Chapter 10: Every Breath — The Key of Oslov

Volume 8: I'll Be Watching You

Chapter 10 Every Breath

Chapter Notes

So we’ve reached the end of this story! More to come soon. So many thanks to everyone who read or left kudos, and special thanks for the insightful comments that make me feel like I’m not alone in exploring this imaginary world. <3

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Chapter Notes

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At nearly eight on seventh-night, when Gersha always worked late, a knock came on the office door.Tilrey was at the gym, leaving no one to field impromptu visitors, so Gersha ignored it at first. But one of them must have left the outer door unlocked, because the next thing he knew, the intruder was knocking briskly on the inner door, practically in his ear. He jumped up with a muttered curse and went to open it, expecting to see one of his colleagues—Besha, perhaps, offering takeout and wanting to gossip, or that bore Ekorin.Instead, he found a young man of no higher than R7 or R8 Level, spindly and pale and wearing large, round glasses. “Bors Dartán, Fir Councillor,” the young man said, his gaze jittering nervously. “Int/Sec analyst, third class, with a private matter to discuss with you.”Gersha’s first thought was that a third-class analyst didn’t belong in his office. What sort of nuisance was this? Then the man’s name registered, and he went cold.With an effort of will, he managed to keep his voice neutral, with a touch of haughtiness. “Of course. You’re the lad that unearthed Egil’s treason.” And I despise you for it, though you may just have been doing your duty.Dartán acknowledged this with a modest bob of his head. Clearly Gersha’s status intimidated him, but his spine looked stiff with determination.“It’s about Egil that I come to you now, Fir Councillor,” he said. “What I have to say may or may not already be known to you, but I feel a strong ob—obligation to present the evidence regardless, because it involves a party close to you.”Was Karishkov behind this, trying to outfox Gersha again? Resolving not to show any concern, Gersha sat back down and stretched indolently in the desk chair. He nodded as if to say, Very well, speak if you must.He hadn’t offered the analyst a chair, so the young man remained at attention, his arms awkward at his sides. “I’m going to show you a series of surveillance images, Fir Councillor. All taken from the hallways of vacant apartment blocks during approximately the three years before Fir Egil was exiled.”Gersha nodded, tenting his fingers under his chin. Where was this going? “And what should I look for in these images?”Instead of explaining, the analyst simply produced a tablet, swiped something up, and handed it to Gersha. “I’ll leave that for you to decide.”*Tilrey had dozed off on the couch. His cheek rested on a Harbourer phrase book, his hair was damp, and the belt of his bathrobe trailed on the floor.Gersha stood over him too long, just looking. Memorizing the curve of the forehead, the knob of the shoulder, the elegant bones of the bare ankle, the lashes that lay dark against the left cheek.He knew every inch of this body intimately, and he thought he knew Tilrey’s mind, too—from the light-filled domains of pride, integrity, and intelligence to the darker corners inhabited by cruelty, grudges, anger. He wanted to think he knew.Was this the last time he would be able to look at his lover this way?“I’m here, love,” he said softly.Tilrey opened his eyes—puzzled at first, then smiling as he reached full awareness. