Anacrusis

Evorden was an endless kaleidoscope of noise and colours, even during the evening. Hell, perhaps even more so then. The valley looked as if all the stars of the sky had fallen down, collecting on the cliff sides, forming a twinkling blanket that enveloped the ground under a void sky.

The Vankya river formed a highway for the Stratos of the city. Not only was it a point of connection for the nightly mountain breeze, but it exuded the heat of the day with a gentle thermal wind.

A single Cyclone merged with the flighted crowd; just another face among thousands of feathers and wingbeats.

Music, laughter, and conversation filled the air. Not from the commuting flock; flight chatter was rarely done verbally. Rather, it came from below. The Vankya may have provided Evorden with a powerful status as traders and nurtured their agriculture, but it was also a massive source of entertainment. A few citizens swam on enclosed zones, wreathed with shoreside vendors and snack spots.

The stalls only became more numerous and grand as the stream of Stratos went upriver. It reached a bright, boisterous climax at the Crystal Peaks harbour. Composed of a jetty, a man-made land protrusion that invaded the river, it was gilded in dozens of piers. Countless brands, light arrangements, and cultivated river vines decorated the structures, providing eye-catching terminals for the vessels that traversed close to the Peaks, seemingly around the clock.

During the day, it was populated with a family-friendly variety of entertainment. But with the sunset came debauchery: pleasure cruises, taken to their literal definition. Party ships. Fine dining. The dozens of vessels coasted through the water, leaving foamy tails that broke their reflections. The spectacle of lights on the waves looked like thousands of diamonds drifting with the water.

But the fine vessels paled in comparison to the land besides the harbour.

Bright vendors and storefronts framed the walkway towards the harbour, full with the hustle and bustle of the night market. Even hundreds of wingbeats apart, the scent of the street food and the aromatic perfumes was rich and inciting. The city was a melting pot of cultures from all over Verant, a rich blend of languages, art scenes, and flavours. The night market itself was an abridged taste of what the whole globe had to offer.

Reven didn't have their sights there, though. Even if they frequented the Peaks’ night market on every one of their visits to Evorden, to the point that all the Tleshgáno vendors knew them by name.

But no, their golden eyes were set on the buildings. The Crystal Peaks themselves.

A collection of towers formed by thousands of glass shards, arranged in geometric patterns. Spiralling mosaics with brutal edges, a harsh contrast against the genetically modified flora that adorned the rooftops. Long tendrils of lush ivy cascaded down the walls. Its leaves were a mix of white and translucence, making them appear like a milky spectacle of marble and glass. The only telltale of its organic nature were the bats that fluttered around the delicate white flowers, seeking their rich nectar.

The Crystal Peaks were a compound, a small town on itself. The outdoor terrace pulsed with music, connecting each spire of the Peaks with cultivated gardens. Each storey was a blistering havoc of neon signs, advertisements for the fun to be found within. The higher floors were dedicated to the Glass House Hotel, but the lower levels were dominated by exclusive nightclubs, luxury bars, restaurants, brothels, even bathhouses.

Reven tilted their tail, telegraphing their intentions to turn. The flock opened the way for them to exit the river skyway. An act they fulfilled with an easy sway, jewelry jingling with the beating of their wings.

The night winds brought high altitudes above the river, giving Reven a quick boost towards the Peaks. They landed in an easy skip on the terrace, rising a small gust of pebbles and grass with the flapping of their cyan, cream, and magenta feathers.

There stood a small crowd of people, one they had spotted from the sky. It was a mixed bunch, a rarity of equal parts humans and Artes— synthetic beings.

Reven lodged themself into the crowd, an act that incited a few grumbles from the shoving wings. The body heat of the lives around them was a pleasing embrace, even if it came with the racket of scents and noises. With their position in the queue growing closer, they began hearing the muffled music of the establishment. A bass that reverberated inside their ribcage, the thumping of dancing feet, the cheering and jesting from the partygoers.

