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The rain-swept courtyard reflected the glow pouring down on all sides from the headquarters. Somewhere above Enjin, beyond the awning, a window he couldn’t see let down its light. Cigarette smoke billowed upward and got trapped there, in the closed fist of the humid air. An occasional drizzle kicked up from the concrete, nipping at his legs, stopped by nothing more than the fabric of his pants.
He hated the rain.
A door creaked open, and a soft profile emerged, its gaze fixed on the stale-black curtain draped over the evening. Then the gaze dropped, hardened by a furrow of brows. A hand flew up to a scrunched nose.
“Hi, Enjin,” Tamsy said.
“What’s up.” Enjin offered a curt nod and watched the hand hide behind a sleeve as Tamsy reached for the door behind him. The corridor light bled through the crack.
“The smell is… something else.”
Enjin exhaled slowly, thickening the cloud between them. "It’s the humidity."
A huffed laugh mingled with the smoke. "Thought it was a new brand."
Enjin tried shaking his head and regretted it as the movement tugged at the stitches on his neck. "Nah. Same old thing."
He didn’t see so much as feel Tamsy’s eyes lingering lower. Pity or curiosity. Enjin didn’t care to find out. He’d had his fill of both.
“How’s your—?” Tamsy asked, gesturing vaguely at his own neck.
Enjin’s hand rose to the sticky bandages wrapped around his throat. One of the reasons he hadn’t yet dragged himself to his room. He’d have to be responsible. Change them.
“I’ll live.”
Tamsy’s eyes, ever observant, flickered between the cigarette and the damaged neck — back and forth — then added Enjin’s thoroughly unenthusiastic face to the equation, and arrived at the decision that this was not his place to judge.
“And you?” Enjin flicked the ash from his cigarette.
“Mm?” Tamsy leaned closer, unable to hear him over the rain.
“What are you doing here?”
Tamsy turned toward the courtyard, letting his gaze trail across the wet concrete from end to end. He offered Enjin a faint smile. "Nothing much. Wanted to take a shortcut." He reached into the rain’s mouth, let it bite and slobber over his hand, then withdrew back under the awning. "Never mind that."
Enjin felt Umbreaker hum where she was propped behind his legs. “Need me to walk you?”
Tamsy looked up from rubbing his palm. “And disturb your darling umbrella for a ten-meter stroll? Very chivalrous. I’ll manage, thank you.”
Enjin shifted his weight from foot to foot. Damn, he thought. He was terrible at this small talk thing. Kids were one thing, but what were you supposed to say to adults?
A flash of light seized their attention skyward. Maybe the outline of a distant island had flickered behind the murky clouds. Maybe Enjin just had spots in his eyes from lack of sleep. One second, two — and in the flash’s wake, a wave of muffled thunder rolled through.
“You think it rains up there too?” Enjin asked. Tried imagining it. Maybe there was another set of clouds up there, cleaner. Not pouring acid rain.
Tamsy offered nothing but a shrug.
“We’d have to ask Rudo.”
The name squeezed something in Enjin’s chest. He took a drag to smother the feeling in smoke before asking:
“What’s the deal between you two, anyway?”
He met Tamsy’s gaze as the man chose silence, waiting for clarification. When none came, Tamsy tilted his head:
“What do you mean?”
Ever since the adrenaline following the doll festival had worn off, Rudo had shut down. He was relieved to visit Enjin in the ward, of course, relieved to find Zanka and Riyo alive and— maybe not well, but alive. And then it was like talking to a mannequin wearing Rudo’s face, silent and unresponsive.
Except with Tamsy. Apparently, Tamsy, of all people, was a new friend now. Well, of course: he was the first to pick Rudo up from the holding cells, the first to witness whatever breakdown Rudo had likely gone through, the first to comfort him through it. Enjin got the scraps, the empty shell. Something had happened. Something else had happened during the festival — something that had made Rudo close himself off — and if there’d been a moment when he’d cracked and spilled his worries and fears, Enjin hadn’t been there to catch a single drop. No, Enjin had been glued to the hospital bed.
“He doesn’t trust us anymore,” Enjin said. “But he trusts you.”
“You noticed that too, didn’t you?” Tamsy laughed softly. “I thought I was going crazy.”
“You’re not even on the same team.”
“Exactly. It’s not about me. It’s the teams. And for some reason, Rudo is afraid of yours.”
“Afraid?”
Tamsy brought his fingers to his mouth. “I shouldn’t say.
“If it concerns Rudo’s safety, that comes first.”
Tamsy thought for a moment. In the end, he shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t. Try asking him yourself.”