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and sat up, patting the couch beside him. “Come sit with me.”Gersha sat down, keeping an arm’s length between them. He wanted to hold this moment, just to live in it, savoring the faint flush on Tilrey’s cheeks and the arc of his smile in the instant before Tilrey realized something was wrong.A blink, and the moment was over. Far too observant, Tilrey drew himself up, put his feet on the ground, and pulled the robe tight, the smile fading. “What is it?”Gersha knew his own face was pale, and his fingers wouldn’t stop playing with the pleating of his tunic. He lowered his head.But he couldn’t dance around it and give Tilrey time to think of an alibi, as Tilrey inevitably would. He had to chuck it all out on the table at once and see what happened.“You were seeing Ranek Egil,” he said, forcing himself to meet Tilrey’s eyes. “For three years, from the time when he interrogated you in Int/Sec to his exile, you met him every month in a vacant apartment block, staying for an hour or two each time. You never told me about this. What were the two of you doing?”Tilrey had gone very still. When Gersha finished, silence descended on the room, the two of them simply looking at each other.To Gersha’s surprise, Tilrey broke the gaze first. His shoulders slumped. When he raised his eyes again, they gleamed with tears, but the rest of his face was a steel door closed in Gersha’s face.“Do you want me to lie?” he asked. “To tell you a story that sets your mind at rest? I could, you know. I’m good at that.”Something broke in Gersha’s chest, and Tilrey’s image blurred as his own eyes swam. But he managed to keep his voice steady. “No lies. I beg of you.”“The last time something like this happened, you didn’t bother to get my side of the story. You had me packed off to a cell.”Gersha’s eyes ached with the effort of withholding tears; he blinked and felt them spill hot down his cheeks. “That will not happen again.”“No?” Tilrey cocked his head. “And what if I tell the truth, love, and it’s not what you want to hear?”“I already—” He swallowed hard, finding it hard to form words. “I already know.”And he did. All Tilrey’s late nights and mysterious meetings made sense now. So many things took on new significance in this light, from Tilrey’s willingness to ally himself with corrupt actors like Besha to his bizarre arrest in Thurskein.In his heart of hearts, Gersha had known all this time he stood on the edge of a precipice. He’d been raised to believe that Dissent and reformism led inevitably to Dissidence, yet he’d thrown his upbringing aside because he knew the system had hurt Tilrey, and he loved Tilrey. He’d let Tilrey play on his sympathies and his sense of justice, over and over, until he found himself toppling a Supervisor in Thurskein and leading a movement for reform in the Council.And the whole time he’d managed to convince himself he was doing nothing wrong.He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and swallowed again, trying to maintain some kind of grip on himself. He needed to assess the extent of the damage. “And Ranek? It’s true, then? He recruited you—or you recruited him?”“Gersha.” Strong hands tugged his own away from his face and clasped them fast. “I know Egil was your friend, but there was a side of him you didn’t know. He used both of us. He played on your fears to get me into that cell, and then he threatened to keep me there until I agreed to meet with him covertly. He used techniques to break down my resistance—nasty ones. He knew I could be a valuable asset.”“He hurt you?” Gersha remembered how weak and shaken Tilrey had been when he emerged from that cell, and how he’d immediately bounced back, or seemed to.A desperate hope clawed its way to the surface of his mind. Maybe Tilrey had lived in fear as long as Ranek was alive. “Was he coercing you that whole time? Making you work with him?” He forced himself to look steadily at Tilrey again, because he needed to gauge the honesty of Tilrey’s initial reaction to the question, as well as his answer. “If you’ve gotten caught up in something against your will, I swear to help you.”