A burly Lazuli Artes stood at the entrance, his head rising above the crowd. He was dressed in a simple formal uniform, with a baton on his side, and the nightclub’s logo over his chest: a single glass shard, reflecting multicoloured light beams, and a techy font spelling ‘Spectrum’. Lazulis came in many shapes, but this one kept a mostly human-like look. The telltale of their origins came in big, cat-like ears at the sides of his face, a long fluffy tail, and the presence of fangs as he spoke.

“Name?” The danger of the fangs didn’t take away the boredom in his baritone.

“Wha—?” Reven exclaimed, bewildered. Scrambling to maintain their focus, they produced a colourful piece of stiff paper from a pocket. They presented it to the bouncer, who barely gave it half a look before eyeing Reven again.

“Name, dude.”

“Hell do you want my name for? Just take the thing.” Reven insisted, their tail bobbing with impatience.

Finally, the burly bouncer stared at the ticket, an incredulous expression taking over. A second passed, before the Lazuli broke into a splatter of cackles. He even clapped Reven’s shoulder, struggling to find air. A handful of onlookers turned to watch the scene.

“Yo, what in the shit came over y—”

“Dude, you aren’t serious, are you?” Burly asked, his heavy freckled hand still holding onto Reven. Sputtering with giggles, the one earring on his triangular ear chimed with the movement.

“Well, hell, man. Care to fill me in?”

“This is an invite-only event. No tickets were passed out. If your name ain’t in the list, I can’t let you in.”

A moment of silence passed, one too long. Burly let go of Reven, a mutual realisation dawning that the Cyclone’s name wasn’t on the list.

A human behind Reven shoved her way forward, dressed in a metallic jacket that blinded both of the Artes with the reflections. “Are you two done?”

The bouncer still breathed heavily, but turned towards the woman. “Yes, ma’am. Name?”

“Hey, c’mon, man. You have to be fuckin’ kidding me! I flew—”

“Listen, friend. I can’t help you.” Burly shrugged, an added layer of forcefulness to their amicable tone. “Move along now.”

The Lazuli’s green eyes went to Reven’s Keeper: a close skin choker, glowing with the colour of their Trust Rank. A symbol of their social status. It shone with a greenish yellow, while the Lazuli’s earring had a nice bright green. Burly stood higher in the hierarchy, and a report from him would come with consequences. A leverage that the Lazuli was trying to use.

But no, the consequences would be far, far worse.

The Lazuli didn’t know that Keeper and Trust Rank were fakes, a cloak. If he decided to report them, they wouldn’t have a small blemish on their record. No, they’d have a small flock of Hunters out for his ass. No, thanks.

Reven stuck out their tongue, and finally stepped away from the queue. The dark teal feathers of their hair and dorsal wings shimmered with aquamarine shades, prickled up with the giggling of the crowd.

Being a Cyclone, Reven had long arms and short legs. A simian-like anatomy, which allowed them to walk on fours. They opted to do so, amping up their speed, breaking into a short sprint. They jumped from the terrace, wings unfurled. The wind caught them, blowing through their undercut and messing it up.

The ticket debacle was a shame. They stared at it, mindlessly forming a large perimeter around the Crystal Peaks. It was a fine, heavy paper, sporting the logo for Spectrum. The spot was right, and the hour. The list of guests looked accurate, just the kind of household names that would draw such a crowd: Ita Daruta, Roger Fender, King Monte, among other smaller figures. Plus, the excruciating cost. Everything looked legit.

But a small detail Reven hadn’t noticed was the tiny text below the party announcement. An album release celebration for an Eskht musician, a music genre that combined rock and folkloric Kar chanting. Very damned popular, hence the guests and luxurious venue. But there it was, right under the title. A little text saying ‘Invite Only’.

Fuck.

Ah, well. That just meant they had to invite themself in.

“Okay, moron. I’ll help you.”

