The man looked like he wanted to cry, or to argue, but decided against it. Ishram’s expression left no doubts, he was serious, he meant what he said. So Kibwe just absently nodded—concern twisted his face as he closed his eyes and breathed, slow and shaky.

“Should call the police,” Kibwe muttered as he cleared his forehead from the sweat.

Ishram raised an eyebrow. “Suits yourself.” He shrugged. “Last time someone tried, they ended up in an asylum. Not busting anyone out this time.”

“What are you?”

“Kishaard.”

Confusion clouded Kibwe’s expression. “Yes, but... What’s, what’s a Kish-aad?”

Ishram snorted. “What’s a human?” Silence. “I can tell you what I can do, not what I am. As you can’t tell me what a human is, why you’re here, where you come from. I’ve heard so many version of it, I prefer to stick with ignorance,” Ishram sighed. “Before that, I should also tell you that I killed your son’s friend. As accidental as it was. Still murder.”

“Seth... is dead?”

Ishram knew it was a lot to take, but time was a luxury, he had to make things clear. “Your son's already ran me over for it, though, don’t worry.”

Kibwe was silent for the whole time Ishram used the sink to wash his hands, partially removing the blood. His mind finally allowed him the quiet he needed to gather his thoughts.

He remembered being in the middle of a rocky desert, together with a whole platoon of Kishaard sent to capture him. He’d sent Amar and Shanti ahead, told them to stay hidden until he could free himself of the Emperor’s henchmen. He remembered the stabbing pain when one of them pushed a blade right in his abdomen, the later realisation of how his wounds weren’t healing. The following sickness.

He remembered thinking of Amar and Shanti—Let them be safe—as he screamed and threw himself against his opponents in one last, desperate attempt. His knuckles splitting against someone’s cheekbone. Keep going. Then, blackness.

“Ishram?”

Ishram blinked, raised his head to look at Andrea and his father. They were staring at him—Andrea with mistrust, Kibwe with concern.

He turned off the water. “Yes?”

Andrea still looked disgusted when he interrupted eye contact. He turned to Kibwe. “Mom is waking up,” he whispered. A hint to exit the room Kibwe quickly took.

Ishram was left with Andrea’s wary eyes. “You were staring at the wall,” Andrea observed.

Ishram hummed.

“What’s going on?”

One question too many, Ishram grimaced. “Keeping you all alive?”

“You didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it.”

“So why would I be now?” Ishram anticipated. He faced Andrea. “I clearly can’t have my cake and eat it too, for a start. And it’s not like I have any choice. So, since I’m here, might as well do it.”

“Can you? Keep us safe?”

“I don’t know, can you? Follow my instructions?” Andrea got quiet, so Ishram took it as permission to keep going. “I don’t want you to like me, I want you to not be stupid. This is the end of human territory. You don’t show mercy to the ones who don’t understand it,” he bit.

Andrea’s face darkened. “Do you understand mercy, Ishram?”

Ishram took a moment to consider the question. His mind ran to the many options he had, all the questions he’d been asked, which answers he didn’t want to give anymore. What he owed. “I ran out of it.”

Ishram waited for a response, anything, but the boy did nothing except averting his gaze. So Ishram exited the kitchen. There was still work to do, and he needed a shower.

[:::]

The bathroom was a nice way to cut everything out. He’d only spoke to Kibwe in order to have some direction, and Kibwe insisted he’d take Andre’s clothes. Andrea didn’t complain, but he made a face when his father urged him to fetch some.

Ishram took the leather jacket from the dead Kishaard, together with his black boots. Then, he’d follow Andrea who gave him an old pair of jeans and a plain shirt.

“You don’t mind the cold, right?” Andrea had asked, before throwing the shirt.

Ishram didn’t reply, he just grabbed it and headed for the bathroom. He’d taken a hot shower, studied everything in the bathroom. Some stuff he recognised, other he still couldn’t. He was staring at himself in the mirror. All he could focus on were his tired eyes, glaring at him with no patience, nor interest.

