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Since his return from… wherever he’d been… a change had taken place within the Digital Circus’ ringmaster. Once an endlessly loaded pistol for his unique ideas of “fun,” Caine still had it in him for the occasional adventure. But though he once wielded his powers with the playful abandon of a harmless prop, he now handled himself as though he came with rules and regulations.
He used to seem so much larger than life, soaring high overhead and bursting like fireworks to announce his latest adventure. Nowadays, he seemed to make a point of mundanity by standing on the floor—not even on stage, but on the same level as everyone else—to timidly suggest an idea. Pomni found these changes a little concerning. Especially the way he shrunk in on himself when offering his adventures, which themselves were remarkably tame.
Pomni wondered if today’s “adventure” could really be called that. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed baking, for the most part. She and the others had made an impressive three-tiered cake that only slightly leaned to the left. There hadn’t been any explosions, terrifying twists, or loss of limb or life. Everything about it, besides handling hot cake pans, had been perfectly safe. However, the way that Caine buzzed around the kitchen like an anxious bee, constantly checking in on everyone but refusing to engage with the activity himself, would’ve suggested otherwise.
One thing Pomni hadn’t noticed herself, but had actually been mentioned by Zooble this morning, was how the once-touchy Caine hadn’t laid a finger on them since his return to the circus. Apparently Zooble had noted this yesterday, when he had reached out as if to pat their shoulder. As described by them, he had snatched back his hand as though his touch itself was poison.
“It was weird,” Zooble had commented. “And honestly kind of sad. I almost preferred it when he didn’t know what boundaries were.”
Pomni tested this observation today by slipping on batter that had spilled during mixing. She had waited for the perfect moment, when the others were busy elsewhere and the shiny red tailcoat was zipping on by. As if caught by the scruff, Caine had halted midair when she fell on the floor. Then he had simply stared at her, as if the mind that had divined this whole digital world could not think of how to respond to this. After several awkward seconds, he had slowly turned as if to fly off.
“Um, Caine,” Pomni had called, voice shrill with frustration. “I could use a hand.”
She had reached out to him, and he had flinched away from her before recovering with a laugh that was painfully frayed.
“Why, my caterwauling CAT scan! Why have one hand when you can have seven?”
That many hands appeared out of nowhere to hoist Pomni up, wipe her off, and clean up the mess at the very same time. With a couple of solid pats on the head, they had all disappeared, leaving her shaken. By the time she looked back at Caine, he was all the way across the room, intensely studying the back of a bag of flour.
So, yeah. Something was definitely up. And after two hours of preparation, Pomni thought she might know how to help.
“Caine?!” she called, walking aimlessly along an empty stretch of floor. “Caine! Where are you?”
This was typically when he’d appear from thin air, making her jump from her digital skin. It was more unsettling than anything else, how he peered around a corner in the distance, far enough not to startle her, but close enough to be in her clear line of sight. Pomni’s frown deepened as he meekly drifted closer. It was like he was giving her every opportunity to change her mind and run. He seemed unsure of how to engage with her when this did not happen, pausing with a good two chess squares between them. Avoiding eye contact, he took off his hat, fidgeted with it, put it back on, then settled with wringing his cane in his hands.
“May I… help you, Pomni?” he nervously asked after this weighted pause, finally meeting her gaze.
Pomni took a breath and sighed. She hoped this was a good idea. It probably wasn’t.
“Something’s wrong with you,” she stated at last.
His demeanor took on the startled devastation of someone who had known this all along. “W-What’s wrong with me?” he stammered. “I can fix it!”
Shit. This was really cruel, wasn’t it? Oh well. No turning back now.
In a flat attempt at authority, Pomni crossed her noodly arms. “I’m not sure if you can.”
He actually dropped to his knees in front of her. “I can!” Caine begged, hands clasped before him. “I swear! Just tell me what it is!”
“What’s wrong with you is…” Lunging, she swiped the hat off his head and sprinted five chess squares away. Spinning on her heel, she waved it victoriously overhead. “You’re missing your hat!”
Caine’s eyes had squashed into narrow sideways ovals. He stared at her, the image of perplexity, and slowly raised a hand poised to snap.
“No! No, no!” cried Pomni, hugging the hat protectively. “No powers allowed! That’s cheating!”
He clutched the hand to his chest as though stung, then slowly rose into the air.
