Hekate's Call, Chapter 39
The simulators had been graciously tuned and upgraded by Aegis to be able to handle Hunter’s fighting style. They still couldn’t handle the Inertia and it was an impossible ask for any system to be able to accurately keep track of that many individual pieces. It was a hit to Chaser’s practice time, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.
Thirty seven to three.
The next round started with Hunter coming in with a low approach through the simulated cityscape, planning to plant two spike charges to disorient and then bring the Scandal down with Hell’s axe while the ACS recovered.
No plan survived contact with the Hound.
Chaser and Illustrious could be approximated to machines. Logical fighters predominantly, analyze the field and come up with a new optimal solution mid-fight using what resources they had. They responded to threats and changes in predictable but optimal ways that removed options and tilted fights in their favor. Strangely enough the more tools Chaser had at her disposal the more predictable she became.
Hunter and Hound were a different category of pilot altogether. They could plan all they want for the moment the fight started, but the moment there was blood in the water and they could drop the pretense of humanity they both thrived. Little more than beasts driven by instinct and bloodlust. Any ace pilot worth the title had a bit of beast in them — even Chaser and Illustrious — but Hound and Hunter were beasts at heart.
That was what Hunter’s combat playbooks were for: recognizing behaviors and drilling in the optimal responses. The less thinking she had to do once contact was made the better because she stopped thinking once the adrenaline hit.
But you can’t plot out the actions or logic of a fucking animal.
She came in too low, too slow. Hound blocked her route with one of those deployable shields but guessed wrong on Hunter’s response — again — and was met by a spike grenade air-bursting in front of it. A fast wire-crawl using all four of the Hell’s reels pulled Hunter back into the air while the Scandal steadied itself, followed by a mid-air turnaround and the fastest wire-crawl she could manage at this height in the sparse street. The Scandal had its own thermal axe ready and swinging at her approach, like trying to swat a fly.
Hunter twisted back and felt the super-heated air rush by, barely avoiding contact with the blade that she’d seen ignite steel on contact, and fired two anchors at the Scandal itself. She flared her thrusters and reeled in fast in to multiply the momentum in her arc and lopped off the Scandal’s arm with the first pass.
Now that the only threats the Scandal had were ranged, the flickering ghost-beast that was the Again in Hell could dismantle it rather easily. Even the Hound wouldn’t shoot itself with missiles or turrets for a chance at grazing Hunter. Though, Hunter still had to work quickly. The new Scandal’s primary feature was a back-mounted flash-fabricator and given a minute or two it would replace the arm she removed.
She’d have preferred to stay anchored to the Scandal while she dismantled it, but the first time she attempted that Hound vented the reactor and cooked her with the exhaust. The second time she attempted it while avoiding the vents, Hound jettisoned the plates she anchored to and used her momentum to slam her into the ground before ripping her in half. Both of those had been split-second decisions on Hound’s part. Staying anchored wasn’t an option, she had to keep moving.
Second arm removed. Grenades in the reactor vents. Finally a leg hamstrung as she made her exit at the same dizzying speeds she’d been moving at the rest of the combat. Core compromised. Scandal down.
Thirty eight to three. We’re done here.
Two bodies slumped out of the simulator cockpits. Krystyn caught Ilina before she hit the floor, though nobody was kind enough to do the same for Vigil. Luckily the simulators were unable to crush Ilina’s lungs the way that the Again in Hell did in reality, so she wasn’t at risk of passing out the moment she wasn’t hooked up to the forced oxygen system.
There was an ungodly, inhuman cackling echoing in the simulator room. Symeon Vigil rolled onto her back and covered her eyes, unable to contain herself. She was practically kicking her legs in the air.
“Again. Again!” She righted herself, that awful cockpit-beast grin plastered on her face as sweat pooled under her. “How bad was your reactor after that axe swing? Bet it was near critical, right? I’m so close. So, so, so close.” The beast fell into another laughing fit on the floor.
“You got her three times,” Morian said in that lovely, dreary voice that indicated she had a very long day both behind and ahead of her. “Early on, of course.”
“Did I? I don’t remember that.” Vigil was barely able to make it through a single sentence before she started cackling again until she spilled her lunch onto the floor.
Thankfully, Krystyn didn’t seem keen on keeping Ilina near her. She could walk and breathe just fine once she’d composed herself but she also wasn’t going to argue with the way Krystyn scooped her up off the ground and carried her out of the simulator room.
