slips it back over his head. “And this isn’t just a rock. It’s called the Moonstone. But it’s only a shard of it; the real stone is supposed to be a lot bigger. Or at least they say. I’ve never seen it.”
Green eyes spark with vindication. “So it is magic.”
“Yeah,” Varian says. “I guess.” He wishes it wasn’t. He wishes he didn’t have this stupid necklace at all. If Hugo notices the way he closes up, he doesn’t mention it.
“Well, unless you want to jump off the roof this time, I’m hungry. I’m going to finish cooking that bacon—and not burning it this time.”
Hugo stands and brushes the dirt and plaster off his front before scurrying back into the main area of the shack. Varian makes to follow, but hangs back when a small flash catches his eye.
A series of model machines hang from the ceiling, airships, gliders, other types that Varian has no name for. There’s dozens, all tied with fishing lines and scattered across the ceiling. It’s like a miniature air show—it’s amazing. The detail on them is incredible. Obviously a labor of love.
Hugo flushes slightly as Varian steps closer for a better look.
“Ah, yeah, it’s a. Uh. A hobby. My dad liked to fly, you know? Spent years trying to find the Isle of Meridian, him and mom. It’s a legendary kingdom that floats in the sky, thanks to some weird magic hidden within the castle walls. They were always going on flights out over the sea trying to find it. Always said that they would be the ones to find it but, uh, one time I guess their luck ran out. They went out once when I was little and never came back. But I kept this here. Keeps them alive, even just a bit, ya know?”
Varian smiles. “They’re beautiful.”
The blush gets even redder. With how pale Hugo is, the blush takes over his entire face in a plume of red. Like the red, iron-rich sands outside.
Varian keeps looking. The wall is covered in images and charts, machine schematics and weather readings, all meticulously surrounding a certain area. A large picture of a man on a glider sits in the corner. To the left, a large window.
Blue eyes are drawn out at the sense of movement outside. Varian blinks at the sight of a small town outside, one clinging tightly to the side of the cliffs like a strong gust would send it toppling to the bottom of the ravine. Hugo notices Varian’s distracted eyeline, peeking out the window and smiling.
“That’s Ironhaven,” he says. The little town below is sleepily waking up, smoke from just—started fires drifting up into the blue sky. Most of the lights aren’t even on in the little houses scattered across the cliffs. “It’s a working town.”
That’s so far away from home… things just keep getting worse and worse, didn’t they ?
“Oh,” is all Varian says.
Hugo doesn’t seem to notice, babbling on and pointing to some of the tiny buildings. “There’s the cafe, and the clothing shop–we should go to town today…”
Hugo trails off, worryingly. Varian follows his gaze to where a large plume of dust and smoke is settling on one of the taller cliffs. For a moment it looks like just another gust of strong wind, but then… wings. An engine. And a massive, massive balloon. One that Varian had seen landing near his farm, in the scant moments before things went wrong.
“Oh no,” he breathes. Hugo’s still staring at the ship in wonder.
“It’s a government ship, isn’t it? I can see the emblem. Wow, I don’t think we’ve ever had that big a ship from them before—hey, Hairstripe? Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Varian’s voice is a squeak even to him. Not suspicious at all.
Hugo’s definitely suspicious. No question about it; his eyebrows are creeping higher by the second. It’s not a judgemental one, thankfully—even if that’s a weird thought, the idea of Varian caring so much about whether Hugo judges him for being a fugitive or not—but at the same time Hugo had offered his home to Varian. Had caught him out of the sky and stopped him from falling. He did kind of owe the blond even a bit of an explanation, even if it was just the meager information Varian had himself.
Hugo’s already turned back to watch the massive ship docking on the horizon. He looks like a little kid, so excited to see such a feat of engineering right at his front door. Massive plumes of smoke and dust fly from the thing, scattering birds into the sky in fright; the clouds caused by it threaten to choke the sun out from the blue sky. Horrible .
“Amazing,” Hugo murmurs to himself. “Just look at it. I wonder what it’s doing here?”
“I–it’s for me.”
There. Out in the open.
Hugo’s head swivels around to openly stare at Varian. His mouth gapes open. His eyes are huge—he almost looks like a fish, and the thought makes something hysterical in Varian want to laugh.
“For you?”
Varian nods. The words aren’t coming easily. “I–I was running. From them. When I uh…”
“When you fell?”
