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They brought him in one Tuesday afternoon to practice with the Ravens. Their lethal edge was hidden under a cover, just barely, humming below the surface of the court; he wasn’t a part of them, not yet. He wasn’t a part of the system, the hivemind. But it lied there, waiting to be uncovered, and then he would know.
Riko and the Master were there to guide him, of course. Where Riko went, Kevin went, and where Kevin went, Jean went: two more in attendance. Neil was there too, because this would be his partner. It was more than Neil thought necessary, but his was not to question the Master.
They stood in the middle of the court, in the heart of the Nest. The Master was laying out the plans for him with Neil in his new place at his side. He would move online and finish school while at Edgar Allen. This would allow him more time to join the Ravens, to fall in step with them, to train with them and become one. He would move in with Neil immediately; there was nothing from his old home that the Ravens could not replace.
And then Andrew Minyard said, “No thanks,” and walked away.
---
Neil spent the next three days unable to practice, so bruised and scarred from the reprimands he’d felt from the Master and Riko. He’d let Andrew Minyard slip by; he hadn’t caught him. He didn’t know someone could say no to the Master, so he hadn’t expected it.
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Six months into his freshman season at Palmetto State University, Andrew Minyard wakes up in the middle of the night to hear brakes slamming outside his window. People on college campuses can’t drive for shit, so he rolls his eyes and goes back to bed.
Minutes later, he hears tapping coming from the window, the one where he tore out the screen. At first, it’s a bird. Then rain. Then he can no longer explain what would be tapping on a sixth floor window. He gets up.
He’s not expecting to see a pair of icy blue eyes staring back at him.
He slides up the window, and Neil Josten, backliner for the Edgar Allan Ravens, crawls into his college dorm. His fingers are broken, though Andrew can’t tell if he sustained the injuries from hanging from his sixth floor window or before. His arms and legs are mangled with cuts in various states of healing, his red hair matted.
“Well,” Andrew muses, a low feeling of horror creeping through the drugs. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”
Neil Josten looks up at him, retching and breathing heavily on his hands and needs, holding his body together long enough to make Andrew understand. “We are partners,” he rasps. “Where you go, I go.”
His arms give out, crashing Neil Josten’s torso to the floor. His shirt has ridden up to show more bruises on his stomach. Andrew sighs and takes out his phone, dials Wymack. One more Fox for the team, then.