Page 51 of Prior Claim
The problem was they couldn’t. They wanted to know everything. They wanted Sevastyan home. They wanted to know the secret that Sevastyan had failed to reveal but wished to tell. “If I do, the data will be useless.”
Jun chuckled dryly. His eyes darkened as the sound died away. He studied Ellisandre. “They could have had me,” he said, voice stark. “The man I killed, he would have lived if he hadn’t decided to take Su-jin next.”
Ellisandre blinked slowly, rearranging yet again their assessment of the Korean idol in front of them. Not idol. Leader. Protector. Threat received and understood.
Damian had chosen dangerously.
“Su-jin doesn’t know.” Ellisandre stated a fact.
Jun tilted his head in assent. For a moment, he looked haunted. And then Ellisandre understood. Jun wasn’t just making a threat, he was showing his hand. He was telling them what made him vulnerable. What moved him.
They could answer that. “I’m leaving Dana and Alice here. Since you’re in charge, there are things you should know. Two months ago, Dana’s mother was shot and killed in front of her. By Merchari. Alice shot the man who did it and ran with Dana. Ash helped them evade capture. All three of them still have nightmares. When Alice and Dana can’t go back to sleep, they drink hot chocolate. There’s milk and instant mix in the kitchen. Ash just gets up and works.”
Jun dipped his head in acknowledgement. Some of the wariness in his eyes eased. They had a common enemy. And a common interest in one of the men who should be their enemy.
Ellisandre uncrossed their arms and moved to the door.
“Ellisandre,” Jun said.
Ellisandre paused, not turning back around.
“The man who drove me off the mountain sent a message through me to Collin. It was from Collin’s father. They must have spoken between November and the end of December. And no, I won’t tell Alice.”
Electricity shot up Ellisandre’s spine. Collin’s father was dead. Unless he had died as much as Ellisandre themselves had died.
That changed things. How it changed things was yet to be determined.
Rei
Rei followed Sevastyan through customs at the Berlin airport and onto a transatlantic flight headed to New York. It was early, the sun not even a suggestion yet in the dark. They were both dressed down, Sevastyan in washed-out jeans and white athletic shoes topped by a matching hoodie, white waterproof winter down jacket, and a black beanie hiding his pale hair.
Rei was almost his opposite: black leisure pants, blocky maroon sweater with a rolled neck and baggy sleeves, braided leather bands around his wrists, tight winter cap pulled down almost over his eyes, and gray puff coat. With his KN95 face mask firmly on his face, he was a mere suggestion of a person supporting clothes. He had to remove his mask for a moment as they went through, but the German agent behind the counter didn’t even blink, waving him onward. Rei breathed a sigh of relief on the other side. It was always a frightening experience to test forged documents, and after years of masking, showing his facial scars felt like undressing. His marks were for Sevastyan only, and sometimes Alexi and Lisa, Alexi’s greenest slave he sometimes trained beside.
The only two seats together on such short notice were economy and back of the cabin. Sevastyan waved Rei into the row first, giving him the window seat. Rei sat quickly, shoving his bag under the seat in front of him and buckling in. Sevastyan sank into the middle seat. It was one of those large planes with three seats on each side and four in the center. Rei kept his eyes down. The noise of so many people was muffled by sleepy early-morning energy, but there was still too much to be aware of, too many potential threats.
On the other side of Sevastyan, a college-age Indian man dropped into the seat. He already had headphones on. Rei watched him out of the corner of his eye. He ignored Sevastyan, settled his headphones more firmly on his head, and popped a pill.
Sevastyan bundled his coat into his lap, letting part of it overflow onto Rei’s legs. He slid his hand beneath the coat and squeezed Rei’s thigh.
Rei tangled his fingers with Sevastyan’s and kept his face turned toward the window. It was still heavily dark. On the tarmac, the airport crew breathed plumes of white into the glow of the floodlights.
The college student was asleep by the time the plane lifted off. The jet reached altitude and steadied. Sevastyan rummaged in his messenger bag and handed Rei a tablet. He tapped in the password and nudged Rei to take it. Rei tilted the face of the tablet toward the back corner of his seat. A folder on the first screen was labeled “Watch”.
Rei opened it.
There were dozens of videos and newspaper articles saved and downloaded. The first video was of Jun. He looked like he was in a western city, probably the United States. Rei extended his arm to the seat in front of him, shielding the screen. In the video, Jun was walking through a shopping district, being questioned by reporters in what appeared to be a surprise ambush. His hair looked like he’d just brushed it back with his fingers, the spiked ends of his fringe parting over his temples.
Rei touched the screen, pausing the video. Jun’s upper cheek was marked with stitches. Bruises decorated the area around one of his eyes. Discoloration ran along his jaw, and a large bruise marred one side, visibly swollen. Rei held his breath. Beside him, Sevastyan shifted around, also raising his arm and resting his hand against the back of the seats in front of them. His coat was loose over his arm, hanging down, shielding Rei even more.
Rei blinked back dangerous prickles of gratitude from his vision. He curled over the tablet, studying Jun’s eyes. They were bright. He let the video play, watching Jun’s face to see if it was a trick of the light.
It wasn’t. Jun’s walk was powerful. The glances he gave his companion were bold.
Fierce.
Wanting.
Jun was fighting.
