Chapter 1 #2
Guilt stabbed at her. She wanted him to be able to be that man again.
Permanently, not just like the one time she’d seen him in his human form with Jevryn, when it had been clear to her that it was, somehow, Jevryn’s touch that allowed him to anchor Griff in that form.
She could only imagine how much it must pain Griff to have those moments of being himself while knowing it was only temporary.
Knowing it might always be temporary. He had told her he’d waited a long time to be free, and was capable of waiting longer, but she also thought he was the sort of person who would put the needs of those he cared about before his own every time.
So when he looked at the open journal and asked, “Have you heard from Jevryn?” she decided it didn’t matter that she’d wanted to lay the burden of finding Tristen Veld on Jevryn.
She was the one available to do it, so she would.
And…maybe it would be good for her to have something to focus on.
Something that wasn’t the normal day-to-day life she was failing at fitting back into, no matter how hard she faked it.
“He said something came up, and we should find Tristen without him.”
“I see.” Something in his voice…she’d thought he’d asked as a courtesy, but his troubled tone made her reconsider.
“What did he say to you?” She was positive, by this point, that Griff and Jevryn had their own set of companion journals.
“He didn’t.”
Nyx took another sip of coffee, debating whether she was prodding at a wound, or just needing information. Deciding it was the latter, she asked, “Is that normal for him?”
Griff hesitated. “It isn’t abnormal, strictly speaking.
Jevryn has never been particularly good at maintaining a regular correspondence.
So long as he is aware that the few people he cares for are fine, he tends to forget the world outside of himself exists for long stretches of time, or that the people he cares for might in return be concerned for his welfare. It never occurs to him.”
A rare smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Because he knows he’s fine, so why would we worry?”
“Precisely. He is solipsistic to his core. It isn’t out of malice, but it can be frustrating to be the person waiting for answers.”
Nyx tapped the companion journal. “He isn’t writing back, is he?”
“How did the conversation go, exactly?”
She relayed it to him, since the writing in the companion journals could only be read by the two people who had been assigned to them at their making.
“No,” Griff said, apologetically. “He isn’t writing back.”
Nyx withheld a sigh, flipped the book closed, and pulled on her bond with Kaliaris, sending the journal back to her room just as Evra walked into the cafe. The did a double take at seeing Nyx behind the counter so early in the morning.
“Difficulty sleeping?” Evra asked it lightly enough, but there was an implied again at the end of the question.
Nyx shrugged. “Just getting an early start,” she lied.
“On what? We have hardly received any Travelers since that wretched man published his article.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been ‘rude and unwelcoming’ before directing the travel writer to the inn no one stays at”—which really begged the question of how the Castaways Inn stayed open—“instead of sending him to the Wanderer’s Inn like a good Station assistant, he would have written us a more flattering review.
” The article in question had been published the week prior to Nyx’s return, and was the result of Evra clashing with the writer when Morgen hadn’t been nearby to do damage control.
“He was the one who was rude,” Evra protested. “How was I supposed to know he was important?”
“I think the point is that you’re supposed to be polite to customers even when they’re difficult.”
Evra made a derisive sound. “In my experience, anyone that awful is not worth the money they can spend.”
“When the All Council decides to shutter us as a Station for lack of travel, I’ll remind you that you said that.”
Evra waved her hand in dismissal. “They will not shutter the Station. They do not care about Earth, they do not need the money, and your father oversees this part of the universe.” As soon as the last piece of the sentence left her mouth, Evra tilted her head speculatively, as if just having thought of something.
“Put that way, one might even say your business is assured to succeed due to—oh, what is that word you have here? The one for when you receive your job due to the influence of your family?”
“Nepotism,” Morgen supplied, as he walked into the room.
He dropped a kiss on Evra’s cheek, which she unconvincingly pretended to be annoyed about, said good morning to Nyx and Griff, and deftly began pulling espresso shots for his morning coconut mocha—extra sweet—and Evra’s cappuccino—plain, extra foam.
“I didn’t get my job because of nepotism,” Nyx argued. “If Jevryn had known who I was when I came here, I most definitely would not have gotten the job. It would have been reverse nepotism.”
