Nestra was excited. Not only was Camille a great adversary, but they were also cool as a person and now they were going to get adventures together! Not now, though, because it would be a bad time to get caught sneaking out. With the stew consumed and the leftovers properly packed (and labeled), Nestra slipped out of the world while Camille simply walked through the entrance portal. The aperture was in full view of the cabin, but Camille had a great disguise: they were simply not wearing their mask. It was kind of crazy how the mask became an identity and the lack thereof, anonymity. Actually, Crescent was much more famous than Nestra, even, so that was the same thing. With a last smile, Nestra walked through the tarp into her allocated bedroom to find that nothing had changed. It just smelled a bit like rank plastic but she’d live with it. With her stomach full and a bit of blood loss, she easily fell asleep. The next morning, neither Weiwei nor Derek showed any sign that they’d noticed her leaving. That almost annoyed her. Weren’t people supposed to check on someone with a cranial trauma? To see if there was anything bad happening? Well, they weren’t doctors so whatever. Maybe they’d preferred to let her sleep. “My fortune for fresh coffee,” Nestra announced. Derek looked up from their breakfast table. Those looked like military rations. Some Threshold-issued rations were pretty tasty. “You look much better. Unfortunately, I would recommend against caffeine with a healing wound.” “It’s almost fully healed!” Nestra protested. And indeed, the small mirror showed only an angry puffy red line where she once had a hole in her skull. “Operative word: almost.” “Yes, Palladian, that is exactly what I’m asking.” “Nothing of the sort. We went to the tent as soon as you guys left. It was hot and stuffy inside so I left the place to check the garden with Derek. I felt mana from a specific spot while Derek perceived an abnormal cold spot.” “It happens when soil was recently upturned,” Derek explained. “The —” “I am familiar with the process,” Ilar cut. “I just needed confirmation.” “It was ready for us before we even arrived,” Nestra explained. “Yes, very well. Right.” Ilar massaged the bridge of his nose. He looked a little bit worse for wear with some scratches on his armor, a sign he’d fought some of the monsters in person. Nestra wasn't sure why since they had an army of B-class raiders with them — perhaps as a demonstration of force? In any case, he probably needed some rest. She thought it better to keep her thoughts to herself. Ilar rolled his shoulders, his gaze still on Nestra like she wasn’t the one who’d gotten her skull cracked open. He eventually turned to Nestra. “What’s the likelihood that this was an accident? That someone made a misguided attempt to keep mana rats off the Matriarch’s precious rhododendrons?” “None sir, the trap was deliberately set on the gravel path right next to the tent’s entrance. Even if someone was stupid enough to trap a public spot without notifying visitors, they would have set it outside of the garden next to an obvious entry point in the barrier, or among the most vulnerable flowers… even that would have destroyed them. No, this was meant to catch humans.” “It would be hard to justify otherwise.” “I see. Since the Patriarch appears to be willing to grant us justice for this attack, I will not order an immediate evacuation. We will return to the compound and reassess. Ah, it appears our hosts are… bringing… someone?” They were. It was an older red-robed man who looked both lost and terrified. He wore trapper’s gear on his back. Nestra recognized the wire balls hanging from a bandolier as the payload used to slice her skin open. “What, really?” she whispered. The Patriarch, his expression one of thunderous anger, stopped in front of the delegation, dragging the trapper to the front with casual violence. The old man rolled to his knees, expression caught in a mask of abject fear. He planted his face in the soil in a gesture of subservience. “It appears my men have… erred in their duty. This sentry admitted to planting the trap in a misguided attempt to catch a particularly cunning mana boar. He was out on duty once the news of your coming was announced. Despite being asked to check the perimeter for dangers, he failed to remember to disarm the trap.” “I am so sorry!” The old man mewled with terror. Nestra’s visor translated the Vietnamese babble. The man made all sorts of apologies, mostly to the enclave for marring its honor. “There is only one sentence for those who cause grave harm through their own negligence,” the Patriarch said softly, and the words carried across the silent clearing like a death toll. They hung in the air. Nestra’s breath hitched in her chest. She knew what this meant. Threshold’s delegation also froze. Chandra made a gesture with her fingers Nestra didn’t recognize. It was abundantly clear to Nestra that she was looking at a sacrificial lamb. The old man was going to take the fall for a plot that he could not have hatched, and everyone was going to watch. This was just life in the post-Incursion frontier. There was nothing to do. The Patriarch unsheathed his saber, which he’d kept on his back. It was massive, and made of a strange sort of crystal tone that told Nestra this was a portal-made artifact and probably quite powerful