Reven still circled the Crystal Peaks Harbour, far above the river skyway. Very few Stratos accompanied them at such altitude, and for good reason. They were freezing their ass off up there. Their septum piercing and earrings felt like ice adhered to their skin, and small frozen shards stuck to their feathers.

The frigid temperature couldn’t help to quell the fiery tone on the other side of the phone line, though. Mali hissed with a sigh, a gesture that Reven could imagine accompanied with manicured hands stress-preening.

She continued talking, her tone venomous like an adder. “But this better not be traced back to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I prommyyy,” Reven insisted, looping above the clouds. The workout barely made a dent in their talking. The strap on their wrist kept the phone on their hand as they twirled, manipulating the air below their wings to their whims. “You’re a fuckin’ queen, did you know that?”

“Nah, Rev. I’m an empress.” Mali switched to a high-pitched saccharine tone, her usual tenor range marking an even funnier contrast. She continued with her usual voice, outlining the plan.

It was simple, dead easy. Just the kind of plan Reven excelled at fucking up. Mali knew this, as she trickled out the information slowly. Simple breadcrumbs to follow.

Reven folded their wings, easing into a dive, shooting down towards the ground. Mother gravity pulled them with vertiginous speed, the wind momentarily deafening any noise beyond Reven’s own body. In a matter of seconds, they were again levelled with the Crystal Peaks. The crowd of the terrace had thinned, with a few stragglers lurking the bouncer. Perhaps they had been on a similar boat as Reven themself.

Instead of shooting for the terrace, Reven pulled out of the dive towards the higher storeys of the Peaks. The momentous force pulled on the tendons of their wings, and their head pulsed with a steady ache.

It took some time before their gaze cleared up from the dark dancing spots. With those ants lingering only at the corner of their vision, Reven sought a group of particular windows.

The Glass House Hotel was easy to spot. The two highest Peaks were tipped in black, appearing like vicious obsidian blades, jutting up from the milky quartz translucency of the rest of the building.

As per law, the black glass still had small divisions, demarcating the limit between each room. Every couple floors had shimmering black poles, dotted with glittering prickles like starlight. An elegant solution for the other regulation: perching spots for Wardens. Both requirements came for the sake of security; giving Wardens an easier method of entry in case of emergencies. The hotel was graceful enough to provide the guests with the tinted glass. That one wasn’t a requirement, just a privacy perk.

Reven closed in on the lowest of the perching beams. One of their feet connected with the pole, grasping it with long toes and a dexterous thumb. The other missed the spot, and they had to stamp their upper body against the glass wall to not tumble down. Their wings were a flurry of violet and turquoise, furiously beating to remain steady.

With a mild pretense of balance and breathing heavily, Reven inspected the wall before them. Each window had a panel on its side, describing the hotel’s name, address, and the respective room number. Below the information, there was a dormant keypad. Before Reven fiddled with anything, they called Mali again.

“‘Kay.” Reven gasped for air, a small cloud of condensation forming on the glass in front. “I’m at room 0184.”

“Move three rooms to your left.”

Reven stopped for a second, shaking their hands. Which one was it that they used to wri— Ah, yes. With the left side identified, they shuffled over.

“0187.”

“Yep. Here’s the passkey.”

Mali recited a long string of numbers, much longer than what Reven was anticipating. They entered every one accurately, Mali’s quick pace echoed by their fingers flying over the pad. The lock disengaged, loosening the window on its hinges. It whined as Reven pushed it open fully, giving some resistance. Apparently luxury hotels couldn’t afford oil.

Before Reven stepped in, they resumed the conversation.

“Do I wanna know how the shit y’knew that?”

“No.” Mali giggled. “Anyway, that’s that for the extent of my help.”

“Wait! What the fuck am I meant to do here?”