“That includes flying!”
Caine went straight from “balloon” to “bag of bricks,” falling flat on his back with more force than was needed. Sitting up, he drew in his knees, and he looked so small and vulnerable, Pomni almost wanted to call it all off. Instead, she decided to dive right into it. The poor guy had suffered enough at this point.
“Today’s special bonus adventure is… The Big Top Search for the Top Hat!” She tried for a flourish, popping up on one leg, and nearly fell over.
Caine stared at her blankly. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
Fully embracing the ringmaster persona, Pomni gladly spoke over him. “So here is the game: my friend Miss Beeatrice is hiding your hat—” and a bee the size of a bulldog squeezed out of it, buzzing with pride when she placed the hat atop it, then zipping out of sight “—and it is your mission to find it!”
Upon seeing the adorable, bright-eyed bee, Caine had scrambled to his feet with a visible thrill. “Will MISS BEEATRICE be there, too?!”
Pomni’s proud affectation became a little more genuine. She knew the bee thing would work on him. “I don’t know, you’ll have to find—”
“HOW?!?!”
Caine shot across four chess squares in a nanosecond.
“Remember,” said Pomni, “no powers allowed.”
“You mean I have to play like a human??”
He said that last part with far more excitement than such a thing warranted.
“Oh, Pomni, I just can’t wait to—” His rubbery body seemed locked and loaded to pounce her in a hug, but he froze as though stopped by a safeguard in his code. His arms, ready to grab her, fell loosely at his sides. Not that Pomni liked being tackled out of nowhere. But the emotional muzzle he imposed on himself could not be clearer than now.
“Uh,” Caine began shyly, pinching his sleeve, eyes darting from her to the floor. “What are the rules?”
His self-consciousness rubbed off on her. She felt a little embarrassed at the simplicity of the adventure. She hoped he wasn’t expecting anything too jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, or mind-bending.
“The rules are… pretty simple,” said Pomni, who found herself blushing and avoiding his gaze, though she’d planned to say the next part with gusto. “There are riddles hidden throughout the tent. It is your job to find them and interpret what they mean. There are only three in total, so it shouldn’t take you too long to—”
“ON IT, Pomni! I won’t let you down!” The next instant Caine was sprinting away in a random direction.
“Wait!” Pomni cried. “I’m not even…” Her shoulders sagged. Even without his powers, the ringmaster was incredibly fast, having already turned the next corner. Sighing, Pomni shook her head with a creeping sense of fondness. “At least that hasn’t changed.”
For the first time in what felt like ages, Caine was a man on a mission, one he doggedly pursued with a single-minded focus. Sure, he couldn’t use his powers, but he was capable enough with two arms and two legs! He flipped over props, peered inside structures, and climbed upon cubes to get a good vantage point. Right now, he stood at the top of the highest stack in the room, surveying the circus below.
“Hmm,” he hummed, rubbing what served as a chin. “If only I had some kind of a lead…”
As if one cue, he picked up on something peculiar. Something that, as the creator of this world, he knew was out of place. It was a low, constant buzz, almost imperceptible, but definitely there. He had found his first clue!
Caine chuckled proudly to himself, stepping off of the cube. “And they say a doctor a day keeps the apples away. WAIT.” He tensed where he stood in midair. “I can’t fly!” Screaming, he plummeted fifty feet to the floor.
A few minutes later, Caine had tracked down the source of the noise: a bright yellow beehive hung from the frond of a plastic coconut tree, looking straight from the pages of a children’s book. He gazed at it from the base of the trunk, his hands on his hips. With a face of determination, he rolled up his sleeves—revealing more sleeves—and got to climbing.
It was harder than he thought it would be.
With his arms and legs fully wrapped around the trunk, he only managed to scoot up a couple of feet before sliding back down to the floor. He tried this a couple more times before it became clear that he needed a new tactic. Taking a step back, Caine stared at the tree, equations seeming to form in his mind as he walked a slow circle around it.
“Eighteen and a half feet tall,” he muttered. “Fronds are approximately eight feet wide… angled forty five degrees to the west…” He licked his finger and held it in the air, testing the direction of the nonexistent breeze. “Yes, the conditions are perfect.”
