Nix set his fork down on the empty plate. The raw steak was gone, as were the cherries, leaving only a faint, red smear on the ceramic that looked disturbingly like a crime scene. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, his movements precise and elegant, like a diplomat finishing a state dinner rather than a man who had just consumed a pound of uncooked beef.
"The resonance," Nix said, looking toward the back of the diner where the heavy steel door to the basement waited. "It shifts. I must... calibrate."
Raina blinked, pulling herself out of the trance induced by watching him eat. "Calibrate? You mean check the sensors? I haven't set up the humidity monitors yet."
Nix stood up. The motion was fluid, a seamless transition from zero to vertical that defied gravity. He adjusted the collar of his suit, smoothing invisible wrinkles.
"Sensors of a different sort, Engineer," he said softly, his voice dropping to that velvet frequency that made the hair on Raina's arms stand up. "I will return. Do not let the numbers consume you."
He gave her a lingering look, his blue-gold eyes heavy with an intensity that felt almost physical, before turning and gliding toward the kitchen. He moved silently, a shadow cutting through the diner's ambient light, disappearing behind the swinging doors.
Raina let out a breath she felt like she had been holding for twenty minutes. She reached for her water glass, her hand shaking slightly.
"God," she whispered to herself. "Get a grip, Raina. He is a coworker. A weird, raw-meat-eating coworker."
The booth seat opposite her didn't stay empty for long. The vinyl squeaked as a heavier, more grounded presence slid into the space Nix had vacated.
Raina looked up to see Marcus.
He looked different than he had a moment ago. The "Diner Owner" persona he wore for the customers—the stoic, unshakeable civilian—had slipped. In its place was the face of the man she remembered from three years ago. The Sergeant Commander. The Marine Raider who had kicked down a door in Sonora and looked at her down the barrel of a suppressor.
He held two fresh mugs of coffee, sliding one across the table toward her.
"Decaf," Marcus said. "You looked like you were about to start disassembling the table."
"Old habits," Raina said, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "Situational awareness."
Marcus chuckled, but the sound had no humor in it. It was dry, like boots crunching on desert gravel. "Yeah. We're good at that."
He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes scanning her face. The silence that stretched between them wasn't comfortable. It was thick with the smoke of a burning compound south of the border and the ghosts of a squad that didn't make it home.
Marcus set his mug down, tracing the rim with his thumb.
"We haven't really talked," Marcus said, his voice quiet. "Not about the extraction. Not since you walked in here three days ago."
Raina stiffened. She pulled her hands back from the coffee, folding them in her lap. The warmth of the moment evaporated, replaced by the chill of a memory she kept locked behind a mental blast door.
"I didn't think you wanted to talk about Juarez, Marcus," she said, her voice tight. "I got the distinct impression that if you didn't need a subterranean engineer right now, you would have put a bullet in me the second I walked in."
Marcus looked out the window at the dark highway, his jaw working. "I don't kill civilians, Raina. Even the ones who turn."
Raina felt the sting of the accusation, sharp and fresh even after all this time. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.
"Is that what you thought?" she asked softly. "That I turned? That I was cozying up to the Cartel while your squad was taking fire in the courtyard?"
"I saw what I saw," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "We breached the main hacienda. My guys were bleeding in a hallway. One took a round to the neck. Alvarez was gone. And when I kicked in the doors... there you were across the alley with El Santo. You weren't tied up. You were drinking wine."
He looked at her, the pain in his eyes raw and unguarded.
"We went in there to rescue a kidnapped bar waitress," Marcus said. "And it looked a hell of a lot like we walked into a trap you helped set."
Raina let out a harsh, incredulous breath. She leaned forward, her eyes blazing behind her glasses.
"You idiot," she hissed, though there was no malice in it, only hurt. "I wasn't drinking wine with him, Marcus. I was distracting him. I was the Double."
Marcus blinked, his brow furrowing. "The what?"
"I wasn't kidnapped," Raina said, the words spilling out fast now. "I was a plant. Army Intelligence sent me in to map their tunnel network. I was deep cover, Marcus. Deeper than your clearance. I had to play the role of the bimbo waitress willing to witness a smuggling route."
She lowered her voice, checking the empty diner around them.
"When your squad breached, El Santo had his hand on a detonator," Raina whispered. "The entire courtyard was rigged with C4. If I hadn't been sitting there, laughing at his jokes, keeping his ego fed... he would have blown the charges the second the first flash-bang went off. Your whole squad would have been vaporized in the alley."
Marcus stared at her, his coffee forgotten. The scene played back in his mind—the weird delay in the enemy response, the fact that the heavy heavy-machine guns on the roof never fired.