Enjin wanted to laugh. He’d tried. Again and again. And every time, Rudo looked at him like a stranger.
“What am I doing wrong...” Enjin mumbled, defeated.
The sound of rain carried on. Light footsteps approached as Tamsy drew just a little closer, close enough to speak precisely, but more softly.
“It’s not your fault. It’s just that right now Rudo needs… a neutral party, if you will. And I had the misfortune of being that. But if it helps—” He raised a hand. Thought better of it and let it fall. “If it helps, fear’s not the worst sign. It means there’s something between you he can’t bear to lose. No?
Enjin’s harsh laugh was muffled by the lips holding the cigarette. Once it was in his hand, he gestured with it as he spoke. “The hell’s he afraid I’m gonna do if I just stand close? Say good morning? Make him eat?”
“He eats.”
One last shaky exhale to soothe his nerves, and Enjin crushed the cigarette butt under his sole.
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.”
Tamsy watched the cigarette die under the shoe. Then he lifted his quiet gaze to Enjin.
“If something is bothering you, Enjin, be direct. I’m listening.”
The nasty feeling of uncontrollable anger shot through Enjin’s body.
“What’s bothering me.” He dragged a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to calm himself. “What’s bothering me is that nobody talks to each other. Instead, everyone’s holed up in their little rooms, silent. And now you show up on the horizon, and suddenly you and Rudo are whispering and shutting up the moment I walk by. What’s going on? What do you want from him?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What do you want from him?”
“Enjin.” Tamsy’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me you don’t see the parallel.”
Enjin offered him a crooked shrug, prompting him to go on. Also because, no — he didn’t know what Tamsy meant, if he was being honest.
Somewhere beneath the loose clothing Tamsy favored, his hands clasped together as he looked up, searching for the right words. Finding no sky, only awning, he turned back to Enjin.
“Rudo was worried about all of you. I was there to listen,” he explained with infuriating patience. “Now you worry about Rudo. I happen to be here to listen.” Then he mirrored Enjin’s shrug. “Are you saying I want something from you too?”
Enjin opened his mouth and choked on a wet, ugly sound. He turned aside, coughing into his fist.
“No,” he rasped. “But I don’t see you offering me midnight trips to the mess hall.”
“I could.”
“Yeah? Gonna cook something? Spoon-feed me, stroke my hair…” He counted off on his fingers. Maybe there was more shit. But this he'd had the displeasure of noticing.
Tamsy’s eyes narrowed, uncertain, trailing up and down his body. “You’re not a child.”
Sometime in the last few minutes, Enjin’s bandages had gone damp with blood, and the wind cut through them. A chill ran down his neck and under the collar.
No, he wasn’t a child. But he’d been a child once. And old Lady Life had taught him to be wary of adults whose smiles didn’t reach their eyes, who circled out of nowhere, all sweet and lovey-dovey.
“That’s not the defense you think it is,” he said.
Real care didn’t need to explain itself. Real love didn’t announce itself. It just was. A quiet presence that asked for nothing and yet made you want to be better.
He was drifting. Enjin’s hand found the umbrella handle on its own — just to brush his fingers against it, to make sure it was still there.
When he returned his attention to Tamsy, he’d hoped to see confusion, offense, hurt. Instead, what met him was a look of tender, nauseating sympathy.
After a brief pause, Tamsy sighed drearly. “I see how it is.” And reached to close the door he’d come through, fully this time. The sliver of light that had been there was now severed.
The man leaned back against the brick wall and waited out another roll of thunder. He didn’t look at Enjin as he spoke; instead, he fidgeted with something — a loose thread, Enjin noticed, peeking out of his sleeve.
“I know you’re going to take this the wrong way, but I’ll ask anyway,” Tamsy said in a measured tone. “Are you not tired?”
“Don’t.”
“I’m serious.” He finally glanced up. “Not today, not even this week. Longer than that.”
“Tamsy.” A rustle as Enjin buried his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t get to the point...”
Tamsy held his gaze. “Sorry.” With an apologetic smile, he tucked his hair behind his ear. “You prefer things blunt, of course.”
And that was all the eye contact he gave. It was easier to look out into the pitch-black, rain-soaked night, thicker now than it had been ten minutes ago. Half the windows had gone dark since then. Tamsy didn’t look comfortable leaning against the wall: he’d more or less slid down it. It made Enjin feel steadier by comparison, and he was bleeding from his neck.
“Do you think,” he heard Tamsy say, “maybe you’re seeing things that aren’t there?”
Enjin’s voice dropped so low for a second he didn’t recognize it as his own.
“What?”
