The restaurant Marinek chose serves her favourite stewed-meat-on-rice dish. I decide to let them order for me because I’m tired and I’m sure she knows what’s good here.

Once the server leaves with our order, they turn back to me. “You look like shit.”

“You mentioned.”

She shakes her head. “More than the bruises and cuts. You seem tired and nervous.”

I nod, trying to let their words roll off me as I scramble for the easiest explanation. “I’ve got some bounty hunters after me.”

Marinek nods like this is something she hears every day. “So how come your daring escape ended in flames?”

I swallow my water wrong and start coughing. If I were ever at risk of forgetting how straightforward Marinek is, this conversation has permanently removed that possibility.

Once I can breathe again, I look up to see them watching me, not having even twitched aside from the gentle tapping of one finger against the table.

“That obvious, huh?”

“I saw the news about the crash when it happened, just like everyone else in town. Quite an entrance.”

Marinek’s gaze is unwavering and I’m too tired to try dodging the question. I take a slow breath. Trying to force my hands steady, I roll up my sleeves to show her my wrists. Red markings run around each of my arms just above the wrist, contrasting sharply with the paleness of my skin.

Usually, I’m not self-conscious about the sigils, but knowing that Marinek will recognize them for what they are is feeding a seed of shame at the base of my stomach. The ache blossoms and grows through my chest and up my neck as she examines them. Their hands don’t move from the table and she doesn’t ask to touch, for which I am grateful.

“Runes?” they ask.[1]

“Yes.”

“They hurt?”

“Just when I push against them.”

She humphs and sits back. I roll my sleeves down.

“So you can’t make doors now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re mightily fucked then.”

“Seems that way.”

They pause to assess me. Then: “You want to talk about how you got those?”

“No.”

“Alright.” I let out an internal sigh of relief. “They’re what’s adding to the stress then?”

“Well, they definitely aren’t relieving it.”

She laughs a bit.

“What about you?” I ask a bit too quickly. “How have you been?”

They shrug. “This and that. Mostly protection duty. Guarding things—bodies, cargo, buildings—or standing in the back while people make deals.”

“Any work for the Windusts?”

“Not recently, no. Why? You in trouble with them?”

I shrug. “Something like that.”

“Should I be avoiding them? Or their competitors?”

“I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” She gives me an unconvinced look so I continue. “Neither you nor I should be negatively impacted by you working for the Windust brothers or their competitors.”

They nod then, satisfied. “Good to know. Apart from the guarding, I’ve taken up home reno.”

Against my will, my face falls into an expression of shock. “You’re working as a contractor? Eon, are you literally painting houses now?”

She smiles. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s good money. And I’ve found some amazing instruction books—really nicely written and organized—that make the whole process smooth.”

I nod, still a bit shocked, and try to rearrange my face into a smile because I am happy for Marinek. It’s just that this is so outside my image of them and I feel my brain struggling to catch up.

“Not as fun as the jobs we used to pull,” she continues and, suddenly, it’s easy to smile.

That was a good half a year. Work was good, we made a killing, and I gained Marinek as a friend—by no means an easy feat.

“We should have gone into business together like we had talked about,” I say.

They shake their head. “Wouldn’t have worked out. You had that thing right after and I was too green.”

“You were great.”

She smiles. “If you think so, you should see me now.”

I laugh and smile back because I’m expected to. I try to keep my mind in the moment.

The server returns shortly after. As I predicted, Marinek ordered me the best possible food. I hadn’t noticed how hungry I am until the scents of cooked raisins, nuts, cardamom, and cumin meet my nose. I look down at the plate of rice, noting carrots and lamb. The waiter places some sauces down next to the rice along with a basket of flatbread and a salad consisting primarily of onion, tomato, and cucumber.

I look to Marinek before picking up my cutlery and, as I had guessed, they have something to say. She taps the table twice, holding my gaze firmly.

“This is a festive dish. We are eating it to celebrate the reunion of old friends. I am presenting it as a token of trust. Don’t disappoint me.”

I smile and raise my water glass in salute. “Then I will do my utmost not to.”

They smile, satisfied, and gently taps her glass against mine. “You better.”

I laugh but it feels a bit stale in my chest. We drink.

The food tastes amazing. Marinek is eating some kind of chicken stew in a tomato-based sauce that they let me taste and is also exceptional. I try to chew slowly and focus on this moment, where I am warm and eating good food. I try to have feeling behind my smile.

When we finish, Marinek offers to pay and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, feeling equal parts embarrassed and grateful. I make a weak show of insisting we split the meal before quickly surrendering and offering my thanks. She waves me off and I wonder if they’re more worried about me than she’s letting on.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” And with that we stand, our dinner complete.

“Sorry. For waking you earlier. I just—”

“You’re not sorry; you’d do it again.” They wave a hand to cut me off as I open my mouth to protest. “And you should do it again. I am happy that you came to me when you needed help.”

“Thanks.” The word falls so quietly I worry that Marinek may not have heard it until she hums assent.

“And you need help with the bounty hunters or Windusts or just getting your feet under you or anything else—just ask. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.”

The reassurance warms my chest but erodes over the walk back to Marinek’s place. It’d be too much to ask, an unreasonable burden to place on others willing or not. It’s my mess to deal with.