"The roof guns," Marcus realized. "They jammed."
"They didn't jam," Raina corrected him. "I poured sugar in the firing mechanisms two hours before dinner. I disabled the perimeter grid. I kept El Santo focused on me so you had a window to breach."
She looked down at the table, picking at a loose thread on the place mat.
"I didn't turn, Marcus," she said quietly. "I was doing my job. And when you burst in, I had to stay in character. If I had shouted a warning, they would have executed me and detonated the secondary charges. I had to let you look at me with that hate in your eyes so that you could get out alive."
The silence in the booth was absolute. Even the hum of the refrigerator motors seemed to fade away.
Marcus sat there, processing the rewrite of his own trauma. For three years, he had carried the weight of that mission—the loss of his men, the betrayal of the target. And all that time, the woman he thought was a traitor had been the only reason he survived the breach.
"Raina," Marcus said, his voice rough.
He reached across the table. His hand, calloused and scarred from years of war, covered hers. It was a gesture of profound apology.
"I didn't know," he said. "Intel never told us. They just said 'Rescue the Package.'"
"Need to know," Raina said, giving him a watery smile. "And you didn't need to know. But... I needed you to know now. I'm not a traitor, Marcus. I'm a soldier. Just like you."
Marcus stood up. He didn't say anything else. He simply moved around the table, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up from the booth.
He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug that smelled of coffee and gunpowder and safety. It wasn't romantic—or at least, it wasn't intended to be. It was the embrace of two survivors realizing they had been fighting on the same side of the war all along.
Raina buried her face in his shoulder, letting herself be held. The tension of the last few days, the stress of the sphere, the confusion with Nix—it all bled out of her for a moment. She squeezed him back, her hands clutching the back of his shirt.
"I thought I lost you in the extraction," she mumbled into his chest. "I thought you died with the squad."
"I'm hard to kill," Marcus murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. "And I'm sorry, Brainiac. I should have trusted my gut."
The bell above the diner door jingled.
The sound was cheerful, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees in a split second.
Marcus and Raina pulled apart, but they didn't step away from each other completely. Marcus's hands were still on her upper arms, and Raina was wiping her eyes, a smile on her face.
They turned toward the door.
Standing there, framed by the neon sign buzzing in the window, were Pearl and Nix.
They had apparently met outside. Nix had returned from his "perimeter check" via the back, and Pearl must have been taking out the trash. They stood shoulder to shoulder, a small wall of impossible physical perfection.
And they both looked absolutely furious.
Pearl was wearing a vintage polka-dot dress that hugged curves which seemed to defy engineering principles. Her hair was perfect, her skin was glowing, and her eyes—usually wide and innocent—were narrowed into slits of dark, glittering obsidian. She was staring at Raina's hands on Marcus's shirt like she was visualizing exactly how to detach them from Raina's wrists.
Nix was standing slightly in front of her. His suit was impeccable, not a speck of dust on it despite his trip to the basement. His jaw was set tight, the muscles ticking rhythmically. His blue-gold eyes were fixed on Marcus's hands, burning with a cold, possessive fire that made Raina take an instinctive step back.
"Are we interrupting?" Nix asked.
His voice was soft. Dangerously soft. It didn't sound like gravel anymore. It sounded like the click of a landmine being armed.
Pearl stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. She moved fast—too fast for a waitress. One second she was by the door, the next she was standing right next to Marcus, effectively wedging herself between him and Raina.
"Boss!" Pearl chirped, though the cheerfulness in her voice was brittle, like thin glass. She grabbed Marcus's arm, hugging it to her chest with a strength that made Marcus wince slightly. "You look so tired! Did the mean engineer make you cry? Do you need a milkshake? Or a back rub? Or perhaps we should go check the inventory in the freezer? Just the two of us?"
She glared at Raina over Marcus's bicep. It was a look of pure territorial aggression, masked by a dazzling, movie-star smile.
Nix didn't bother with the pretense of cheerfulness. He glided past Pearl and Marcus, placing himself directly in front of Raina. He loomed over her, blocking her view of Marcus entirely.
"The calculations," Nix said, his voice tight. "Have you finished them?"
Raina blinked, looking up at him. The sheer intensity rolling off him was overwhelming. "I... yes. Mostly. We were just.. "
"Good," Nix interrupted. He reached out and adjusted the collar of her blouse, his fingers brushing against her neck. The touch was possessive, claiming. "Then you require focus. Distractions are inefficient. The past is dead rock, Engineer. Stop digging in it."