“Performer lodging is directly connected to the nightclub, I told you that. Who d’you think sponsored the Glass House? A-list celebrities. They don’t wanna have to walk ‘round or be stuck in the lift with a bunch’a groupies. So the Glass House has its own inner path to your Spectrum nightclub, plus five others, and the Ose theater.”

“Oh. Oh, shit. This is a performer’s room!?”

There was a pause.

“Yes, Reven. Anyway, the maps for the Glass House are above my paygrade, so… Toodles.”

“Wait!”

“What now?” Mali whined.

“How’s the new meds?”

Another pause, but this time it came with a pleased exhale from the other side.

“It’s working great. My skin is so much softer now!” At once, the hardened Warden was gone, replaced by a giddy woman. “The lack of libido sucks, but it’s okay.”

“Awesome! I bet you’re looking gorgeous, empress.”

“Shut up, Revvy-Berry.” Mali cackled, without any real malice. “Go on, be a stowaway. And thanks for asking.”

The call ended. Reven unstrapped their phone, putting it back in the zipped pocket of their baggy trousers. With the pain still pulsing behind their eyes, they also prodded their sides for a small bundle. Their rescue medication. Going to a party would inevitably end in migraines, Reven knew that. It wouldn't stop them from going, but after much insistence from their friends, they had at least begun taking precautions.

Reven stepped inside the room, closing the window behind. Turning around, they couldn’t resist whistling. It was huge, bigger than any residential housing they had ever stepped into. Definitely bigger than the communal Warden rooms. They gingerly tested the size of the room, spreading their full wingspan. The violet tips of their flight feathers weren’t even close to reaching the walls.

The Glass House was aptly named. The window from which Reven had entered wasn’t an isolated feature; it was one of many panels making up an entire glass wall. A section of the floor and the ceiling completed the faceted structure, giving a panoramic view of the city. Apparently, grounded folks would pay a premium just to get views like that. Reven’s gaze was somewhere else, though. The scenic view wasn’t anything worthwhile, not when the splendour of the room gave a much more interesting sight.

While the lights were off, the brightness of the city provided ample clarity to the space. A huge human-styled bed sat front and center, looking towards the city. Even while unmade, the pillows looked like marshmallows, shrouded in a pool of plush blankets.

The bed itself felt like what a cloud should have been. Grounded folks and fledglings had an idea of clouds as soft pieces of cotton. The reality was that they felt like flying in the middle of the coldest shower possible. With the addition of getting pelted by ice particles. More like glass shards, due to the wind speed. As Reven stretched on the bed, they felt their childhood dreams coming to fruition.

The whole room was covered in fine upholstery, in theme with the crystal motif. Geometric metal trimmings completed the corners of all the furniture, artistically crafted to look like a gem’s facets, or an incomplete stone sculpture. The room was divided in two, one side dominated by the bed and the ample bedside tables. The other was a sunken living room area. Full with a mini fridge, a wine cooler, a stocked snack bar, and enough lavish furniture to sit in small company. A massive screen dominated the wall before the furniture, tall speakers at either end.

Reven stood up from the bed, shaking their wings from loose feathers before folding them back down. Some silhouettes in the far furniture piqued their attention, the forms inciting, familiar. Stepping closer confirmed their suspicions. They almost tripped in excitement as they closed the space towards the musical instruments.

There was a gorgeous electric guitar on the sofa, colours hard to discern with the darkness, but its body was covered in stickers and marker writings. The fretboard was aged and scratched up, and it was missing a peg.

An acoustic guitar rested on the armchair, its wooden body polished to a bright mirror reflection. The colour pattern had a texture to it, showcasing a contrasting gradient and a layer of paint splatters.

Yet another electric guitar was splayed over the coffee table. It had a harsh, geometric body, with little light strips framing its shape. The fretboard was odd, having an off number of frets, and miscellaneous pegs, buttons, and levers peppered all over the guitar. Reven stepped closer to it, entranced, fingers itching to push and move everything. The soft carpeted floor had muffled the impact of their steps. Crossing the living room brought a racket of clicking claws against the pine flooring.