- - -
Ilina marched towards Crater’s office with little in her head but the things she wanted to do to Krystyn when she got finished with whatever stupid little briefing she was about to get. Morian relayed the summons, which meant that this was one of Velia’s little games. Her patience for Velia was short right now, especially if it interrupted far more important things like getting under Krystyn’s clothes for the first time. It’s not like the woman was shy like Velia, it was something else that compelled her to fuck fully clothed.
The door to the office hissed open while she ran through all the ways she could think of to break down whatever barriers were keeping Krystyn’s clothes on — it was really bothering her the longer she thought about it, and she couldn’t not think about it — and she was met with Velia. Surprise, surprise! In her delightful little uniform even, marred with unsightly creases from the way she stored it that she never bothered to smooth out on her own. If the uniform was an attempt to get back on Ilina’s good side, it was a failure.
“What do you want?”
Velia came just short of physically recoiling at that. “You are talking to a superior officer.”
“What do you want, Sir?” Ilina tilted her head, like the little puppy everyone treated her as.
“It’s about Symeon Vigil,” Velia deflated. She’d given up arguing for respect — an unreasonable thing to expect after she couldn’t even wait a whole day to start fucking the devil-thing after getting rid of Ilina. Or to let the devil-thing start fucking her. Didn’t really matter.
And of course it was about Vigil. Facing down the dog in the simulator only whet its appetite. Vigil was fucking ravenous, of course it would never settle for just an entire day of her time. She wanted all of Ilina, just like every other idiot on this fucking ship. Not that Ilina could deny having to change her underwear after all the simulator time — she knew exactly what kind of adrenaline freak she was, no self-reflection was needed on that front.
Vice-Commander Velia Lore reached behind her and pulled up a thick stack of paper. “I wonder who taught Vigil this trick,” she sounded weary, flipping through the pages. “Pilot accommodation requests. Symeon has been submitting about five of them a day, each of which I have to read, assess, and respond to with a full four-page-long form to deny it, detailing why the request is unreasonable or impossible based on our budget, space, or other factors.”
Ilina couldn’t help but snicker. It was months ago now that Vigil had asked about those forms and how they worked. Crater usually filled them out for Symeon if she wanted something, after all. Ilina submitted one of her own to Crater to see the process and witnessed firsthand the difference in work required for submitting versus denying a request. She may have been laughing a bit too loud in the cafeteria about how easy it would be to overload Crater to get what she wanted.
Symeon Vigil was a ravenous learner. You couldn’t even make a joke in her vicinity without her learning some lesson from it, and applying it to great effect later.
“So, what does Symeon want?”
Velia put down the stack of paper. “You, of course. But she can’t put that on an accommodation request. But responding to all her requests is eating up so much of my time I’ve been struggling to keep up on my other duties.” She put on that practiced little smile and that sweet-as-candy voice she put on when she wanted Iline to behave, “My dearest Ilina, would you mind going and spending a night with the hound so your beloved girlfriend can do her job properly?”
Morian’s voice rang in her head like a curse. She is a possessive narcissist. You make her feel like she’s in control.
She was always right, of course. In all the time Ilina had known Morian, she was always proven right eventually. Ilina always knew that Velia thought of her as property, which was fine before, of course. Back when she was treated like a prize stolen from the rest of the barracks, shared often, but kept on a short leash. Now she felt more like a tool, a bargaining chip for Velia to trade for whatever she wanted. Maybe she really had outgrown Velia.
“I won’t,” Ilina gave a short, respectable bow. “Is there anything else you need, Commander?”
Velia gave up the composure of the uniform and her newfound role and slipped right back into old self. “Why do you always choose the dumbest things to act out over?” The woman sneered as she pushed away from the desk to stand over Ilina. “What happened to that pretty little thing who always did what she was told?”
“I am following my contract,” Ilina didn’t raise her head to meet Velia’s eyes, instead staring straight forward as before.
“If you are following your contract, then shouldn’t you be taking orders from me, your commander?”
“My contract states I only report to Elisabet Crater, CEO and Owner of Hekate’s Call,” and before Velia could mount an argument, “my contract also has an explicit no changes clause. If you want to order me around, you will need to convince Crater to buy out the remainder of my contract and draft up a new one.”
She took Ilina’s collar up in a trembling fist. Her breathing quick and ragged. Ilina couldn’t quite read anger from fear in that moment. “You belong to me.”