His body was still healing. The smallest scars were but angry red lines, although his abdomen still showed cuts and bruises from being shoved against a tree. He touched the red flesh, pushed it back and pinched the wound together. Some of the hems knitted together and stayed there, others needed time.

He cut his nails, then.

His mind drifted slowly to the last time he’d seen Amar and Shanti. He’d let them run ahead, stayed behind to slow the other henchmen down. The rocky desert was full of places they could hide, but their smell would give them away sooner or later, so Ishram knew they had to run. Find a river, cross it, get lost deeper into the land.

The sink creaked under his hands—Ishram let go of it, before he could break it.

That was how it always went down. He’d kill someone he shouldn’t have, to save his contractor. They would follow, they would ask for help. The Emperor would know. The hunt would begin yet again.

Andrea was already dead, he only didn’t know.

Ishram breathed in, held it there and let his chest tense. It was a good way to let the feeling sink, let it slip down in his stomach and left it be. Bile curled at the edges of his insides, tainting the peace and quiet Ishram sought.

He dressed up. Andrea’s shirt was bigger than Andrea’s actual size, it fit Ishram better but still some loose creases formed. Hair still wet, he put the boots and the jacket on. Only the golden bracelet was left on the dressing table, the one he’d taken from the Kishaard corpse.

Ishram squeezed it, weighing it. Its energy prickled at his fingers, weakly refusing someone that wasn't its bearer. Ishram clicked his tongue, blood-bonded glamours were a pain in the ass. He wore it anyway. Energy spread through his arm, releasing the old charm cast upon it. When he looked back in the mirror, his pupils were as round as any other human’s.

When he got out of the bathroom, Andrea’s mother almost tripped over him. They exchanged a silent look, then the woman left without any word. Ishram followed her with his gaze until she disappeared behind the corner. He followed her footsteps with careful distance.

The main door was open, a car parked outside with its trunk open. Kibwe was now squeezing two big luggages together in it. Ishram stepped out and approached him. “Here,” he whispered, moving one of the luggages to free some space.

“Thank you,” Kibwe said, tone dry and distant.

Ishram didn’t blame him. “You driving?”

Kibwe nodded and frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t want to drive.” Ishram sighed. “But I want to learn. Can I take the passenger seat?” He looked at the... Ishram honestly didn’t know what that was. “Does this thing have a name?”

“It’s a minivan,” Andrea chimed in.

Ishram’s eyebrows raised. “The hell happened to the old one?”

“This is the old one,” Andrea grumbled. He was carrying a backpack, and had changed his clothes, too. He shoved the backpack on top of the other luggages, glared at Ishram and got in the car.

Kibwe let out a slow and resigned sigh. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Ishram grimaced. “Can I use your telephone?” 

Kibwe hesitated, but eventually gave him a slim plastic box. The same he found inside the Kishaard pockets. He was expecting Kibwe to go back inside, ask Ishram to follow him, not this small and fragile thing.

Ishram hummed. “So this is a phone, huh,” he mumbled, examining the black plastic.

“It’s- yes. You’ve never seen one?” Kibwe’s confusion was even more obvious now.

Ishram shook his head. “Not this small. It looks... Very keen to breaking.”

Kibwe chuckled at that. “Oh, you have no idea,” he affirmed. Ishram waited for Kibwe to explain further, but Kibwe’s eyes found his and the man stuttered altogether. “Your eyes. What happened to your eyes?”

Ishram smiled, pulled up his arm and showed his wrist. The golden bracelet was delicate, a small chain with no decoration. “An old trick,” Ishram explained, before going back to the phone. “Er, how do I dial?” Ishram asked, examining the box from all sides.

“You unlock the screen.” Kibwe said, and then proceeded to do it for Ishram when Ishram stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “Uh, like this. And then, uh, you press here? See the phone icon? That’s an- an app.”