“I mean that… you’re seeing danger because you expect to see it. Not because it’s there.” At Enjin’s expression, Tamsy hurried to wave his hands defensively. His voice picked up pace. “It’s understandable. After everything you’ve been through. But you’re strung like a bow.” He chuckled awkwardly. “It’s a little frightening.”
After everything. The words hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, caught under the awning. Enjin drew a deep breath through his nose.
Tamsy was so tactful. So observant. It was nauseating. Enjin had always picked up on that particular scent of his, but he’d tasted its full aroma once, between missions. And no, it wasn’t about the seating arrangements, with everyone else piling into Gris’s car, Tamsy selflessly giving up the last seat and ending up alone with Enjin. And it wasn’t about the way Tamsy spent half the drive pretending he wasn’t praying for his life at every turn.
No, no, no— it was about the moment Enjin realized he’d been following the lead car without knowing where they were going, that he was last to learn their route, and only when it was already too late, already arguing with Gris over the chokers.
There’d been nothing in those parts for years, of course. The moment that sick joke of an orphanage had emptied out, people had picked it apart like vultures on a carcass, leaving nothing but bones. One look at the scenery, though, and Enjin wanted to press the pedal through the floor with more force than was wise.
So he got into a quarrel with Gris (who didn’t hold it against him later, bless his soul), firing accusations and dodging questions, before ignoring him entirely and overtaking his car. Tamsy, polite and silent, went on staring out the window, knuckles white on the seatbelt, just in case.
He didn’t ask, like Gris. Didn’t clarify. The engine’s roar and the choker’s static pressed harder on Enjin’s brain until, in the end, he muttered something like… Shitty place. Or, Hate driving through here. He couldn’t remember.
Tamsy looked at him, eyes half-lidded as always, and asked: Bad memories?
And Enjin let a word slip. Tamsy caught it. Then another, and another, and drop by drop, a stream poured out, threatening to drown someone if Tamsy hadn’t steered it into safer currents. He didn’t point out that Enjin was soaked through and freezing and miserable. But he didn’t pretend otherwise, either. Just talked about water. And from a distance, through someone else’s words, it was almost bearable.
It was just… so tempting to ramble in that moment. During that drive, Tamsy had done more talking than Enjin and still managed to connect every dot into a full picture, precise in ways Enjin couldn’t match. He’d have choked before admitting it, but— he was a little envious of the skill.
Then he reminded himself that he didn’t need skill where he had instinct, and the envy dissolved.
Exhaling into the evening air with an empty, whistling throat, Enjin fished around in his pockets and pulled the pack of cigarettes back out. A battered lighter opened with a clink.
“Forget about it,” he mumbled, cupping his hand around a flame. From behind, a haughty, patronizing sigh wafted to Enjin’s ears.
“Enjin—”
“What, I can’t smoke now?” He turned to find Tamsy’s expression politely blank. His hands were clasped behind him, cooling against the wall.
“I was going to ask if we’re all right.”
All right. Enjin could do all right. He wasn’t team leader for nothing: he’d spent years reading little shits and adapting to their games. This one, grown or not, was still a little shit, and Enjin had experience playing games without knowing the rules.
With a humorless chuckle, Enjin exhaled through his nose and shook his head. The wound had gone numb enough that he didn’t feel the tug on the stitches.
“It’s cool. I told you. Forget about it.”
The pitter-patter of rain had died down enough for Tamsy’s tentative laugh to slip through the gaps.
“‘Cool,’” he said. “Okay, then. I wouldn’t want to leave you thinking I’m holding something against you.”
Enjin nodded sagely. “Same here.”
With a sway, Tamsy pushed off the wall and hid his face to stifle a yawn.
“Your bandages do need changing, by the way.” He flicked a small tear from the corner of his eye and turned toward the exit. “You can’t expect to take care of others if—”
“If I’m not taking care of myself, and shit. I know.” Enjin pivoted, and his arm came down heavy on Tamsy’s shoulder, stopping him in place. “Why, you offering?”
Tamsy’s nose wrinkled. Because of the off-putting smell of nicotine in his face, of course.
“If you need it.”
“Mm, I think I do. This shit’s itchy as hell.” Enjin sighed and lifted his arm to scratch where the skin could breathe. He took a shallow drag, savored it, then let it out with undisguised pleasure. Maybe the midnight snack wasn’t off the table, either. He’d ask for that, too, after the bandages. Surely someone this patient wouldn’t mind if Enjin stretched the clock a little. Otherwise, what? He had somewhere better to be?
“Gimme a minute,” Enjin grumbled. “I need to finish this one.”
The air smelled vaguely corrosive. The rain had simmered down. Tamsy’s spine met the brick wall with a thump, pressing rigid against it.
“Take your time.”