He shot a sharp look over his shoulder at Marcus. It was a look that said, quite clearly: Mine.
Marcus, meanwhile, was trying to gently extricate his arm from Pearl's vice-like grip without hurting her feelings—or her.
"Pearl, I'm fine," Marcus said, patting her hand. "Raina and I were just clearing the air. It's old business. War stories."
"War stories are boring!" Pearl insisted, pulling him toward the counter. "Love stories are better! I found a strawberry that looks exactly like a heart. Come see it. Now."
She wasn't asking. She was dragging him. And despite Marcus being a large man who had carried rucksacks heavier than her, he was sliding across the floor like he was on roller skates.
Nix turned back to Raina, leaning in close. "You smell like him," he whispered, a note of distaste curling his lip. "Gunpowder and... regret. It does not suit you."
Raina stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. She looked over Nix's shoulder at Marcus, who was currently being cornered by a 98-pound woman who looked like a supermodel and had the strength of a hydraulic press. Marcus looked back at her, his eyes wide with a sudden, dawning realization.
The timeline of events clicked into place for both of them simultaneously.
Raina realized that the terrifyingly beautiful, slightly unhinged man in front of her wasn't just protective of the project. He was jealous. He was jealous of Marcus.
And Marcus, looking at the way Pearl was practically vibrating with the need to keep him away from Raina, realized that his "waitress" wasn't just enthusiastic about the job.
They locked eyes across the room—soldier to soldier.
Oh my god, Raina mouthed silently. You and the waitress?
Marcus's eyes crinkled in a mixture of panic and hilarity. He tilted his head toward Nix. And you and the spooky guy?
The absurdity of it hit them both at once. Here they were, two Special Forces veterans who had survived the Juarez Cartel, trying to build a secret tunnel in a sphere, and they had somehow stumbled into a double-date scenario with two creatures who looked like they had been genetically engineered in a lab to be the perfect romantic traps.
"Raina," Nix said, grabbing her chin gently to pull her focus back to him. His thumb stroked her jawline, his touch electric. "Look at the numbers. Not at him."
"Right," Raina squeaked. "Numbers. Good plan."
Across the room, Pearl had managed to pin Marcus against the pie case. "Do you like strawberries, Marcus?" she asked, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I can be very sweet."
Marcus looked over Pearl's head at Raina and gave a helpless, terrified shrug.
"Okay," Marcus said, his voice cracking slightly. "Let's see the strawberry, Pearl."
As the two couples separated into their respective corners—one dragged by force, the other mesmerized by intensity—Raina couldn't help but think that defusing C4 in a cartel courtyard was significantly less complicated than whatever was happening in this diner.
Part 3 of 3
The silence that followed the double-date revelation was thick enough to be cut with a steak knife, though knowing the people in this room, a steak knife might just be the opening gambit to a duel.
Marcus stood pinned against the pie case by Pearl, who was radiating a terrifyingly cheerful possessiveness. Raina sat in the booth, trapped by the hypnotic, blue-gold gaze of Nix, who looked ready to challenge Marcus to a duel for her honor.
And then, the kitchen door swung open.
It didn't swing open with the frantic energy of a dinner rush or the tentative push of a busboy. It opened with the slow, deliberate gravity of a castle gate.
Eira stepped out.
The tall blonde woman paused in the doorway, a white dishtowel thrown over one shoulder like a ceremonial sash. She was wiping a cleaver with a slow, rhythmic motion that was entirely too threatening for a Tuesday night. Her green eyes, sharp as cut emeralds, swept the room, taking in the tableau of romantic chaos with a look of profound, weary disappointment.
She didn't look at Raina. She didn't look at Nix or Pearl. She fixed her gaze directly on Marcus.
"The emotional volume in this room is unacceptable," Eira announced. Her voice was cool, crisp, and carried the undeniable weight of command. "You are frightening the structural integrity of the building."
Marcus sighed, gently peeling Pearl's fingers off his bicep. "We're just... working things out, Eira. Personnel issues."
"Personnel issues," Eira repeated, tasting the words with distaste. She walked around the counter, her boots thudding softly on the linoleum. She stopped directly in front of Marcus, ignoring the fact that Pearl was hissing softly at her proximity.
"If we are airing our grievances," Eira said, her tone businesslike, "and if we are establishing the hierarchy of needs, then there is a matter of significantly higher urgency than your... jealousies."
She pointed the cleaver at Marcus's chest.
"You have one more job to do tonight, Sky-Bond."
Raina blinked from the booth. "Sky-Bond?" she whispered. "Is that... is that a code name?"