Their fingers were mere inches apart from that strange guitar. Watching it so close now, Reven was certain it couldn’t be an actual guitar. Maybe a synth?

They were suddenly blinded by an explosion of light, accompanied by a background buzzing of electricity. Reven groaned, their hands covering their eyes and stumbling about the room. Retracing their steps towards the bed, they collapsed against it.

With fluttering blinks, they tested their eyes open. The light felt like a jackhammer against their head, penetrating like needles, rattling nails inside their skull.

A Zephyr Stratos stood in the doorway, beautiful carmine eyes open wide like plates. They had a handsome, chiselled face, features accentuated with a sensible layer of makeup. As a Zephyr, their wings were short, barely reaching beyond their arms. However, they were a spectacle of colours. Indigo, cyan, emerald, yellow, whites, all harmoniously mingling in spiralling patterns, eyespots and barring. A symphony of colours, a marvel that nature could have never concocted on her own.

“You’re beautiful.” Reven blurted out, eyes glued to the stranger. They refused to miss any detail of those feathers, that face.

“Can I help you?” The Zephyr snapped out of their stunned silence, pearlescent back feathers prickled out like a hedgehog.

“Oh!” Reven shot back into reality, scrambling to their feet in a bolt. Their sight turned grainy, accompanied by the light-headedness that often came with migratory-level flight. “Nope. Just passin’ thru.”

In a flurry of rustling feathers, jingling, and heavy steps, Reven aimed for the doorway. Thinking about where they would be heading afterwards empowered the hammer inside their skull. But at the very least, getting far, far away from the hotel guest was a first step.

They shoved the Zephyr to the side, their will to leave an unyielding ambition. Laser focus. A soldier with a mission.

Unbreakable.

“Wow, hold on.”

Until the taller man held onto the wrist of Reven’s wing.

It was a fragile grip, one that Reven could have broken with a simple push. But they couldn’t ignore the tickle that traversed through every one of their feathers at that touch.

“Whu—?” Reven chirped, staring at the hand between their primaries.

“Hey, if there’s any issues, I need to be aware of them. Just tell me.”

Reven stared. To the hand, then the beautiful man. The room. The pretty red eyes, sprinkled with raspberry streaks. There was a certain scent to him. Alcohol, certainly, but nothing too potent. The blend of fine cologne and sweat. The chemical stink of dyes. And… a prickling. Something that left a tickle at the back of their throat.

The Zephyr let go of the massive wing. He placed his hands on his hips, tilting his head with reproach.

“Look, I understand. Wardens do what they gotta do to keep us safe, et cetera. But c’mon, man. I already spoke about this with your Commander. At least keep me updated.”

Slack-jawed, Reven could only utter a single vowel. A long, prolonged note. An isolated piano key, echoing through an empty room.

A lie formed in their head. It was laid right in front of them, easy. Simple. The big point of contention was that no self-respecting Warden would be caught wearing… whatever Reven was. Baggy cargo pants, a bright crop top above a black mesh top, and their forever-chiming collection of steel jewelry. They had the decency to at least pick clothes without big paint stains, but their fashion choices didn’t extend as far as to put on shoes.

It could be easy to lie. Sometimes, Wardens wore things outside of their uniforms if hired as security for events, or even for surveillance operations.

The tale sat on the tip of their tongue, ready to jump out. And ready to jump out too were their brains. The headache pulsed, steady, an ache that threatened to hide the higher functions of Reven’s consciousness. And they knew what would happen if they lied. One of Mother’s many teachings: breeding mistrust would only break down your body further. The last thing Reven needed was to escalate their condition.

So, they spat out the truth. “Look, Prince, I’mma be real. I'm just tryin’ to make it to the party down at Spectrum. Got my ass scammed ‘bout it being a ticketed affair. But I already flew all the way from Monokaj to Evorden! I ain’t gonna miss this opportunity.”