There’s a tense moment of silence. “They took me from my home village. For this.” He gestures to the necklace around his throat. “And I was trying to get away. The ship was attacked by pirates, and I saw a chance. Tried to go out a window to get into an unlocked room… and then I fell.”
Hugo’s still gaping. He looks like his eyes are about to bug right out of his head. “Uh. That’s a lot.”
Varian looks down to the floor. His fingers toy with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah. I should go, they’ll be coming here, I can’t ask you to lie for me.”
He starts to turn, to bolt for the door and run, run as fast as he can, but Varian’s stopped by a firm hand grabbing his elbow.
“Woah, hey,” Hugo says. His voice is soft, reassuring. “I won’t hand you over them. No one here will; this is a union town. Government loyalty has been in the toilet for years. We can make a plan—if we get to the town, my mentor Donella will hide us.”
“They’ll see us—”
“Not if you wear something different. I think I still have something, hold on.”
Varian’s heart swells as Hugo sprints to the other side of the main room and starts to dig through a large trunk. “I swear it was— here!" The blond’s head snaps back up. He triumphantly holds a large swatch of cloth high, along with a fabric hat. “I stole this off Cyrus ages ago; I knew I still had it!”
He tosses the fabric–a shirt–to Varian, who catches it. “I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Hugo shrugs like it’s nothing, but Varian can’t help the sudden heat of grateful tears in his eyes. The blond tosses him a coat, one that’s thick and heavy. “Besides, did you think I caught you out of the sky just to pass you off to the first people who came looking? Not a chance; I want to find Meridian and I bet it's the source of that stone around your neck. Maybe if I bring back proof, people will stop thinking I’ve been crazy all this time.”
Varian knows an excuse when he sees it. But he won’t mention it.
“Thank you.”
Hugo just winks in reply.
Varian’s quick to start pulling the shirt on. Everything goes dark as he struggles against the massive piece of clothing; it’s at least four times the size of him. He hears the shuffle of Hugo’s boots on the stone floors, the quick steps crossing the room—and the sudden intake of breath that comes from the blond.
“Say, you also said pirates were after that necklace of yours… right?”
Varian finally manages to claw himself into the shirt. His head pops out with a grateful breath. “Yeah, a whole crew of them.”
“Were they, uh, by chance being led by a woman with way too much hair? Blonde?”
Oh. Oh no .
Varian doesn’t bother to tie the shirt before he rushes back to the window Hugo’s staring out. Sure enough, just over the cliff, another group of people crests over the grassy hill. A blonde woman. A handsome brunette man. A burly, bald man with dark skin. Two young teenagers, one with black hair and one with red .
They’d found him too.
“Wonderful.” Varian grumbles. “Just great.”
He shoves as much excess cloth from the shirt into his pants as he can. It helps a bit, making him look much larger than he actually is. The dangling sleeves and extra material around his stomach works wonders for changing his silhouette. Hugo tosses him the hat, and Varian takes the time to carefully tuck his hair—a new stripe of blue included—under the rim. The old coat goes on last, completing the disguise.
Varian inspects himself in a cracked, filthy mirror, and grimaces. It’ll have to do. Hugo’s already got a bag thrown over his shoulder, and makes for the door.
“Let’s go,” he says quickly. “We’re running out of time. They’ve already made it to town.”
Varian’s necklace burns against the skin of his collarbone. He swallows thickly against the fear in his throat.
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ ☾⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
“This is a waste of time!”
Eugene straightens the suit jacket and decidedly ignores the commentary from behind him. Going shopping for new outfits is always fun, but the best part about this particular outfit was that it’s made of pure cashmere. It smells expensive .
“Who knew there would be such nice shops in such a grimy little town?” He grins at himself in the mirror, pearly whites flashing in the glass. He doesn’t care what Lance’s little gremlins say, his teeth are not crooked. They’re not .
(He’s checked. Multiple times . Pencil straight, he’ll swear up and down.)
Catalina makes a frustrated huff from where she’s lounging on the window seat. “Captain said we’re supposed to be searching for that Varian kid.”
“Yeah,” Kiera agrees, pouting from her spot on the floor. She lost the battle for the window seat when they first came in. Catalina could be shockingly aggressive when she wanted to be. The dark-haired girl glares up at her father. “We shouldn’t be shopping .”
