A middle-aged woman sets a coffee cup on the island and lifts her chin up at the front doorway. Caelius almost stumbles back when they make eye contact, and not just because of the nerves; she’s the spitting image of Kiana. Same kinky curls, same dark brown skin, same unbreakable posture, even when she’s relaxed. The only difference is that her mother’s resting face immediately sizes up anyone she meets the gaze of. Caelius has never been fond of being looked at for too long.

Her gaze immediately turns to her daughter and softens, but not by much. Kiana smiles sheepishly. Being a bounty hunter means mastering the place and time to shove the nerves away and focus on the mission. But she’s not a bounty hunter right now. Not to this family, at least.

“I would’ve sent Hen and Isaac to pick you up from the airport if you’d called,” her mother says from across the counter.

“Didn’t wanna trouble you,” Kiana mumbles. Hendrick grabs her bag from her shoulder and makes a beeline down the hall, tossing it through the open doorway. “This was kind of all last-minute.”

She chuckles with the same gentle warmth that Caelius is used to from Kiana. “And who’s this white girl you’re bringing into my house?”

“This is Charlotte Caelius. We work together and we’ve been good friends since I… graduated.”

“Lovely name. Mind if I call you Charlie?”

“Not at all,” Caelius says, definitely looking like she minds.

The stiffness in Caelius’s shoulders worries Kiana. She’s faced off against the worst of the worst and a woman with house slippers on is making her more nervous than she’s seen in a long time. Her mother doesn’t seem to notice.

“So you’re coworkers, too?”

Caelius nods. “Something like that,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you. And see the place that raised this hot mess.”

Kiana hangs her head while her mother only laughs. At least Caelius is good at first impressions.

“Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine. I trust they’re putting the best of the best in those USC classrooms. Just keep your shoes by the door and let me know if you need anything, honey. Or if you wanna gossip. Five years away from home and I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stories about this one.”

Kiana has to grip at the back of her roommate’s shirt to keep her from bursting out and breaking character. Don’t push it, her eyes say.

As expected, her mother’s gaze drifts down to her hands. Thank god her left one is covered, too-- she can feel the sweat pooling, and not just because of the humidity.

“My doctor says I have poor circulation. Only started a little while ago.” Her furrowed brow relaxes.

“That reminds me! My team and I have been doing some research on nervous system bionics,” her mother says, returning to the kitchen. “Really neat stuff. We’ve been trying to develop a sort of catch-all for a number of conditions. An organically binding silicon implant that can stabilize tremors, heart murmurs, possibly even improve a person’s concept of physical space. Total recalibration of spatial awareness. Imagine that! It’s leagues ahead of the biosensors used for motor functions. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Caelius’s eyes bulge out of her head, but it’s not long before Kiana insists on a change of clothes and excuses herself and her… coworker to her room. The only other person she’s seen rattle off that many terms at once is the person latched around her forearm. Clearly, the technobabble runs in the family.

She hardly takes a moment to look around Kiana’s childhood bedroom. Her head lands face-first against the wall. “A bionicist?” she mutters. “Your mom is a fucking bionicist and you brought me to meet her?”

Kiana sheds her jacket, swapping it for a more casual one in her suitcase. “How do you think I feel? She’s my mother and I have to try and hide eight pounds of tungsten-titanium attached to my shoulder from her. At least you have skin.”

“How do you know she doesn’t recognize me?”

Kiana gives her a pitiful look. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not a celebrity just because you testified in front of the ACA.”

Caelius groans and taps her forehead against the wall once more. “You shouldn’t have given her my full name. What if she Googles it?”

“Caelius, you have to stop worrying about being ‘found out’. Nobody has some personal vendetta against you--”

“Tell yourself that! There are plenty of people in LA who would like me dead, I’m sure. I have reason to worry about being ‘found out’. But these people are your family, Kiana. And your mom clearly has no gripes against people with cybernetics. You’ll have to take the gloves off sooner or later.”

The bionic arm is the least of her worries. It’ll be jarring, but easy to accept. The years-long string of half-truths is the worrisome part. Painting the perfect picture of a Cali state school system graduate with a steady job and a good social circle, only to rip the canvas apart. Both of those coupled together, plus the way that gossip spreads like a brushfire in Beaufort, will surely destroy any legacy of The Lennox Daughter.

But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Kiana still needs a couple more days to decide.

Just as her gloves go back on, the door creaks open and reveals a small head of frizzy hair and a resting bitch face that easily outmatches Caelius’s. Vivian eyes her sister without a word before honing in on her guest. Caelius furrows her brow at the sight of being sized up by a thirteen-year-old.

“Gee, don’t get too excited,” mutters Kiana. She dumps the rest of her clothes onto the bed to deal with later.

“Who’s she?” Vivian asks. The way that she sizes up Caelius is even more uncomfortable the second time.

“Caelius. My coworker.”

“Coworker. Okay. What are the gloves for?”

“I have poor circulation now because I’m old.”

“You’re twenty-five.”

Kiana scoffs and throws her arms out. “I don’t come into your room to interrogate you, do I?”

Vivian shrugs and produces an impish smile. It lingers long after she closes the door and slinks back across the house. At least she’s courteous.

“I like her,” Caelius says with a dry laugh.