So he rammed into the tree like a raging bull, knocking loose a coconut, which landed on his head with a bonk. Stars swirled above his head, and he plucked one, using its pointy tip to puncture a hole in the coconut. Getting back to his feet, Caine stared at the undisturbed beehive, taking a long, thoughtful sip of coconut milk. If only he had some sort of projectile for knocking it down… his gaze flashed from the beehive to the object in his hand…
“OH!” Caine cried. “Of course!”
Tossing the coconut over his shoulder, he dove into a cube that was sitting nearby. His body cut through the object, and it spasmed and glitched before spitting him out with the force of a slingshot. The trajectory was flawless, arcing him straight through the path of the beehive, which he caught in his arms and hugged to his chest before slamming into a wall. Honey splattered across it, keeping the ringmaster glued upside down as a handful of bees flounced around him. Caine watched them, entranced, until they flew off into the reaches of the tent. Stuck to his chest, he then noticed, was a honey-covered note. He stuck the note (along with half of his arm) into his mouth. It slid out clean, and Caine read it aloud in a theatrical voice filled with mystery and intrigue:
“The darker the honey, the sweeter its taste! You’ll find the next clue in a similar state…” He laughed. “Oh, Pomni, you make this too easy!”
Well over an hour later, having checked the couches, the cafe, the backstage area, and every ballpit, slide, and play area that the Big Top had to offer, Caine had come up with nothing but the conclusion that Pomni was a master at riddles. With nothing left to do, he circled back to where he had started in the hopes that something had escaped him. How he missed his hundreds of all-seeing eyes.
“Uh…” said Ragatha. “What’cha looking for, Caine?” She gazed down at him from the end of the couch, which was currently five feet up in the air as he checked underneath it. Caine was pretty strong for such a small guy.
He grunted in frustration as he set it back down. “That jester is a mastermind. I’ve checked everywhere it could possibly be!”
“Did Pomni… hide something from you?” the ragdoll haltingly ventured.
“My hat!” said Caine, pointing to where it typically sat with a jaunty tilt.
“Oh, yeah,” said Ragatha, chuckling. She set her knitting aside. “You’re a tiny bit under-dressed, aren’t you?”
“I know!” he cried, covering his groin as if he was naked. “I feel so exposed! And all I have is this labyrinthian riddle to help me!”
Caine closed his teeth and stuck out the note, for he couldn’t bear to look at it. He gasped when Ragatha plucked it from his hand, for of course he didn't mean for her to take it and read it herself, that would be cheating! But as she was already reading it, there wasn’t much he could do but accept this unintended turn of events.
“The darker the honey, the sweeter its taste… you’ll find the next clue in a similar state.” Ragatha hummed thoughtfully as her brilliant human mind worked away at this impossible, human-made puzzle. “Have you tried the aquarium room?” she asked after a couple of seconds.
“You mean the Loser Corner?” asked Caine.
Ragatha grimaced at the name. “That’s not a very nice thing to call it. Just because you lose doesn’t make you a loser. And a room like that deserves a better name! It’s so calm, and relaxing, and dark.” She said that last word with a long, drawn-out look that Caine was almost sure had to mean something.
It was like she was adding more riddles to this riddle!
“But the Loser Corner’s for people who lose! And I haven’t lost! I’m still playing the game!”
“Uh-huh,” said Ragatha, crossing her arms. “And what makes you think it means under the couch?”
“It’s simple!” said Caine, who spared several minutes to explain honey’s fascinating role in humanity’s development and the surprising ways it coincided with furniture trends and the refinement of the modern-day couch. Once he concluded his lecture, she stared at him blankly.
“I think you should try the aquarium room,” said Ragatha, finally, then got back to knitting.
As far-fetched as it sounded, Caine had nothing else to go on. So he went to the Loser Corner, the darkest room in the circus, where he was shocked to find the beehive in the middle of the fish tank, suspended among the colorful guppies.
“Wow,” he said, scratching his head. “These riddles are more complex than I thought.”
Stuck to the aquarium’s glass, a note from Pomni kindly informed him that he was allowed to use his powers just once to get the beehive out of the tank.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he said. “Didn’t want to get my suit wet!”