Eira ignored her. She leaned in closer to Marcus, lowering her voice to a stage whisper that was perfectly audible to everyone in the room.
"My sister requires you," Eira stated flatly. "Immediately."
Marcus stared at her. "Liri? Is she hurt? Did she burn herself on the fryer again?"
"She is not injured, Marcus," Eira said, her patience thinning. "She is... ripe."
A pin could have dropped on the other side of the highway and they would have heard it.
Nix's head snapped up, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. He made a low, chuffing sound in his throat, realizing suddenly what the heavy, sweet scent drifting from the kitchen was. Pearl froze, her eyes widening.
"Ripe?" Marcus repeated, his face paling slightly. "Eira, I don't know what that means, and I'm scared to ask."
"The cycle," Eira hissed, gesturing vaguely toward her own midsection. "The Blood Moon. The Fever. In our... village... we call it the Breaking."
She glanced sideways at Raina, realizing that she was treading on dangerous ground. Raina was staring at them with the expression of a woman who had accidentally joined a cult but hadn't been given the pamphlet yet.
"She is at her time," Eira corrected herself, choosing words that sounded vaguely medical. "And she needs a mate. Now. Or she is going to ruin everything for everyone."
Marcus choked on his own spit. "A mate? You mean... me?"
"You are the provider," Eira said, as if explaining gravity to a toddler. "You provide food. You provide shelter. You provide... stabilization. When we get this way... when the women of my tribe enter this stage of the cycle... we become irrational. Volatile. Destructive."
"She crushed a toaster with her bare hands a few minutes ago," Eira added helpfully. "Because it 'looked at her disrespectfully'."
Raina stood up from the booth. She couldn't help herself. The engineer in her was trying to categorize this. Was this a religious thing? A pheromone thing?
"Excuse me," Raina said, raising a hand. "I don't mean to intrude on... whatever tribal custom this is... but are you saying your sister is having a hormonal crisis and the only cure is... Marcus?"
Eira turned to look at Raina. She assessed the human woman with a cool, detached scrutiny.
"It is a biological imperative," Eira said smoothly. "In our culture, the bond must be honored. If the energy is not released, she will burn the kitchen down. Literally. She has already melted two spatulas."
"I am the Sky-Bond," Marcus stammered, holding his hands up in defense. "That was supposed to be a title! Like... 'Employee of the Month' but fancy! I didn't sign up for... stud services!"
"You accepted the position," Eira countered, crossing her arms. "You accepted the protection of the House. You accepted the loyalty of the Sisters. You cannot pick and choose the duties, husband-elect."
"Husband-elect?" Pearl shrieked.
The perfect, polka-dotted beauty released Marcus's arm and stomped her foot, cracking a floor tile.
"He is not yours!" Pearl yelled, pointing a manicured finger at Eira. "I found him first! I was the one who had him in his home! I was the one who claimed him first!"
Raina stepped out of the booth, her own competitive streak flaring up.
"Technically," Raina interjected, adjusting her glasses, "I found him first. Three years ago. In a cartel compound in Juarez. I saved his life while you two were probably still in... wherever you are from. High school? The modeling agency?"
Pearl whipped her head around, glaring at Raina. "Time is irrelevant! Possession is nine-tenths of the law! And I am currently touching him!"
She grabbed Marcus's hand and placed it firmly on her waist.
"See?" Pearl hissed. "Contact."
"That is hardly binding," Eira scoffed. "The Sky-Bond is a contract written in the stars. It is destiny. It is heavy. It is serious. It is not some frivolous groping in a diner."
"It's not frivolous!" Pearl argued. "It's enthusiastic!"
"Ladies!" Marcus shouted. "Stop! Nobody is claiming anybody!"
The swinging door creaked open again.
If Eira had entered like a queen, Liri entered like a hurricane that had lost its way.
The younger elf stumbled out of the kitchen. Her blonde hair, usually braided and neat, was a wild halo of static and frizz. Her face was flushed a deep, alarming crimson. Her apron was twisted sideways, and she was fanning herself with a menu she must have ripped off a table.
She looked hot. Not just attractive-hot, but physically overheating. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
She stopped in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. She looked at the group—Marcus pinned by the pie case, Eira holding a cleaver, Raina looking confused, and Nix watching with fascination.
The silence returned. They looked at her. She looked at Marcus. They looked at her.
Liri's gaze drifted slowly to her sister.
"Oh no," Liri rasped, her voice sounding like dry leaves. "You didn't."
Eira straightened her spine, looking dignified. "It was necessary, sister. The toaster was innocent. You are spiraling."