as well. Tears rolled down the trapper’s cheek. “My family,” he whispered. “That fault is yours alone,” the patriarch replied, not unkindly. “If it’s about reparations, I’m fine with him just going to prison,” Nestra said. Her words cut through the heavy silence like a thunderbolt. All attention focused on her. She crossed her arms, daring anyone to comment. They knew it was a setup. At least, they must suspect. They were all going through a farce except the punch line was the death of a person. Yes, he was probably the one who’d set up the trap, but he wasn’t the mastermind. Nestra felt oddly annoyed by the circumstances. “This isn’t about you, it is about our laws,” the Patriarch chided, and the Elders nodded in approval. “Just like all will come to defend one, the one must protect the whole, or pay for it. No one from the Threshold side came to her defense. The blade was raised. The trapper gave Nestra one last, unreadable glance. The blade fell. Fresh blood coated the basalt in a shiny coat of red. One of the Elders disappeared and a moment later, a group of red-robed guards descended into the cauldron with a stretcher and a body bag. Nestra stayed where she was while Ilar and the Patriarch discussed what would happen next in private. It was a very short discussion. As soon as it was finished, Ilar grabbed Nestra under his privacy spell again. “You’re acting a bit rashly, Palladian.” “By objecting to an obvious pawn being sacrificed under our eyes?” she objected. “This is a very delicate moment. We need to present a unified front. You knew you had no chance to save that man.” “No, I didn't know that. The Patriarch could have relented and allowed exile instead. He decided to go with the execution instead. Are you annoyed because I’m making us look bad and undisciplined?” “Lacking unity, certainly.” “Fuck your unity Ilar. You gave us a grand speech about values before leaving but those went out the window —” “Don’t you dare! I do not fight hopeless battles, but it doesn’t mean that I approve of what they do.” “If you only speak when you’re sure of success, then you’re not really fighting, Ilar. It’s easy to be righteous when it’s safe to do so…” Ilar breathed hard a couple of times. Unlike their previous disagreement, this one didn’t end with mana-based bullying. Ilar had learned. His gleam eyes still bore into Nestra’s own with barely contained rage. She returned it. She knew he was mostly pissed at himself. “Perhaps it would be best if we took a short rest before continuing this discussion.” Nestra had already said all she had to say. Not that it mattered since everyone was apparently ok with just killing off people as good faith tokens. The raiders returned to the tent soon after so she used the opportunity to retreat to the garden. The light of dawn showed the flowers were fading, the mana sustaining them long since depleted. Fat flies buzzed over the thick puddle of her congealed blood. It smelled pretty bad. The mood was tense and somber on the way back. The trap issue had spoilt the mood. Nevertheless, Ilar and a selection of Elders kept discussing things at high speed far in front of Nestra, a sign the deal was still on. At the speed they were hammering out details, she assumed the collaboration would be extensive. She was sweaty and tired by the time they reached the compound mid-afternoon. This time, the constant attention from the enclavers made her feel more vulnerable. Maybe it was physical exhaustion, or perhaps it was the incident. In any case, her hand kept reaching for the safety on her shotgun. “You should take a moment to refresh yourselves,” Ilar told the rest of the Thresholders. “Our next meeting will start afterward. Cai, Clint, plot a course for tomorrow morning. I believe it would be best if you returned to the city afterward, for safety’s sake. Your mission here is complete.” Ah, damn, that would make cooperating with Fox Mask very difficult. Nestra retreated to her room with the rest of the Thresholders, including the weaker gleams. To her surprise, there was someone in her room. She closed the door behind her. “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “There are gleams with us! They could feel your presence!” Camille waved their hand. A transparent wall spread around the two of them. “This should solve the sound problem. As for your users, besides the two leaders, they are terrible at mana perception,” Camille huffed behind their mask. “Maybe, but our augs have some amazing senses and they have recordings as well.” “I will be careful. Sadly, I came here because I carry unfortunate news. Ong… the Patriarch, he did not believe me.” “I thought you wanted us to gather proof first.” “I know! I know. I wanted to tell him and bring proof later in case… in case I was found out. He didn’t believe me. He was quite angry.” “Well assassination attempts have a way of souring negotiations.” “You don’t get it! It’s my grandpa! He… he was always there for me!” Camille screamed. “Hey, hey, same side.” Riel, Nestra thought, Camille’s so fucking touchy about their family. It’s like they’re a completely different person. Either they were this aloof burglar blade master who always kept cool, or they were an absolute train wreck. Maybe they were just emotionally stunted. “Sorry. Police girl… Crescent. Nestra. I don’t understand. He must be suspicious, but