The Zephyr threw his head back, barking with melodious laughter. Enthusiasm pooled within Reven’s ribcage, a giddiness that moved them to giggle too. The Zephyr’s scent amped up, his breath had the remnants of raspberry, lemon, whiskey. And that grating itching, again. It was familiar, a field of cacti that Reven was accustomed to crossing. One of many fields. Which one could it be?

Shaking his head, mastering his breathing, Prince tittered. “You are the ticket idiot? Fuck, dude. I thought it was a human, or a Lazuli. But a Cyclone fell for a ticket scam?” Reven laughed, shrugging easily. “Well, it’s kinda my thing. To be… Rev-olutionary.”

They stepped closer to the Zephyr, inhaling deeply. He fidgeted with the sudden closeness, but Reven was distracted. Eucalyptus and lavender cologne, sprayed in the morning once, then again in the afternoon. Grilled potatoes, eaten a few hours ago, made from a frozen bag. And that fucking… thing. How to describe it? It was a scent, like any other. No particles or sand up their nose. But the harshness was surprising, a sucker punch that hid beneath all those others. A tang that complemented Reven’s own.

Replacing their amusement with concern, Reven continued. “Bro, are you feelin’ O.K.? You should be lyin’ down, fast.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Prince’s joy was gone, too. His voice was marked by an incredulous question, and a bit too loud combativeness.

“Baby, you’ve got a big fuckin’ migraine comin’ for your ass.”

Now the Zephyr was barren of words. His mouth was slightly agape, peachy lips parted, a small groove formed on his forehead. Fuck, he was so cute.

Tapping on their nose, Reven explained. “I get a bunch o’those. Learned to smell ‘em before they hit me.”

“You freaks can smell that?” The Zephyr whispered, a small tilt of worry to his sharp eyebrow.

“We can smell all sorts of shit, it is a bit freaky.” Reven conceded. “But, point’s you’ve got a category seven of fuckin’ ass kicking. Head kicking. Head blasts. Jackhammer straight to the noggin’, you get me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The Zephyr waved the sentence away, sighing in exasperation.

“You got abortive meds, Prince? Or rescue ones?”

“Uh… I think my agent had some painkillers? She’s a human, though.”

Reven grimaced with evident hesitation. They pulled out a zipped bag from one of their pockets and rummaged between its contents. Blister packs, medicinal syrups, condoms, loose pills. They snatched a half-spent bottle with a victorious ‘Ha!’, and shook out three blue-and-red pills.

“Here, knock yourself out.” Reven grabbed the Prince’s hand and passed him the drugs.

“What’s this?” The Zephyr inquired with some revulsion, stretching out his arm as if there were wriggling worms on his palm.

“Ortixcad. S’rescue med, but I’m all outta abortives. Helps ya not puke your guts out, and knocks the pain down to a mere seven instead of a fifty.”

The Zephyr wasn’t convinced, staring at Reven, who only offered a thumbs up. But suddenly, they detonated with alarm. Snatching the fair man’s hand, they grabbed the pills again, leaving only one behind.

“Shit! I forgot y’all Ze-fucks aren’t supposed to be poppin’ pills Cyclone style. Just one should be ‘nuff for you.”

Ignoring the Zephyr’s hesitation, Reven pushed him towards the bed. They tidied it up, sweeping away loose feathers with one of their wings, and dragging the myriad of pillows back towards the head of the bed. They allowed space for the Zephyr to install himself, while they leaped around the room, knocking down a set of chrome statues.

Walking with a bit more care, tip-toeing around the instruments, they grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge. Reven uttered a small curse, watching a little chime light up the moment the bottle left the appliance. The screen in the fridge displayed the amount that was charged to the guest’s card. Whoops.