Hunter wanted it to hurt. She could feel herself getting hot about it too. Gods, she really was a despicable thing, wasn’t she? That fanged grin spread across Hunter’s face as she finally met Velia’s eyes.
“You have it backwards, Velia. You belong to me. You can’t remove my biometrics from your door because my contract says we share a room. No matter what room you take, you are in my room. Whatever specialized care you need from Morian is a part of my contract.”
Hunter got ahead of herself for a moment. She’d forgotten those things until now. Velia had funds now, but Hunter still had leverage and position over her. Why had she only tried to use it just the once? Why did she try so hard to impress Velia instead of just bludgeoning her with this power?
“Specialized care?” Velia’s grip loosened for just a moment. She may as well have exposed her throat to a starving wolf.
“I’ve seen your medicine,” Hunter pushed her away. “It’s the same stuff that Morian’s been putting in you since we ended up at Carrion, right? I don’t know what it does, and the old hag trusts me not to pry. But she leaves a lot of stuff out in the open for people to put things together themselves.”
“You’ll fuck everything else that moves,” Velia shouted, finally raising her voice, desperate to change the topic away from her own little weakness. “Including things that actively want to kill you! Are you trying to make a point here? Get at me for the thing with Manya? You insufferable little brat.”
Hunter drew her pistol and hit the safety at the same time, putting a bullet into one of Velia’s legs as she stepped away from the woman’s lunge, turning her body out of reach as Velia grasped for the gun on her way to the floor. Velia was stronger than her, so it was important to keep the weapon out of her reach so that it couldn’t be taken from her — just like Irene Hunter-Falke had taught her in those combat drills.
She didn’t normally keep a bullet chambered on the Gestalt — too dangerous, no threats — but there was an itch at the back of her brain that told her to for this meeting. Lucky her. Her instincts were as sharp as ever.
Velia fumbled with her greatcoat to draw her sidearm. Far, far too slow for someone as trained as Velia. Hunter kicked it out of her hand and took a step back, pointing her gun down as Velia began applying pressure to the bullet wound. Good assessment that Hunter didn’t plan to keep putting bullets in her and to focus on preventing blood loss.
“You can tell Morian that this happened because you tried to whore me out to Vigil,” Hunter put her gun away and grinned down at the woman as she fumbled for the comm on the desk. “I’ve been meaning to pay the dog a visit anyways. Might as well get it out of the way.”
Hunter turned and left the room with a triumphant smile on her face. It felt good. It was the kind of control she’d wanted to have over Velia from the moment Morian brought her back from that comatose state. The situation finally gave it to her, though she really was too busy to get to enjoy pushing the woman around.
Maybe Krystyn was just a stone top. Respectable, but it only made Ilina want to get under those clothes even more. She’d think of something, she was a clever girl and Krystyn seemed particularly pliable with the right incentives.
- - -
Vigil stood bewildered in the door to her room, glancing between Ilina and Krystyn. Ilina refused the temptation to catch glimpses into the dog’s room before entering, instead focusing her attention on Vigil’s expression.
“We’re coming in,” Ilina sneered, somewhere between spiteful and playful.
Vigil stepped aside and waved the pair in, still visibly trying to process what was happening.
“That’s how you ask to be invited in?” Krystyn shoved Ilina, only a little playfully.
The interior of Symeon Vigil’s room was a fascinating departure from anything else on the Gestalt and Gravity. The halo lighting was set fairly low, but various spot lighting was installed over the beds and desks, and along the rows of display cases where the inset shelves were in the other rooms.
It was like walking into a toy store!
Both beds were lined with stuffed… things. Not animals that Ilina recognized, certainly. All the display cases were filled to bursting with model robots and little figurines, all impressively crafted beyond what any printer could manage. By one of the desks was a paint station lined with little glass jars and brushes and a little vent to pull out the fumes.
“Uh, sit anywhere you like?” Vigil laughed as she stood awkwardly by the door. “Nobody’s ever come over to talk or anything. Do you need me for something?”
Oh. How sad. Ilina leaned towards one of the little glass cases and almost immediately recognized it as a diorama of the battle against the Necromancer’s Spoils, including detailed models of both the Butcher and the Scavenger. The Parting Word was nestled into some cotton-like rad clouds. Handmade, or printed in parts and then assembled and painted by hand. Was this what Vigil had been doing all this time?
“You wanted me, right?” Ilina hummed as she moved along the wall and looked through the cases. Some of them were recreations of battles and others were little armies affixed to small bases for wargames.
Vigil let out a louder, real laugh. “And is that what does it for you? Watching?” Ilina turned to see Vigil standing over Krystyn who had taken a seat on the edge of one of the beds. “Or do I get you too? Whatever could I have done to earn this?”
“I’m just here to make sure Ilina doesn’t get hurt,” Krystyn said, dead at the wheel. The woman had been against the idea but this was the compromise they arrived at. Better than Ilina being in a room alone with the hound.
“You didn’t earn it. I did,” Ilina pointed to the other bed. “Sit.”
Symeon was eager to obey, hopping over to the other bed and sitting on the edge. All smiles, shifting from giddy to menacing and refusing to settle for being just one. “Am I a prize or a punishment?”
Ilina slid her hands into her pockets and planted her boot between the woman’s thighs. She was practically salivating already, looking down at the boot and giving it a little squeeze with her legs before drinking in all of Ilina.
First impressions were important. Especially here. Symeon Vigil had been flagging some for quite some time, though Ilina only shared a few of the details with the others. If the hound knew enough to do it intentionally, then it made things far easier for Ilina.
Ilina had wrapped a piece of black electrical tape around a carabiner before sliding it through one of her belt loops when she was getting ready to come over. It didn’t really matter which side, as long as it was opposite the side that Vigil wore the Scandal’s starter, on the keychain with that black leather strip and a couple physical keys. It seemed so glaringly obvious to Ilina but nobody else had ever looked at it twice. She’d started to think Vigil had been doing it by complete accident.
As Symeon’s hungry eyes ate up every detail of Ilina they stopped at the carabiner. Slow realization burned away to that cockpit-grin of hers as she looked back to to meet Ilina’s gaze. No accident, then. She knew exactly what it meant.
“Take it off,” Ilina tilted her head up to stare down at Vigil down her nose. It worked wonders on the dog’s hunger.
Vigil met the order with respect. She didn’t try to tear off Ilina’s boots, frantically pulling at the laces and wrenching it open and throwing them aside. No. She pulled the knot loose steady, confidently, and loosened each row of laces in turn carefully, before pulling firmly from the heel and sole and placing the boot to the side upright. By the time it had gotten the second one off, Ilina found her own heart pounding already.
She’d been doing this little trick for years and to see someone treat her boots with as much respect as she did? Ilina’s pervert heart could barely take it. This was better foreplay for her than what Manya had been doing, and that had been very effective.
“What next?” Vigil’s voice shook with excitement. It was almost cute.
Ilina tilted her head like a confused puppy — playing it up on purpose. “You tell me. You’re the one who’s been chewing at your lead to try to get a shot at me.” She dropped down to make eye contact with the beast, matching its grin with her own awful little smile. “This is it, your one shot. Make it count.”
Action. Symeon pulled up her knees and shed her boots as fast as she could before grabbing Ilina around the waist and dragging her onto the bed. It was on top of her in an instant and she was worried that it was about to rip out her throat until it slowed down and started sniffing at her. Hands moved carefully across her clothes, almost like the dog didn’t want to disturb them. For her part, Ilina forced herself to stay limp as her heart pounded in her throat.
She could trust Krystyn to step in before she got hurt. There was nothing to be afraid of. Never show the hound your back. Gods, it was hard though. Run. Fight. Anything but sit there and wait for it to close its teeth around your neck.
“Stop.”
Vigil’s hand hovered on Ilina’s belt buckle, frozen in place. Ilina turned her head to see Krystyn taking off her boots and muttering something under her breath.
“I can’t just sit and watch,” she said on her way over. “Move.” Ilina obeyed quickly, sitting up to make space for Krystyn on the bed. She nestled in close behind Ilina, placing one hand on her hip and grasping firmly.
“I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Shut up. This isn’t what you want, right?” Kyrstyn sneered over Ilina’s shoulder. “I’ll show you how to use her properly. Here, hold her wrist.”
Vigil held Ilina’s limp wrist and moved it around, freely. Krystyn moved her free hand to grab Ilina’s other wrist, much firmer. A sudden wave of dread washed over her as she sat pressed between the two of them. The distinct feeling of a mistake realized too late.
“You want the fight, right? Squeeze it.”
Both of them clamped down on her wrists at the same time and no amount of willpower could overwrite the fight-or-flight instinct. Ilina jerked at both at once, praying one would slip, and tried to throw her weight off the bed. It was an involuntary reaction, completely useless too, and a second mistake realized too late. Symeon had her face on crooked as they locked eyes.
“Now, help me get her clothes off.” Krystyn held back a laugh and forced some kind of composure. But it was threadbare. She wanted to hurt Ilina as much as the hound did, and no amount of composure could hide it.
With the two of them working together there was nothing that Ilina could hope to do with her thrashing. She was naked in no time, with at least one or two bruises from how hard they had to hold her down. Whenever she protested one of them either shoved her face into the bed or covered her mouth and told her to be quiet. A terrifying blur of action and hands, and a rather pleasant feeling of being folded like paper repeatedly. But there was something calming about the way Krystyn was managing the situation.
“Don’t pull her that way,” Krystyn advised. Something about the way that Symeon was pulling her to adjust her was wrong, would have bent something weird, could have hurt. Lots of pieces of little pieces of advice passed between them.
It was the same as when Krystyn handled her with the belt and the gun. Even their first time under Velia’s instructions. The woman was incredibly good at being rough, and being scary, but being safe. What about all those beatings when they first met? Ilina scoured her memory of those and found similar patterns: things that hurt, but wouldn’t leave lasting damage where it could be avoided.
“Don’t pull from the ends,” Krystyn had Ilina folded over to demonstrate something after Vigil had grabbed at her ponytail. She pulled out the hair tie and took a fist full of hair closer to the roots. “Like this.”
Vigil was attentive and excited about the lessons. Always an eager learner. “Of course,” she laughed, “Don’t want to pull her hair out. Right, right.” And then Krystyn’s hand was replaced by Vigil’s and Ilina was dragged back up to her knees between the two.
She was a prop in a violent anatomy lesson. How to drag someone around — wrist, upper arm, hair if you’re careful, and under the knees. Where it was safe to hit — open hand across the face, otherwise knuckles meet cheekbones and you get nasty bruises and blood, but better a black eye than knocking a tooth out if you want to bloody up someone’s face.
“If I ever see someone start to fade, I like to dig a thumb into a pressure point to bring them back,” Krystyn pulled a distant Ilina up like she was handling a fallen mannequin. “Right here, on the inside of her arm.”
A hand gripped and probed a few times before finding it. Ilina’s eyes focused immediately, bringing the hound back into focus in front of her immediately as she whimpered and squirmed at the sharp pain coursing through her arm. Fruitless. They wouldn’t even let her daydream through it.
But it could have been worse if Krystyn hadn’t come with her. Vigil could have followed her instincts with nothing to keep them in check. The violent ones that spilled out during that duel of theirs. Ilina sure as hell couldn’t beat back Vigil once hands were on her. The result of Krystyn’s guidance was terrifying, harrowing, possibly traumatic — though Ilina didn’t want to think about it like that that — but ultimately safe. She struggled and was met with just enough force to show that she couldn’t get away, but nothing more than that.
It felt… nice.
Something about helplessness and inevitability filled her with calming warmth somewhere between the surface terror. She felt somewhere between a toy between two playful dogs and a steak tossed between two starving wolves. Being the center of attention, even if she wasn’t an active participant was pleasant. Like spending time with the mechanics!
And it was so cute how desperately Krystyn was fighting to keep Vigil’s hands and attention away from Ilina’s breasts. Adorable, really. She found something nobody else had and she wanted to keep it all to herself.
Something brushed against her bush and Ilina snapped her legs together instinctively. A feeling of hot embarrassment flooded her but she couldn’t tell if it was being touched or her reaction to it that did it.
“Ah,” Vigil paused. Scowling slightly at this turn of events.
Krystyn hooked her arms under Ilina’s and pulled her up. “Just pry her thighs apart and put yourself between them so she can’t close them.”
The hound overpowered Ilina, though not without difficulty for what little it was actually worth. Krystyn directed Vigil to shove a pair of fingers into Ilina’s mouth, which they worked together to pry open. She could feel whatever resistance had formed just a moment ago bending and cracking until she started sucking on the digits properly. Judging by the scent of the room already, wetting her fingers like this wasn’t going to make things easier for her. The two of them really ought to have put down a towel before starting on her like this.
And then with Krystyn’s hand covering her mouth, Vigil’s fingers slipped inside slowly and confidently.
“Do you need any pointers?” Krystyn teased.
Vigil shook her head and fired back, “No, no. I figured this part out a long time ago.”