"You said something, didn't you?" Liri accused, pointing a shaking finger at Eira. "You told him about the Fever."
"I told him what was required," Eira said calmly. "I told him the protocol."
Liri let out a mortified groan and covered her face with her hands. "I hate you. I hate you so much. I am going to go live in the freezer."
"Did he agree?" Liri asked, peeking through her fingers. Her eyes darted to Marcus, filled with a terrifying mix of hope and hunger.
"He is... processing," Eira said diplomatically.
"Processing?" Marcus squawked. "I am panicking! What terms? What possible terms are you talking about?"
Liri lowered her hands. She looked at Marcus, and for a second, the heat in her eyes was so intense that Marcus felt like he was standing next to an open oven.
"The Release," Liri whispered. "It hurts, Marcus. It feels like my skin is too tight. Like I swallowed a star."
"Oh, Jesus," Raina muttered, looking at the ceiling. "She's really selling it."
Eira stepped forward, taking charge. "He is hesitant, Liri, because he does not know the Ritual. He thinks it is merely... recreational."
"It has to be witnessed," Eira added firmly.
Marcus jumped. He actually hopped three inches off the ground.
"Witnessed?" he shouted. "What do you mean witnessed?"
"Well," Eira said, gesturing with the cleaver again. "This clearly has to be witnessed by at least me. In our culture, we witness these things. To ensure the energy transfer is clean. To ensure the bond is honored properly. It is a safety measure, Marcus. If you do it wrong, her head might explode."
"Her head is not going to explode!" Marcus yelled. "That is not a biological possibility!"
"You do not know our biology!" Eira countered. "Have you ever mated with a... woman from the High Valleys during the Fever? No. You have not. You are an amateur. You need a spotter."
"A spotter," Marcus repeated, his voice hollow. "I need a spotter. For sex."
"It is not sex," Eira corrected him. "It is therapeutic alignment."
"I can witness too!" Pearl volunteered, raising her hand. "I have excellent night vision. And I can take notes!"
"Absolutely not," Marcus said. "Veto. Hard veto."
Raina rubbed her temples. "Okay, I am officially lost. Is this a swingers thing? Because if this is a swingers thing, you guys need a much better onboarding process."
"It is a tribe thing," Eira said, turning to Raina with a condescending smile. "You would not understand, Engineer. Your people are... solitary. Cold. We share the burden."
"And the burden is Marcus?" Raina asked dryly.
"He is a very capable burden," Liri whimpered, looking at Marcus's shoulders like they were made of chocolate.
Marcus looked at the four of them.
He looked at Nix, who was just enjoying the show, eating another maraschino cherry he had produced from his pocket.
He looked at Pearl, who was vibrating with jealousy but also excitement at the prospect of watching.
He looked at Eira, who stood there like a grim executioner of love, ready to supervise the act with a clipboard and a cleaver.
And he looked at Liri, who was genuinely suffering, looking at him with big, wet, desperate eyes that begged him to help her.
And finally, he looked at Raina. The sane one. The human one. The one who had known him when he was just a Sergeant trying to keep his men alive.
"Raina," Marcus said, pleadingly. "Help me."
Raina crossed her arms. She looked him up and down. A small, wicked smile touched her lips.
"Hey," she said, shrugging. "Don't look at me, Sky-Bond. I'm just here to fix the basement. Sounds like you have a union dispute."
Marcus stared at her. Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.
"Fine," Marcus said. "Fine."
He shook his head, looking at the floor. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I should have stayed in the Marines."
He turned on his heel, walked past the overheated elf, past the terrifying chaperone, past the jealous mimic, and marched straight to the bar.
He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey. He didn't bother with a glass. He unscrewed the cap, the plastic seal cracking loudly in the silent room.
"Marcus?" Liri asked softly. "Are you... preparing?"
Marcus tilted his head back and took a shot straight from the bottle. He swallowed, grimaced, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He slammed the bottle down on the counter.
"I'm thinking," Marcus announced, his voice rough. "I'm thinking about how much a one-way ticket to Alaska costs."
He looked at Liri, who let out a small, pathetic sound of distress.
Marcus groaned. He was a good man. That was his problem. He couldn't stand to see people in pain. Even if those people were confusing, heat-radiating elves who wanted him to perform in front of an audience.
"Five minutes," Marcus warned, pointing a finger at Eira. "I need five minutes to drink this, and then... we are going to discuss the definition of the word 'witness'."
"Negotiations are open," Eira agreed, lowering the cleaver.
"And nobody," Marcus added, glaring at Pearl, "is taking notes."