Chapter 7 #3
“Earth,” I say. “Australia. What’s it like these days?”
Because ten years is a long time. Long enough that everything I remember is probably out of date. The world I left behind isn’t the one he walked out of.
Jack’s expression shifts, becomes something softer. More thoughtful. “Hot,” he says first, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“Hotter, maybe,” he adds. “Or maybe I just notice it more. Been back out west last few years.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Queensland,” he says. “Outback. Small cattle station.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah?”
“Grew up out there,” he continues. “Left for a bit. Firefighting in Brisbane. Then went back when my old man got sick.”
Emotion catches in his voice.
“Stayed after he passed,” he adds, more casually than the words deserve. “Didn’t see much point leaving again.”
I nod once. Offering no bullshit sympathy. Just… understanding. “Fair.”
Sonny glances between us, then leans forward like he’s about to interrupt.
I beat him to it. “What about everything else?” I ask Jack. “Cities still a mess?”
He snorts. “Always.”
“Traffic?”
“Worse.”
“Cost of living?”
“Don’t get me started.”
I grin faintly. “So nothing’s changed?”
“Pretty much.”
“Internet still a thing?” I add, because I can’t help myself.
Jack looks at me like I’ve just asked if the sky still exists. “Yeah.”
“Fast?”
“Depends where you are.”
“Of course it does.”
Sonny groans dramatically. “I hate both of you.”
I glance at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re talking about things I can’t have.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh.
“What about coffee?” I ask, because now I’m committed.
Jack squints at me. “You mean real coffee?”
“Yeah.”
He exhales slowly. “Mate…”
I grin. “Still good?”
“Still good,” he confirms.
Sonny drops his head back against the wall. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Bit late for that,” I say.
“Rude,” he says, shooting me a big-arse grin. But there’s a warmth to it now. Familiarity.
The whole exchange is grounding in a way I didn’t realise I needed until this moment.
Ten years gone. And somehow it still feels close enough to reach.
Sonny gestures vaguely. “Where’s your shadow?”
Jack frowns. “Jamie’s with the others. Training.”
“Kid’s a menace,” Sonny says, and I smile, having heard from Varek a fair amount about the kid, Jack’s nephew.
“Kid’s capable,” Jack corrects.
There’s weight in that. Pride and protectiveness.
“That’s good. It’s needed to survive this world,” I say simply.
Jack nods once. Then his gaze flicks back to me. “You moving all right?”
“Define all right?”
He studies me a second longer. “You’re compensating. Left side.”
“Yeah, well, everything hurts.”
“Still walking, though. That’s got to count for something,” Jacks says.
“Barely.”
He huffs. “You’ll be right.”
Something about how he says it—colloquial… easy and certain—settles solid in my chest. Not comfort. Just… fact.
I nod.
Sonny claps his hands once, loud and decisive, like he’s just solved something important. “Right,” he says. “Now that the Aussie convention is in full swing—”
Jack groans immediately. “Don’t.”
“—I feel like we should get a drink.”
Jack doesn’t even hesitate. “There’s no alcohol.”
“Details.”
I shake my head, a smile tugging despite myself. “You’re insufferable. I can tell.”
“And yet beloved,” Sonny shoots back without missing a beat. He pushes off the crate and starts pacing like he’s about to launch into a proper pitch. “No, hear me out,” he continues, pointing between us like we’re a captive audience. “I have been working on this. Actively. For weeks.”
“That’s concerning,” I say.
“It should be,” Jack mutters.
Sonny ignores us both. “Decca and Molsi—”
“—the canteen twins?” I cut in, amazed and relieved they’re still here.
“Yes,” Sonny says, pleased I’m following. “Them. I’ve been getting them to experiment.”
“With what?” Jack asks, suspicious.
“Fermentation.”
Jack stares at him. “You’re making prison hooch?”
“It is not prison hooch,” Sonny says, offended. “It is artisanal.”
I huff a laugh that immediately turns into a wince as my ribs remind me I am, in fact, still injured. “Fuck,” I mutter, pressing a hand lightly to my side.
Sonny’s expression flickers—amusement fading just enough to check I’m all right—but I wave him off.
“Fine. Keep talking. This better be good.”
He brightens instantly. “Right. So far we’ve tried—don’t judge—some kind of root mash situation, a fruit we’re not entirely sure is safe, and something that may or may not have been originally used as livestock feed.”
Jack blinks slowly. “And you drank this?”
“We sampled it,” Sonny corrects.
“And?”
Sonny hesitates.
“That bad, huh?” I say.
“It’s… evolving,” he says carefully.
I laugh again, softer this time. It still pulls, still hurts, but not enough to stop it. “Mate,” I say, shaking my head, “that’s not alcohol. That’s a biohazard.”
“It’s a work-in-progress,” Sonny insists. “Great things take time.”
I purse my lips. “Great things usually don’t try to kill you.”
“Debatable.”
Jack drags a hand down his face. “I cannot believe this is what we’re doing now. Surviving a hostile dimension, and you’re out here brewing poison.”
“You say poison,” Sonny says, pointing at him, “I say innovation.”
“I say you’re an idiot.”
“Also true.”
I lean back slightly against the table, letting the banter settle around me. For a moment, it’s easy. Easy in a way I haven’t felt in… a long time.
“Honestly,” I say after a beat, “I wouldn’t even know where to start anymore.”
They both glance at me.
“With what?” Sonny asks.
“Drinking,” I say.
There’s a small pause.
“Been a while?” Sonny asks.
I nod once. “Yeah. Probably… sixteen years.”
Jack’s brows rise slightly.
Sonny goes still for half a second, something flickering behind his eyes—not surprise, exactly, more like he’s fitting a piece into place.
Jack tilts his head. “How long you been here?”
“About ten,” I say.
“Right.” He hesitates, then adds, a bit more carefully, “So… you were sober before that?” Then he immediately grimaces. “Sorry. That’s—none of my business.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Not sober,” I say. “Not really.”
The word sits there for a second.
Then I add, quieter, “My husband—”
Sonny freezes. It’s not dramatically obvious, not in a way Jack would clock, but I see it. Because I remember the warehouse. The first time we met. Me furious, barely holding it together after punching Varek and telling anyone who’d listen that he’d killed my husband.
That I’d been married.
That it wasn’t simple.
I catch Sonny’s eye.
There’s no pity there. Just understanding and something steady.
Jack, on the other hand, goes wide-eyed. “Fuck, man,” he says immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”
Because it is. Or at least, it’s as close to fine as it’s going to get.
“He had a drinking problem,” I add, more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Made it… complicated.”
That’s one way of putting it.
Jack exhales slowly. “Right.”
There’s no follow-up questions or digging. I appreciate that more than I can say.
“It was a lifetime ago,” I finish, shrugging slightly. “Hell, a whole other world, literally.”
The words land, and for a moment, the three of us just… stand here in it.
Then Sonny shifts, just enough to break the weight of it. “Well,” he says lightly, “on the upside, you’re not missing much with my experimental disaster brew.”
I snort. “Good. I’d hate to feel left out.”
“Trust me,” he says, dead serious now, “you’re better off.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “First sensible thing you’ve said all day.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I push myself a little more upright, rolling my shoulder carefully as I glance between them. “All right,” I say. “Now that we’ve established you’re both terrible influences and questionable conversationalists—”
“Rude,” Sonny mutters.
“—we’re circling back.”
Their attention focuses because we all know what I mean.
“Aelith,” I say.
And just like that, the humour fades, and the real conversation begins.