“Speaking of your father,” Morgen began, sliding the now-finished cappuccino to Evra and cradling his mocha in his hands, “when is he coming back? I wouldn’t have thought he’d want to wait very long.”
“About that,” Nyx said, just as Kaden joined them.
He grunted in response to Morgen’s Good morning, Sunshine, ignored Evra’s assessing gaze—ever since the whole nearly knifing Nyx in the chest incident in Calista, the watched Kaden like he was a time bomb that might start ticking at any moment—and made his way to the espresso machine without looking directly at anyone.
Always reserved, he’d withdrawn even further into himself since returning to the Station, but it didn’t feel hostile.
It was more like it took a herculean effort for him to not be withdrawn, and he’d simply decided to stop expending it.
She had the uncomfortable sense that he was being more himself than she’d ever seen him, and Morgen’s lack of concern regarding the shift—if anything, Morgen had relaxed a little around him—seemed to prove it.
Kaden also continued to wear Dead Earth clothing that had seen better days, this morning’s ensemble being a pair of jeans that had once been dark, but were worn enough to have organically gained that faded, acid-washed look that had been popular when Nyx was a kid, and a plain black t-shirt that had developed enough holes along the collar that there wasn’t much left keeping the collar attached to the rest of the shirt.
It had taken a few days of seeing him cycle through the same few old jeans and t-shirts to figure out why they looked familiar, and only a quick check-in with her Station to confirm it.
Kaliaris had recreated the limited wardrobe Kaden had had when he’d lived in Dead Earth, because apparently what Kaden Moor felt most comfortable in was cheap, worn secondhand clothing from a planet he hadn’t grown up on.
He pulled an Americano, black, and Nyx eyed the refrigerator, wondering if it would be noticeable if she added cream to her own beverage at this juncture. But noticeable or not, she was halfway through her cup, and it had cooled enough that if she added cream now, it would end up lukewarm.
“About that…?” Morgen prompted, making her realize she’d never finished her earlier sentence.
“Jevryn had something come up,” she said. “He wants—”
“Nyx,” Griff interrupted, “could I speak with you in private for a moment?”
“Umm, sure?” Confused, she followed him into the library. “What’s up?”
“Perhaps you should wait for Jevryn to return before searching for Tristen.”
“Jevryn was pretty clear that he wants us to go without him.” Which made a certain kind of sense.
He wanted the Shaman found, and if whatever had held him up was going to take a while to resolve, he would want them to start looking.
Especially since Tristen might not even be in New York City anymore.
He might not even be on Earth anymore. So Jevryn might as well let her get the grunt work done of following whatever trail of breadcrumbs they could find.
If she was being honest with herself, she was a little pleased that he trusted her to do this—go after something that was so personally important to him—without him.
It was the remaining kid part of herself she hadn’t managed to crush that had always wanted her father to be proud of her.
If there was a little voice in the back of her mind wondering if he would trust her to do it if Kaden wasn’t going with her, well, she told that voice to fuck off.
“Jevryn is the most impatient person I have ever met,” Griff said. He paused, tilting his head. “Until, perhaps, you.”
“Thanks,” Nyx deadpanned.
“The point being, he may not have considered all of the risk factors.”
Nyx frowned. “We’re going into Dead Earth.
” And despite the fact that her one brief trip across the border last week had shown her the United States wasn’t exactly in the best place right now, her group’s magic—even blunted as it was in Dead Earth—meant they were unlikely to fall victim to any real danger there.
“Yes, but you are going after a Shaman. A Shaman who has used his gift to take a life and survived the experience. That makes him an extremely dangerous man. Jevryn’s magic provides a unique buffer against that type of danger.”
Nyx crossed her arms, trying and failing not to feel defensive. “I have the same magic he does.”
“You do,” Griff conceded. “But that magic is newly awakened in you. Your adeptness with it cannot be expected to be on his level. What if something happens and you are not quick enough? What if—” His voice broke. He swallowed and tried again. “What if I lose you, too?”