A pasty man with thinning black hair stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the hallway—Snyder, the rather angry circitor that’d overheard Rake’s conversation on the comms earlier. Behind him stood the two air-lock guards they’d passed earlier, a thickset man with greasy brown hair, and a tall, broad-shouldered woman who had a mess of old scars covering the left side of her jaw and neck. They both looked equally displeased.
“Hey, Mercer,” Snyder said, a light smile playing at the corner of his thin lips. “I was wondering where you’d run off to.”
Cavalon’s heart sank. He gave a quick look around the empty hallway—for help? He didn’t know why he thought that would exist.
“Have you met my friends?” Snyder gestured to his two bodyguards. “Their families were also displaced by the Heritage Edict. Small universe, huh?”
“Guys,” Emery groaned, holding up the severed Drudger hand. “We’re on kind of an important mission here. Can your schoolyard-bully thing wait?”
Snyder shook his head, and the scarred woman strode toward Emery. The top of Emery’s head came up roughly to the woman’s armpits, but Emery didn’t cede her ground.
“All right, all right, hold on just a sec…” Emery flashed the viscera-covered blade of Cavalon’s knife, then pointedly wiped each side clean across the front of her pants. “I should get the Drudger guts off first. Wouldn’t want you to catch their stupid.” She jutted her chin out as she glared up at the tall woman looming over her. “Y’all don’t need any more of that now do ya?”
In one swift motion, the tall woman caught the wrist of Emery’s knife-wielding hand. Emery glowered as the woman wrenched the blade from her grip, then tossed it away. The clatter echoed down the silent corridor.
“Leave her out of this,” Cavalon growled. His royal Imprints shuffled along his arm, though they stayed mostly in formation as he fought to keep them still. He knew what sliding Imprints implied, and that Snyder would see it as a threat. As much as he wanted to put the circitor and his beefy cronies in their place, he was fairly certain that wouldn’t fall under the category of “shit-cutting.”
Snyder turned his forearm out to showcase the glowing holographic screen of his nexus. “Guess what?”
Cavalon swallowed. “You’re gonna take the high road?”
Snyder’s mouth curved up into a sneer. “Your best friend the EX did something kinda stupid earlier.”
“I doubt she’s ever once done anything stupid,” Cavalon said, in the most level tone he could manage.
Snyder nodded. “You’re right. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. But her mistake was in not fixing it afterwards. She’s been a little busy, so I get it. But it’s unfortunate for you.”
Cavalon raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have the first clue what this guy was on about. Snyder grinned, then swept two fingers across his nexus.
Cavalon’s knees hit the cold metal floor before he even registered the lance of hot pain firing through his left arm and down his spine. His vision faltered, and for a few endless moments, he knew nothing outside of the pain—each grueling second ten times worse than the agony he’d experienced when receiving either set of Imprints.
When it finally ceased, a stockpile of leftover pain lingered along every nerve on the left side of his body. But at least it was manageable. He could function again, use his other senses.
He glanced around, realizing he was on his knees, sitting back on his feet. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he panted through gritted teeth. Through a haze of wetness in his eyes, Snyder’s boots approached. Then came a voice, muffled through a fog of pain.
“See, back on the Argus, they were all fighting like idiots and things were getting chaotic, so she unlocked Imprint control to all circitors.” Snyder crouched down and took Cavalon’s chin in his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. “And she’s not here to protect you now, is she, princeps?” He stuck out his lower lip. “She left you all alone.”