I was brushed off so easily! He should know better! It’s not because I… I…” “It sounds like your grandfather doubting you affected you a lot.” Silence. It was difficult to gauge Camille’s reaction from behind their mask. There was a series of rapid-fire Vietnamese ending with a sentence, uttered in shaky English. “I don’t know why I’m telling this to you, a stranger.” “Oi,” Nestra protested. That was rude. She removed her mask, assuming her true form. Two steps, and her index finger was shoved against Camille’s sternum. “We crossssed blades. You are my rival. Do not dare disrespect me.” “You… you are right. I was being rude. Sorry.” Nestra tilted her head. Being in her true form always changed things. Her mind felt less cluttered, but also more impatient and direct. Less diplomatic. Well, she would still give it a try. “My mom used to say that the wounded beast lashes out. That means you are hurt and so you express your anger in return. I am not your target.” “Your mother sounds like a wise woman,” Camille replied, suddenly very accommodating. “Do you really mean that, or are you trying to be nice as an apology?” “I suppose I will take it as an apology, and accept it.” She hesitated afterward. Camille was strangely vulnerable every time they opened up. “Ok, let me be very direct. Do you have nobody else to open to? Because you’re both sharing and then getting all angry about it.” “It’s not like that! I just don’t have anybody else right now! Before that, I had Nida!” “No. Old age. Nida was… my dog.” There was a heavy silence while Nestra hesitated on how to broach the subject. She immediately lost her patience. “You’re a fucking mess.” “I know! Fuck you, I know. God…” After a moment’s hesitation, Nestra sat next to Camille who started sobbing softly through their mask. Nestra gently patted their shoulder. All of her dreams of a mighty rivalry were crumbling when faced with the fact Camille was even more isolated than Nestra had been. At least, Nestra had Aunt Claire, Stibs, and Mazingwe who’d carried her through the Hard Times. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m here now though.” “He always believed me,” Camille cried. “Before. Why not now? Isn’t it obvious that Manh is fighting against him? I’m so tired. So tired of it all. Why can’t they be nice for one fucking second?” “Hey hey. We’ll get through this, alright? We’ll gather the evidence and they will see.” “I shouldn’t need evidence to convince my family that… ah, it doesn’t matter.” “I did so much for them, hoping for… and nothing. Nothing.” Nestra waited for the moment to die down, then she very lightly punched Camille’s arm. “You are strong in many regards, and hurt in many others. That is fine. Hu… raiders and family can disappoint, but the good news is, you can count on me! Under my benevolent leadership, we will stop the coup, and make your grandfather realize that you are worthy while his other scions are not. “Are you not a police officer, and I a thief?” “That’s the perfect secret friendship. Come on, I bet I could get you immunity.” Camille laughed, though it was a bit brittle. “As I said before, I’m not ready to give up on the village yet. You’re expected for dinner. You should probably go.” “No, you go, I gotta take a bath.” An early dinner had been prepared for the return of the gleams, a more modest occasion than the previous ones. The round table had been reduced in numbers, and the decorations on the plain walls were only half as gaudy as before. The waiters brought dishes with subdued expressions, leaving as soon as they were able to. Only Elders were in attendance on the enclave’s side this time. The tale of Nestra’s near-death experience must have spread from the careful gazes and whispers that followed her everywhere. Before leaving, she’d told Fox Mask they had only one chance at getting the data before she had to leave. The operation would be tonight. She was getting a little bit nervous. Since she was being ignored, Nestra joined up with Derek and Weiwei, discussing in low voices about the food since everything was being overheard. Watanabe approached her during the meal. He tapped on her wrist, then made a very peculiar gesture. It was MaxSec visual code for ‘be ready’. Nestra blinked. No, it was Threshold military standard code, so it made sense for him to know it. Be ready? Be ready for what? “Ahem, if I could get your attention?” Ilar said in Vietnamese. A toast? Nestra watched as all eyes turned to him with various degrees of curiosity and annoyance. Ilar was breaking protocol by being the first to speak. Her visor did its best to translate his words even as he spoke them. “As you may all know, we are close to reaching a functional agreement between our two cities. I would like to take a moment to thank all of you for your patience and efforts in this endeavor. Unfortunately, as you may have heard, we’ve had a problem that endangers the agreement. I feel the need to clear the air.” Watanabe approached Ilar before handing him a wide-screen datasheet, the kind that could be unrolled. Ilar picked it up with a smile. “I am talking, of course, about the twenty-six million credits worth of magical artifacts that you have stolen via an intermediary we know as Fox Mask.” The sheet displayed the person in question, a nice shot taken as Camille was grabbing some sort of measuring tool.