With an apologetic breath, Reven made their way back to the bed, leaving the bottle on the side table. As well as extra cushions from the living room. Making a nest of pillows always helped Reven during their episodes; perhaps it’d help the Prince too.

But the Zephyr was still standing, stunned, the lone pill on his hand.

“Yo, man, lay down!”

He limited himself to sitting on the edge of the bed, his long trailing tail covering most of the mattress’ length. It had more sober colours compared to his small wings: a simple maroon and black gradient, sprinkled with golden freckles.

“I guess that’s a start.” Reven shrugged, and turned away. Towards the window.

“Hey, if you actually wanna get to the party—”

“Yeah. The inner Glass House passage, I know.” Reven craned their head back, granting a gentle smile to the Zephyr. The barbs of his feathers seemed to glow with how they interacted with the light, shimmering in a million tones. An infinite mirage Reven could get lost in. “But your ass doesn’t need any more stress right now, yeah? So, I’mma take this loss and get out of here.”

Reven waved, twirling their tattooed fingers. With a flair of their wings, they skipped towards the glass dome, the city still glowing as always.

“Wait, hey.” The Zephyr exclaimed, and Reven heard him standing up. “Fuck. Come back here.”

Reven turned their head in an almost half-circumference, curiously peeking between their back feathers.

The Zephyr took a swig of the water, making a grimace at the bitter drug. Reven knew the experience all too well.

“What did you say your name was? What’s your role?”

“Oh! Right. My fuckin’ mistake, man.” Turning around properly, Reven bowed with a wave of their wings. It really was mind boggling how huge the room was.

“Name’s Reven! And— ah, fuck it.” Reven smiled with fanged glee. They were in deep fucking trouble already, what was a bit more? They weren’t going to start lying now.

Their hands went to the back of their neck, and they fiddled with the Keeper. The chartreuse light went off, and the choker clicked open. “You could say I’m in between roles right now.”

“Holy flamin’ Hokam.” The Zephyr took a step back, hand bolting towards a pocket in his pants. Probably his phone. Reven’s legs tensed, readying themself to get the fuck out if he called Hunters.

But he did nothing of the sort. Recovering swiftly from the shock, the Zephyr laughed with some lack of amusement. “Reven, the Stray. Comin’ unannounced to offer me drugs. What a night.”

Reven smiled. “My friends say it’s never dull when I’m around! What ‘bout you? Your name?”

The Zephyr cocked an eyebrow, suddenly out of his depth. “You mean…” He stared closer, scrutinizing Reven. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Wouldn’t have fuckin’ asked otherwise.”

“Uh… Roger. Roger Fender. The—”

“The singer!?” Reven hollered, throwing their full wingspan open in a gust of wind. The water bottle fell from the side table, pooling on the carpeted floor. “Shit. I’m a bit face blind, my bad.”

The Zephyr, Roger, leaned down with a grimace. He picked up the bottle, taking a sip from the last dredges that remained. “Thought that was why you were being so helpful.”

“Oh, nah. Migraines fuckin’ suck ass. I’d have helped even if you were the ugly bouncer from the door. I do get more satisfaction from makin’ a pretty face smile, though.”

“It’s easy to smile with sweet company.” Roger acknowledged, a mischievous melody creeping up. The medicine must have been doing its thing, he sounded much chipper.

“At your service, good sir.” Reven bowed again. “I’ll get off’cha hair now. Take care, Superstar.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stray.” Roger crossed the room, reaching Reven and grabbing their wing. He started dragging them towards the door. “Didn’t you fly all the way from Monokaj? That’s, what, seven provinces over?”

“Um, yeah.” Reven stepped away, halfway through the room. “But—”

Roger extended his hand, fingernails painted in an alternating pattern of carmine and cyan.

“Shut up, and come dance with me.”

It could have easily been a trap, luring them to the Hunters. But what the hell, how could they say no to that sweet smile? Those expecting eyes?

They took his hand, ready to be whisked away for a night neither would forget.