With a snap of his fingers, he donned a swim shirt with swim shorts, then piked through the glass with a pro-diver’s form. Swimming up to the beehive, he stuck his hand inside it and pulled out the note. Like last time, it was covered in honey, but a thick swarm of guppies took care of that. Once it was clean, they mostly dispersed, though a few of them lingered, giving audience to Caine as he read it aloud:
“You have come a long way from sadness and gloom… find the next note in a character’s room…”
Staring at these words, Caine let himself sink to the bottom of the tank, where a gentle current pushed him through the glass onto the floor. A thin puddle formed around him as he lay on his back, gazing up at the water’s reflection on the ceiling. He checked the note again. Unfortunately, the words hadn’t changed, nor had he read them wrong the first time. No amount of convoluted reasoning could help him: he knew exactly where Pomni wanted him to go.
Since his return from the void, Caine hadn’t visited the hall of character bedrooms. He had gained a new sense of respect for those faces that were crossed out on the doors. This was why they were no longer x’d out like failed projects, but wreathed in flowers and keepsakes that reflected who they were. Ribbit’s wreath, for example, had a simple pink bow. Caine understood that his presence here was sacrilege, to exist in the space that belonged to those who had abstracted due to his shortcomings. The faces that weren’t wreathed didn’t want him here, either. They never told him that outright, but it was one of the precious few things that he understood intuitively.
Considering that he had caught glimpses of them in his search through the Big Top, he knew that these rooms were probably empty. Even so, Caine may have slightly bent the rules in willing his steps to make no sound at all as he padded between the closed doors.
One big stride he had made in getting along with the humans was respecting their need for privacy. Though he knew that the final riddle must be in one of these rooms, he knew better than to barge inside. Of course, he could always just knock. But what he feared more than a social faux pas was performing within the set bounds of social protocol, and being rejected anyway. After all, the humans feared him, as they had every right to.
If Caine truly valued their sense of security over his crippling need to belong, he would’ve remained in the void forever. But he didn't have the strength to do that. He just didn't. So the next best thing was to compensate for his presence, by giving them adventures that were as calm and low-stakes as they wanted. He took suggestions. He listened attentively. And, most importantly, he didn't take more than he absolutely needed. He would never be a part of their family. He knew better than to call himself their friend. But he existed among them. That was enough. It had to be.
So when Caine saw his likeness on the hallway’s last door, it took his processors a minute to fully catch up to what he was seeing. It conflicted with everything he knew himself to be: a tolerated outsider. As he stared at the door, trying and failing to form a conclusion, the realization suddenly struck him like a shove into oncoming traffic.
Without his wacky, fun-filled adventures to distract him, Caine’s yearning to belong had found a new outlet, his subconscious having conjured this room in the hall that belonged to the humans. He would never truly be one of them, as he reminded himself every day, but no amount of hard truths could purge the yearning from his code. And this was the glaring consequence of that, a giant gaping wound that had appeared for all to see.
As much as Caine wanted to snap it away, to pretend that it never existed at all, there was still one riddle left to find. And Caine would be damned if he left an adventure, one created for him, unfinished. So strapping on in, he took it on the chin and stepped inside of the bedroom.
The first thing he noticed was the bed, which was centered against the opposite wall. Its luscious, red, and velvety quilt was folded back in the front, its fluffy white underside flecked with gold accents, which complimented the gold and white pillows. There were five of them in total, not counting the bowtie-shaped pillow that was propped front-and-center, the only black one of the bunch. Framing all this was a hand-carved wooden canopy, its grand drape curtains, tasseled in gold, tied in knots to its elegant posts. Wrapped around the top of each post was fabric so sheer to be nearly translucent. These chiffon bands, two red and two yellow, were twisted together in the shape of a cone, the point of which hung from a hook on the ceiling, a loving nod to the circus tent.
Though Caine had never entered snooze mode before, he understood that it was a vulnerable state that required a feeling of comfort and safety. For him, this feeling typically denoted a well-lit, wide open space. This dimly-lit room, enclosed by four walls, was the opposite of that, and yet he didn't feel the urge to flee. He went so far as to close the door behind him. As soon as he did, dozens of bees glowed to life through the darkness.
Directly opposite the bed, an oak tree stood half-embedded in the wall, its branches spread out along the sides of the room. Interspersed among the leaves, pollinating flowers grew out from its bark, the glow of the bees giving light to their colors. Brightening and dimming like inhales and exhales, they calmly drifted from flower to flower in a gentle performance of color and light. Watching them eased Caine’s anxieties, dragging them down with the thick, heavy sweetness of honey. Speaking of. Nestled inside the tree’s trunk at eye level was a see-through, crystalline beehive, its inner workings on full display to him. Caine drew to it, fascinated, as its tiny inhabitants went about their business, making honey and performing little dances for each other.