Look at me. Say yes.

But Tilrey dropped his eyes. “Now you’re practically feeding me the lie you want me to tell, love. I think we’re past that.”Gersha’s heart sank. He couldn’t find the strength to tear his hands free. “You’re saying . . .”“Egil tried to coerce me. Yes. But I got the upper hand, and I listened to him, and when I went to meet with him, I went of my own free will.” The blue eyes fixed on Gersha’s again, shining with something that could be pride. “He called it a reform movement at first, a movement of both Upstarts and Laborers.”“But it wasn’t just about reform.” The words came out in a whisper. Ranek had seduced Tilrey with idealistic notions, just as Tilrey had in turn seduced Gersha.Gersha remembered the Dissident incidents he’d studied in school—the sabotage of three vital factories in Karkei, the bombing of a tram in Redda, and a sabotage in the Wastes that had left nearly a dozen loyal soldiers of the Republic dead of exposure. Granted, all those things took place generations ago, but what difference did it make? Trying to tear down the system led inevitably to chaos. And chaos led to Unraveling.“What have they done?” he asked, his voice shaking with dread. “What have they made you do?”Tilrey’s hands released his. “Nothing! I’ve done virtually nothing you don’t know about. I understand what you’ve been raised to believe, Gersha. But we aren’t talking about blowing up Sector buildings, sabotaging power stations, or laying siege to Redda. I had the same fears at first.”Now it was Tilrey who was being naïve, Gersha thought. “So they’re using you as their spy in the Council and their puppet, encouraging you to push a reform agenda. You’re passing inside information to them—don’t tell me you’re not. How much have they even told you about their greater plan?”Tilrey shook his head, his face becoming that closed door again. “What little I do know, I can’t tell you. Other people’s lives are at stake. If you really want to know . . .”You could join us. The unspoken words hung in the air like smoke wafting from an explosion.For a moment, Gersha actually allowed himself to consider the possibility. Then his own steel door slammed shut.“You’re mad, and Ranek was mad,” he said, drawing himself up like the scion of a proud bloodline that he was. “There’s only one thing shirkers ever want—to take over and run the government by themselves. And if they do that, I’ll end up exiled—you understand that, don’t you?”If they were in control, they’d send us to the Wastes, his uncle used to say about Laborers who didn’t know their place. Every last one of us.It was self-evident, yet Tilrey looked a little stunned. “You really believe that, after everything we’ve been through together? That we can’t level things out without overturning everything?”There was anger in his voice, but also pain, as if he’d sincerely hoped to win Gersha over to his point of view. And it was that note of regret that cut Gersha the deepest, because he wanted more than anything to say yes to Tilrey one more time.The realization opened a calm space inside him, drying his tears and steadying his voice. “I don’t know, Rishka. But I know what I am—a Councillor. I swore an oath to uphold the Republic, not undermine it.”Tilrey’s face had gone disturbingly blank again. “So . . . what now?”Visions of interrogation cells flickered in Gersha’s head, and he knew Tilrey was having the same thoughts. But there was no point in pretending, to himself or to Tilrey, that he could even entertain such a possibility.“Technically,” he said in a flat voice, “it is my duty to report you and give Int/Sec the opportunity to wring every last mite of information out of your head.”“But you won’t.”“No. I won’t.” Gersha’s chest heaved in a long sigh. “I don’t have that in me. I will not dismiss you from your posting, either, at least not yet. That could attract notice.”“But?”“But I will take every measure in my power to ensure you can’t use your position in service of the Republic’s enemies. And our trip to Harbour—you’ll need to find a reason to recuse yourself from that. A diplomatic mission is too sensitive to be risked.”He expected Tilrey to accept this with a sad bow of his head—it was, after all, the least concession one could ask of him. So it was an unwelcome surprise when, instead, Tilrey grinned with a cold gleam in his eye. “You’ll need to explain your reasoning to Fir’n Councillor Linnett.”“We’ll say you’re ill or have family matters keeping you here. As for her wanting to give you a security clearance—well, obviously, that won’t happen. I’ll find an excuse.”“No, Gersha.” Tilrey’s grin had faded, but a look of grim triumph remained. “You don’t understand. When I went to see Councillor Linnett for the second time, she told me there’s a special reason she wants me to go to Harbour—a classified reason. I don’t expect she’ll accept any recusals.”“You’re not serious? Why would there be a classified reason for you to accompany a diplomatic mission? You’re . . .” Nothing. Nothing without me. I gave you everything you have, and look how you repay me.Tilrey stared at him from hooded eyes. “If I could tell you the reason, it wouldn’t be classified. I’m sorry, Gersha. If there were a way out of this trip that weren’t likely to land me in a cell, I’d take it.”“No, you fucking wouldn’t.” Gersha rose too quickly and strode to the window, where snow whirled in the pearly radiance of a high-summer white night. His head whirled, too, with possibilities and fears.“Don’t lie to me, