In the end, I gave up on outrunning the inevitable and slowed to a stomp, muttering curses under my breath. Gusion, unfazed as ever, fell back into step beside me, chattering away like we hadn't just turned the forest path into a ridiculous footrace. He prattled on about the cavern's layout, some half-baked theory on how the Fowlshiet nests formed, and how my dagger work was "poetry in motion." I barely grunted in response, arms crossed tight over my chest, the sting of embarrassment mixing with the ache in my legs from that pointless sprint.
By the time we arrived at Orion Index, the sun was dipping toward the horizon. I paused at the automatic glass entrance, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, and that's when it hit me like a face full of gas cloud: 'he's here too.' Gusion was already swiping his keycard at the sensor, the doors whooshing open with a polite chime, like this was his daily commute.