“Girls, girls.” Lance waves his hands to pacify them. It doesn’t work. “We are searching. It’s a process . First, we gotta blend in with the townspeople so we don’t arouse suspicion. Then we sample the local cuisine and get our energy up. Then we go hunting.”
Catalina groans like she’s been stabbed and sinks so low onto the seat that she’s practically horizontal. “You guys are taking forever —”
“No one in this grungy town is wearing a suit,” Kiera protests at the same time. “ Literally no one.”
At his wit's end, Eugene declares, “Fine! You go look. Out with thee!” He ushers the girls out of the door. The clerk by the cash register looks jealous—he’s probably just as sick of those little gremlins two hanging around here too. Gods, he never understood why Lance adopted those two. Children are icky. Germy, even. “Shoo!”
Once the twin terrors have been dispelled from the premises, he strolls back up to the mirror and hip-checks Lance so they’re both looking in the same mirror. They’re dressed in matching white suits that look stunning . It’s been a minute since he’s been able to satisfy his shopping itch, what with being on the run as thieves and all.
Speaking of. He offers the shopkeeper a grin as he passes over the false coins. They’ll be high in the sky by the time the poor idiot notices they're counterfeits.
He and Lance leisurely stroll away from their crime in a way they’ve perfected a hundred times. Living on the road with your pirate wife sure gave you a lot of chances to perfect your skills in thievery. Besides, the people on these streets seem…well, simple-minded . They probably didn’t know the first thing about being swindled.
Eugene sucks in a deep breath and immediately regrets it. Ugh, he hates mining towns. The air was full of soot and depression.
“So, where do you wanna hit first?” Lance surveys the bustling cobblestone streets around them. Despite it still being mid-morning, the air is hot, no doubt thanks to all that stone. Busy villagers move around them like water passes rocks in a river. “Ooh, is that a meatball shop?”
“I do believe it is,” Eugene grins, “Great eye buddy.” They slip through the crowd and nearly bump shoulders with a burly mountain of a man as he’s exiting the door. And okay. Maybe those tiny crotchmuffins had a point. It wouldn’t hurt to ask a couple of locals if they’ve seen anything weird while they stand in line for snacks.
Lance goes along inside while Eugene hangs out to ask, “Hey beardy! You work around here?”
The guy pauses and gives Eugene a look, long-suffering and unimpressed. Well. Maybe that look was well deserved. He very obviously does work around here, if his soot-covered overalls were anything to go by.
“You wouldn’t have happened to see anything weird around here yesterday, would you?”
The guy raises an eyebrow—one of them has a thick, jagged scar over it. Yeesh. “Depends who’s asking. And how you define weird .”
Of course this wouldn’t be easy. Well, that’s fine. Eugene knows how to put on a show. He slaps on the smile that never fails to get someone to spill their secrets. “Weird as in things you’d see once in a lifetime. Something almost unimaginable. Something that defies the laws of nature, that scares you in your sleep.”
The guy blinks. Clearly, he’s getting nowhere.
Exasperated, Eugene tries a more blunt tactic. “Yesterday a civilian airship was flying over this area and dropped some, uh, precious cargo.”
“What kind of cargo.”
“Not the kind you can sell.” Eugene catches the suspicious glint in his eye. “No, it was a—"
“CYRUS!”
A loud voice cuts him off, making both men turn. A pair of teenagers are tearing down the cobblestone toward them, racing like they’re being hunted for sport. The blond one with glasses is the one who’s shouting—the other one is hard to see, wrapped up in a coat that’s almost hysterically too large. Eugene can barely see his face thanks to his hat.
“ Hugo .” The man mutters the name like a curse. Louder, he calls back, “What now? Didya forget Don’s mug—are those my clothes?”
The blond pumps the breaks, almost comically digging his heels into the cobblestone to stop. His gangly limbs pinwheel as he finds his balance. His green eyes fearfully flicker to Eugene, before he quickly turns his head to murmur to the other teen behind him. It’s quiet, but Eugene’s ears perk up to catch it. “You sure? Him too?”
Now that’s interesting.
Eugene slaps on a smile and steps around this Cyrus guy. “Hey, four-eyes!” The blond’s head snaps over to him. The other teen curls into Hugo’s side—not quite cowering, but clearly preparing to make a break for it. His eyes are mostly hooded by that big hat, but Eugene catches a flash of baby blue.
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a kid around here yesterday? Around your age?”
“There are lots of kids in Ironhaven,” the blond chirps back. “Which one specifically?”