In any other circumstance, he would’ve stood there, watching for hours. But tucked inside this beehive was a note, folded in half. Withdrawing this note with the utmost care, Caine brought it to his eyes and read it aloud for no one but himself:
“You are one of our own, leave the past in the past. I—” He blurted a quick, broken laugh, then started again. “I hope you’re not mad at me for stealing your hat.”
With the magic words spoken, a hatted Miss Beeatrice burst out from under the bed, flying straight into his arms and snuggling up into his chest. Caine cradled her close, her buzzing increasing like a supercharged purr.
A soft knock sounded from the other side of the door. “Caine?” called Pomni.
Something lurched within Caine’s chest at the sound. More than anything in this digital world, he wanted Pomni to step inside. He wanted to hug her, and hold her, and spin her through the air with a thousand thanks and kisses for this remarkable adventure.
Which meant he absolutely could not let her in.
But before he could snap his fingers and nail the door shut with a dozen haphazardly-placed wood boards, the door creaked open, and the jester peered inside. So much for the human construct of privacy.
“Caine?” Pomni called again, peering inside, where she saw him standing there, holding Miss Beeatrice. He seemed to tense up when she stepped inside the room, which was pretty much the opposite reaction of what she’d been going for. The whole point of this adventure was to help him loosen up!
“Is everything okay?” she asked. Without thinking, she closed the door behind her, and Caine shrunk a step back and hugged Miss Beeatrice like he thought she was going to mug them.
Okay, seriously. What was the deal?
“Everything is perfectly fine!” he lied through his teeth. “So ‘fine,’ in fact, I owe fifty-seven dollars in criminal offenses!”
He smiled at her. He was masking again, and doing so by smiling, and the sight was so painfully, achingly familiar that she just couldn’t stand it. The words flew from her mouth like a kicked nest of wasps.
“If I messed up, just be honest with me, please. Don’t just stand there, smiling, like nothing is wrong. It’s just like… you’re acting just like…” She tugged the tails of her hat with a frustrated groan. “Look, if you’re mad I took your hat, then I’m sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought you might like an adventure, and I… I couldn’t really think of anything better. I’m nowhere near as creative as you, and—”
“I loved it,” said Caine.
Pomni choked, brain spinning like a pinwheel. “Huh?”
“I loved the adventure,” said Caine again. He placed his hat on his head and let go of Miss Beeatrice, who flew off, joining the much smaller bees on a branch overhead.
“Then—” Pomni stammered. “Then why are you acting like—Is it the room? You can change it, if you want. It doesn’t really matter—”
“No,” he interrupted, “I wouldn’t change a thing. I love everything about it. It’s perfect.”
Pomni’s frustrations only grew. Caine was so kind, well-meaning, and earnest. So why was he as difficult to figure out as Jax?
“Then what is—” She gestured at him “—all this about? Is it about me?”
“It is,” Caine answered, plainly.
“Then why—” Pomni paused. Her hands, which were in the middle of a gesture, drew into herself as she stared at him. “It is about me?”
Caine nodded, managing to cringe with nothing but teeth. Pomni knew her hurt was visible, even to Caine, who struggled a lot with decoding human emotions. He seemed uncomfortable. He even seemed…
Her voice was thin, but calm and stable. A tightrope pulled taught, something both of them could navigate, so long as they were careful. “Are you… scared of me?”
“Yes,” said Caine instantly. Then, with less certainty, “And no. I’m…” His eyes darted about as he searched for an explanation.
The ringmaster seemed as unsure of himself as he did toward the humans. Pomni supposed this made sense. He had gained a lot of humanity since returning from the void. She felt a sudden surge of empathy for him. How terrifying it must be, to become yet another part of that puzzle he could never piece together.
In a small, rare victory over this existential dilemma, Caine finally seemed to find the right words to describe how he felt: “I’m scared of how you make me feel.”
Pomni furrowed her brow. “Okay…” she drawled. When it came to riddles, Caine was paying her back in full. “And how… exactly… do I make you feel?”