Ishram followed the instructions, still lost. “An app,” he echoed.

“Yeah, uh, an application. You- you install them? You put them inside the phone. From an online store.”

Ishram wasn’t sure only half a century had passed.

“It’s, uhm, like a technologic space which any device can access?” Kibwe eyebrows threatened to float away.

Ishram massaged his temple, nodding. “This can’t be right. Are you sure it’s just the twenty-first century?”

Kibwe hesitated. “Are- are you really from the ‘40s?”

“Oh, no, I’ve been here far more than that. But last time I was here, yes, it was around that time,” Ishram hummed. He looked at the ‘app’ Kibwe was talking about, saw the numbers on the screen. He could touch it and it would feel his finger. “Oh, this is so weird.” He tapped some more, just for fun. “But also cool.”

He only knew but one number. It was the second time he used this method to reach the others. It’d worked when he woke up, at the edge of the twentieth century. It took him a bit to understand what a telephone was, but eventually he got the hang of it. Now, it was only a matter of time.

“Who are you calling?” Kibwe asked, peeking at the screen.

Ishram shrugged. “A friend. She said she’d keep this number, she can help you escape these guys.” Then, he pressed the icon with a green phone on it and hoped. Kibwe had already a thumb up for him, so Ishram took the box closer to his ear and waited.

The box- phone rang. Ishram drew a breath in and waited. It took a few rings before a croaky voice broke the silence. “It’s three in the morning.”

Ishram smiled. “You sleeping?”

“Fuck off, Ishram-” Silence interrupted the swearing. It lasted so long Ishram thought he’d accidentally hung up. “Ishram?”

Ishram smiled. Hearing Rajja’s voice always helped when he woke up in a completely different time. “Don’t know, maybe you’re still dreaming.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re early.”

Ishram sighed. “I know. Surprise? I guess. What’s the name today?”

“Ross, thanks. Where you at?” Her accent was different, heavier and faster than Ishram remembered.

“Uh, hold on.” Ishram turned towards Kibwe and gestured at him. “Where are we?” he asked. Detroit, Kibwe mouthed back. “Detroit.”

“Motherfucker, yes! Okay, we’re in the same continent, but I need you to come meet me halfway. How does San Diego sound to your human-buddy?”

Ishram tapped on the minivan and stared at Kibwe. “Yeah, about that.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck off, I’m not a fucking refugee camp.”

“No, you’re right. You work for me.”

“Sister.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how you work for someone.”

Ross swore, Ishram could hear some tapping on plastic, then Ross swore again. “Alright. How many?”

Ishram stared at Kibwe. “His mother and father.” Kibwe tilted his head and frowned.

“Jesus, nobody lives alone anymore in this goddamn century.” Ishram chuckled. “Okay, I’ll manage. And you need a bunch of stuff. Tell them I’ll cover the costs. It’s your money anyway.”

Ishram nodded. “Got it.”

“And don’t turn off the phone. Something happens, I call this number.”

Ishram frowned. “Okay?” He’d learned not to question anything Ross said, at one point. She knew more than he did.

“Nice.” And then she hung up.

“Raj- Ross!” Ishram called, but it was too late. He stared at the phone, how the screen showed the call length, before returning to the application. Ishram drew a breath in, and then handed the phone back to Kibwe. He told the man what Ross wanted them to do, and Kibwe was okay keeping the phone on—it never turned off, unless the battery ran low. Ishram wasn’t buying it.

“San Diego?!” Was the reaction when Ishram told him where they were headed to. “What are we supposed to do there? It’s gonna take two days.”

Ishram hunched his shoulders. “That’s where Ross is. Secondly, anything you’ll spend, I’ll give back.”

Ishram didn’t wait for Kibwe’s reply, he entered the car and sat at the passenger seat. It felt weird, to be in a car with humans, especially humans that knew what he was. It felt weirder with Andrea staring as Kibwe explained what he was doing when turning the engine on and driving away.