This little shit. Eugene already feels a headache building behind his temple. “Gee, I dunno, maybe a one that fell out of the sky.”
The blond snorts. “You huff too much soot, Mister? Nothing like that has happened here.”
But as he says this, his eyes flit to Cyrus, whose frown is so deep it could cut through canyons. Eugene might have made a career out of being a thief, but he’s built his legacy on sniffing out liars. And this kid was a bad one.
He makes a move to step closer—just to talk, not to threaten or anything, he’s not an animal—but before he can, a large hand wraps around his elbow.
“Hugo doesn’t mean any trouble,” Cyrus tells him lowly. “Whatever kind of shit you’re dealing, he’s got no part in it.”
Eugene sneers. “Ha, okay. I think I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Now please remove your non-manicured hands off my person before I have to remove them for you.”
A low and threatening growl slips out of Cyrus’s throat. Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be. And yeah, Eugene probably should have thought a little more before he straight-up threatened a bulky guy who clearly spent most of his time in the mines. But whatever! He’s cracked the skulls of bigger guys. Plus, he has Lance with him. Easy takedown.
His wife, bless her pacifist's heart, won’t like that they got into a scrap, but she certainly wouldn’t be surprised.
Before any real brawling can start, there’s a loud shriek of HEY! The two men whip around to see Catalina crouching on the cobblestone, very clearly having just leaped out from somewhere. The kid’s hat is in her hands and she’s grinning like a maniac. The boy dives forward to snatch the hat back, but another pair of hands—Kiera—seizes the back of that bulky coat.
Varian of Old Corona tumbles out of the coat, landing gracelessly on the cobblestone in a heap.
“Hey!” Lance chirps, just stepping out of the shop, splattering meat all over the front of his suit.
“You!” Eugene cries at the same time.
“ Shit ,” Hugo hisses. Then, he’s scrambling to peel Varian off the ground. “Cyrus, keep ‘em busy! Come on, we need to find Don!”
Eugene tries to chase after them, but he forgets that his arm is still being held by that mountain of a man who has clearly never heard of beard oil. Or owning a toothbrush. He grabs the guy’s wrist and twists until he’s forced to let go. Cyrus doesn’t like this, and apparently decided today was the day he was going to let out all of his pent-up anger issues on Eugene’s face.
He ducks, the whoosh of air ruffling his hair when the guy’s fist narrowly misses his head. He swings again, this time going for Eugene’s stomach, but he manages to dance out of the way in time.
He lets out a high noise. “I just bought this suit, don’t scuff it up!”
Thankfully, Lance drops his meatballs and has now entered the fray. It gives Eugene enough time to spare a glance toward where the kids are, only to see the tail end of a heel disappear. Shit .
“ Girls! ” he calls widely, forced to duck back as another townsman enters the fight to defend Cyrus’s honor. Lovely . “Girls, don’t let them get away!” He can’t see, but he hopes that Catalina and Kiera can continue the chase while he’s occupied. And by the looks of the crowd growing around them, of the angry miners cracking their knuckles and spitting on the ground, they might be here for a while.
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ ☾⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
Varian had nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt hands grabbing at the back of his shirt. He hears Hugo yelp at the same time, quickly muffled as they’re yanked back and into one of the adorable houses lining the street.
“What the—” Hugo starts to snap, but stops short when he sees who’s grabbed at them. “Donnie?”
Ah. His… mentor, right? Someone Hugo trusts, as far as Varian knows. He cautiously lets his hands—which he’d balled into pathetic little fists in a sad attempt at intimidation—sink down as Hugo slaps a hand over his chest.
“Man alive, you scared us. Why’d you grab us, Cyrus is going to need backup—!”
“Oh, no you don’t,” the woman snaps. Her green eyes flash with irritation, but under it all Varian can see the slightest flare of fear. “No, you’re going to go out the back door and let us deal with this. I don’t know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into, but these aren’t people you can try and trick. What did you even do , Hugo?”
“Nothing!”
“Oh, yes, because nothing brings not only half the bloody military to our door, but a bunch of pirates as well—” her long, white braid whips as her head starts to violently shakes. “The gods are surely punishing me with a kid like you—and speaking of !”
Varian startles as the woman’s ire suddenly turns on him.
“Who the hell is this? You’re not from town, right?”
Ah. Shoot.
“No, ma’am, uh—”
“You’re the kid everyone’s looking for?”