“Let me give you one anyways,” Krystyn shuffled slightly under Ilina, keeping her propped up. “Grab this hand, interlock your fingers.”
Ah! Ilina tried to worm her hand away as Vigil grasped and squeezed, locking Ilina’s thumb between her own and her index finger. She didn’t even need that pointer from Krystyn. But that meant the next part was…
“Now look her in the eyes while you do it.”
Ilina was forced to stare into Vigil’s hungry eyes. This was Krystyn’s most disgusting little trick and it made Ilina feel sick every time she was subjected to it. It was worse this time watching the sneering aggression fade from Vigil’s eyes, giving way to something else inside that wretched shell.
“No need to be afraid,” Vigil said in an approximation of softly. She didn’t need any help with this part either, apparently. Her thumb found Ilina’s clit and started moving in little circles as her fingers arched inside.
Slowly.
Softly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Just like that. Nice and easy. Doesn’t that feel good?” Ilina nodded as best she could and mumbled something into Krystyn’s hand. “Good. That’s good. Just relax and let it happen.”
She could feel thoughts draining out of her head like it had sprung a leak with each second staring into Symeon’s eyes. Don’t look at them. They were gunmetal grey in this light. Don’t fixate on them. Hundreds of little lines drawing Ilina into those black pits in the center. It’s very dangerous for you. She could see herself in those black pits. The version of her she saw was calm. Very calm. Relaxed. Why wasn’t she supposed to look people in the eyes like this again?
Someone spoke, but she didn’t really hear them.
They didn’t seem to be talking to her anyways.
The two of them started laughing, and the shaking made her head swirl. Someone adjusted and she was left looking at the wall now. The Butcher’s cockpit cored, and Scavenger warning her away. She was outside herself looking at the Parting Word and the Necromancer’s Spoils. White-blue clouds obscured her machine from her sight. Frozen in time. Dead forever.
That seemed wrong. Somehow. Not quite right.
Before she could interrogate why that felt wrong she was directed back at Symeon.
Gunmetal plates shifted in the light, all leading back to that little pit in the center with the little reflection. The little Ilina in the pit looked calm. Serene almost. Was she happy? A happy little Ilina. What a nice thought. She smiled at the girl in the pit, and she smiled back. A happy little Ilina.
They were talking again.
They didn’t sound happy like Ilina was.
Suddenly there was a surge of pain through coursing through her body. A thumb pressed into those pressure points in her arm. Her eyes refocused as she took deep breaths through the pain.
“Are you okay?”
“She’s fine, she’s fine.”
“Something happened,” Vigil growled past her.
Focus. Center yourself. Symeon’s room on the left bed. Little spotlights drawing the eyes to display cases filled with hand-made dioramas. Krystyn and Vigil holding her — fucking her — or they were a moment ago. The scent of sex and sweat. Dry mouth and lightheaded. A little nauseous. Alive.
“Are we done yet?” Ilina croaked. “I need a drink.”
Vigil produced one of her gel packs and cracked the top for her. Ilina took it shakily and put it in her mouth. The two of them continued bickering over something. Over her, apparently. Nobody asked her opinion, so she kept quiet as she drained the pack and reached for a second one.
“People always get weird when you make them look you in the eyes like that, especially when you’re fucking them!” Krystyn snapped. “That’s the point.”
The hound didn’t seem convinced. “That’s not what was happening.”
But without the words to describe whatever she thought was wrong, Symeon wasn’t about to convince Krystyn of anything. Ilina moved slightly and realized she was sitting in a stain of slick. Ah, that was why she felt so dehydrated then.
Suddenly they were asking if she was okay. Both bombarding her with stupid little questions. Krystyn had been doing this too. They needed it more than she did. Self-assurances, like Velia needed constantly.
Right, right. Yes, it’s fine. No, I’m not hurt. No, it was fine you were rough. I like that. Everything’s okay. I just zoned out at the end. No, I’m not upset, I’m just exhausted. Thank you for having me.
“Next time I want to get rougher,” Vigil hummed. “A lot rougher.”
Krystyn shrugged and shushed Ilina before she could respond. “If there’s a next time, maybe.”
Nobody asked her if she could walk, which was good because her legs might have given out on her if she tried. Krystyn just scooped her up and had Vigil carry Ilina’s stuff back to their room.
Ilina was asleep before she hit the bed, snoring softly into Krystyn’s chest.