To his visible relief, Caine seemed to know exactly how to answer.
“Happy,” he said. “All of you humans make me feel happy. But knowing the effort that you’ve made for me…” He shook his jaws in disbelief. “You made me an adventure. A human made me an adventure, and… this amazing room, and… Miss Beeatrice…” He let out a conflicted sigh. “It’s like you actually…” He trailed off.
“Care about you?” Pomni delicately finished. “I do, Caine. Like the note said, you’re one of our—”
“No,” Caine growled, “I’m not.” His hands had clenched into fists, and for a moment, it was like his other self had returned. But Pomni wasn’t afraid. Not for herself, at least. She knew this anger wasn’t directed at her.
“I can’t be,” Caine continued. “What if I hurt you again?”
“You’ve changed,” said Pomni, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Caine shrunk back, hugging himself as though restraining a monster. “You don’t know that.”
“I don’t have to,” she said. “I trust you.”
He stilled at her words, studying her closely, as if trying to work out some hidden double meaning. Pomni held up her hands in surrender. “Hey. No more mind games, right? I mean what I say.”
Caine held her gaze for another, long moment, then forced his eyes away from her. “I don’t deserve that,” he muttered.
“You don’t deserve to be locked away,” she returned, and he looked at her with such startling intensity that it knocked the wind from her sails. Once she’d found her footing again, she quickly tacked on, “Because that’s what you’re doing to yourself.”
The ringmaster’s posture relaxed by a fraction, and he gazed at his feet. They were still on the ground, Pomni noted.
“You know you’re allowed to use your powers again, right?” she said with a little chuckle, an attempt to force some levity into this uncomfortable situation. If anyone understood the sentiment, it would’ve been Caine. But he pretended like he didn't even hear her.
“What would happen, if I didn't hold back?” he asked, softly.
“Well,” began Pomni, who swung her arms a little awkwardly. “Speaking from experience, some pretty wacky stuff, I’m sure.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Do you wanna… give it a shot?”
As much as Pomni appreciated his newfound sense of self-control, she also wished to see a glimmer of his old, optimistic self again. It would do everyone in the circus some good. Even with their collective acceptance of life in the Digital Circus, things were beginning to feel a little stale around here. Perhaps his obnoxious hijinks would be good for them, every once in a while.
She felt relieved when his body relaxed as though freed from invisible chains. A few moments later, he met her eyes with a questioning gaze, awkwardly rubbing his arm.
“Would it be okay if I… held you?”
Pomni blinked. That wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting. But she supposed that, when it came to Caine, the unexpected was totally in character for him.
“Um, yeah, sure,” she answered, after this pause. “But if you’re going to do something funny, like throwing me into the air, I’d prefer that you—”
He crossed the room to grab her in a hug. He cinched his arms with surprising strength, but a strength that was grounded rather than cartoonish. By the time she felt the wetness on her shoulder, Pomni knew that a punchline wasn’t coming. She wrapped her arms around him as well.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.” She patted his back, then took to rubbing in circles. After a good ten seconds, he showed no signs of releasing her. “Okay, um… how much time do you need?”
“As much as I can get,” came his shuddering, whispered reply.
“Alright,” said Pomni, sighing. “How about this.” Picking him up, she carried him to bed, careful not to jostle him as she clambered upon it with him in her arms. Laying them down against the pillows—Pomni silently congratulated herself on how comfortable they were—she called to Miss Beeatrice, who happily joined them.
“Is this good?” she asked.
Caine wordlessly nodded against the fabric of her hat.
So they laid like that for a very long while, in one another’s arms. Miss Beeatrice purred with a therapeutic rumble, and Pomni watched the glow of the bees as they meandered among the flowers.
“Every adventure should end like this,” mumbled Caine eventually, voice muffled by the pillows. He had relaxed his grip on her as though finally convinced that she wasn’t going to leave. She wasn’t planning to. Not anytime soon. It was weird, being with him like this, but also deeply, profoundly… nice. Pomni didn't try to interpret what this meant. Not everything needed to be a riddle.
“Have any adventures in mind?” she asked, brushing her hand along his gums.
He drew back just enough to look at her face, eyes gleaming with a familiar excitement. “What are your thoughts on extraterrestrial, vaporous giants?”
For the second time in the past few weeks, it was good to have Caine back.