Double shoot .
Hugo steps in, thank every god in the sky. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “but he hasn’t done anything. He just wants to go home, Donnie.”
The woman looks between them, inspecting. Varian's never felt more like a frog on the dissection table than he has right now. There’s a beat of silence where her face is unreadable—but a shout from the men outside seems to snap her back into action.
“Alright. Out the back, both of you.”
Hugo crosses his arms. “Someone needs to go help Cyrus!”
“And that someone isn’t going to be you, brat. Besides, who’ll protect your friend if you go out and get smacked into the dirt, huh?”
That… seems to work. Varian flushes slightly when Hugo turns to look at him for a second—and just like that the blond turns back to his mentor and starts nodding.
“Okay,” he agrees, “but you have to promise to watch out for Cyrus. You know how he is, he’ll get himself killed.”
“He’ll be fine,” Donella assures. “He’s probably having a flex—off with the two bigger ones. You know how men are.” She sets firm hands on their backs and starts to shuffle them toward a second door, this one on the other side of the building. “Now, both of you go back to Hugo’s cottage. Hide in the root cellar until I come get you, yeah? Won’t be much longer before a fight breaks out and sends our guests packing, knowing the townies.”
“Yes ma’am,” Varian squeaks. He’s still not entirely sure how this is happening—how these people have all collectively agreed to drive the military and a pirate crew packing—but he’s not about to question it.
Hugo just gives his mentor a thumbs up and hustles out the door. He pauses at the threshold and holds a hand out to Varian.
“C’mon,” he says. “I’ll protect you. It’ll be okay.”
Something in Varian wants to blindly trust that Hugo knows what he’s talking about. Trust that everything will be okay, and that they’ll escape without a scratch. The pessimistic side of him knows it won’t be that easy—but with how Hugo looks at him… what would it hurt to try?
“Okay,” he says. He takes Hugo’s hand and holds it tightly, letting his fingers intertwine with Hugo’s without even thinking about it. The blond grins and starts to pull, leading Varian through Donella’s back garden and into one of the alleys. Varian starts to feel the slightest spark of fear running through him as they get closer to the street—were the pirates still there? What about the military? What about Andrew?— but the crowds are thick and rowdy, and it’s easy for them to slip in and get lost.
Varian keeps a firm grip on Hugo’s hand. He knows that if they get separated it will end in disaster… but also the comfort it brings isn’t too much of a problem, either. He tries to focus on the streets behind them, watching acutely.
It pays off quicker than he’d hoped.
The two pirate teenagers, the ones with red and black hair, shove through the crowds. They haven’t spotted Varian and Hugo yet—but if Varian can see them, it’s only a while before they do.
“ Hide ,” Varian hisses. He pushes Hugo around a corner, the blond barely registering what he’s doing before they’re gone.
“What—”
“I saw two of them.”
“ Shit .” Hugo’s hand squeezes his. “Okay, we’ll have to run. Think you’re up for it?”
Varian nods. He’ll have to be, right? Hugo takes it for the answer it is, and starts to pull.
“Alright. Let’s get going.”
The boy quickly starts to regret it the second they take off. Hugo’s stupid, lanky legs definitely give him a literal leg up on Varian—it’s not long before Hugo’s borderline dragging Varian behind him. It also doesn’t help that Hugo knows where he’s going and Varian doesn’t. Within minutes he feels ready to drop onto the cobbled streets and heave.
Varian feels like his lungs are about to explode. He gasps for breath, holding tightly to Hugo’s hand, and runs . He runs like the hounds of hell themselves are on his heels, threatening to drag him down the second they catch him. In theory, they basically are.
The pirates hadn’t given up the chase that easily. There’s no way. Hugo and Varian may have escaped them for now, but they’re by no means safe. Hugo looks just as stressed as Varian, eyes wide and face flushed with effort.
“Holy— hell ,” he gasps. Varian feels another tug on his hand, leading him up around a building and into a side alley. “These guys just don’t know when to quit, huh?”
They come to a rough stop behind a pile of barrels and boxes. It’s the first break Varian’s had all morning, and he’s grateful for it. He forces as much air into his lungs as he can get, pressing a hand to his chest like it’ll stop his frantic heart.
“Are you okay?” Hugo manages to gasp out. He’s breathing just as hard, despite having longer legs.
Varian nods, unable to get the words out. His lungs feel like they’re one bad breath away from stopping in pure protest. But the pirates are still out there; they can’t stay forever.
Hugo must have the same thought. He takes a moment to peek around the corner, out into the street, before ducking back in. “It’s chaos out there,” he breathes. “That guy who got into a fight with Cyrus caused a hell of a stir. This is the most excitement anyone's seen in ages.”
Varian swallows past the guilt in his throat. “Sorry,” he chokes. Talking still bad.
Hugo lets out something of a laugh. “Are you kidding?” he asks. “They’ll be thanking you. It was getting too boring, if you ask me.”
Varian heaves another breath. Hells he’s going to pass out. “Happy to be of service.”
The blond smirks and takes another look out into the street. “I think they’re moving the other way, further into town. We can’t wait for Don, she’ll want us to find somewhere to hide. I think if I can get my dad’s old glider out we can use it to get out of here before anyone else crashes the party.”
Anyone else. Like Andrew. Varian hasn’t seen him yet, but if the man’s ship is here, the rest of his stooges can’t be too far. Probably using the chaos of the pirate’s visit to slink around and gather information. Bunch of creeps.
“Okay,” he agrees, because he really has no choice at this point. Something in Varian had hoped that they would assume he was dead. Or at least they wouldn’t have figured out where he landed—anything that would have given him some time to figure out what to do next. He’s struck by the sickening realization that Andrew, at the very least, is probably here looking for Varian’s corpse— to steal the necklace once Varian was unable to stop him. It’s an awful feeling, to say the least.
But Hugo is still convinced they could at least escape Ironhaven. That they can get far enough to have a proper rest, to figure out what to do, how to get back to Varian’s home. Gods, his dad is probably so worried—
“Alright.” Hugo’s voice tears him from the spiral. “On three, we run.” He holds his hand out behind him, waiting, expectant. Varian has to keep the flush in his face under control when he grabs it once more. Hugo’s hand is so warm in his, his fingers so long…
“One, two–” Hugo starts. He takes one last look at Varian, and smiles reassuringly.
Varian offers as much of a grin as he can in return. “Three,” he says. Hugo tugs, and they’re off again.
But they don’t get very far.
They’ve only barely gotten around the corner and back into the street when Hugo runs headfirst into a massive chest. He yelps, spitting curses as the man—and oh, is this man a mountain— grabs at him. Varian’s hand is ripped away.
For a terrible second, he has no idea what to do. He grabs Hugo, tries to yank the blond out of the grip of the suited man’s grasp, but he’s stopped short by a strong pair of hands grabbing his arms.
“None of that , thank you.” The voice is horribly familiar. Varian’s heart jumps in his throat at the sound of it.
“Andrew—” he manages to choke out as he’s turned to meet the man face to face. Behind him, Hugo swears up a storm, kicking and screaming and putting up so much of a fight. But Varian… is frozen. Shocked still as the government man smiles widely.
“Hey, buddy,” Andrew says. His tone is so falsely cheerful, it sends a shudder up Varian’s spine. “Thought we lost you there. Good thing we managed to get you before those pirates, huh?”
“I—”
“Yep, real lucky. Now, let's get you back to the ship, huh? You and your little friend here probably have some answers for us.”
That gets a reaction out of Varian. “No! Leave Hugo alone, he doesn’t have anything to do with this!”
Hugo accents it by taking the distraction to kick his captor squarely in the shin. Andrew’s lackey—Kai? Varian’s pretty sure his name is Kai—spits something and draws a pistol from his belt. There’s a horrible, long moment where Varian’s convinced Hugo’s about to get shot; he’s almost relieved when Kai brings the gun down on Hugo’s head and knocks him out cold.
Andrew tsks at the action. “What, was he giving you trouble over there?”
“He was drawing attention,” the large man says. Now that Hugo’s gone quiet, sure enough, the townspeople can be heard shouting in the distance and drawing closer. Probably Cyrus and Donella, looking for their boy. Varian’s struck by the sudden feeling of guilt, sickly and hot in his stomach, as he looks down at Hugo’s prone form.
Andrew’s definitely noticed that their party is about to be crashed. He scowls. The hand on Varian’s arm tightens, and Andrew holds his hand out to Kai.
“Gun,” he snaps.
Varian tries one last time to pull free, to yank himself away, to try and grab at Hugo so they could run—
He barely has time to see the butt of the gun coming before it slams into his head.
And after that, there is nothing but darkness.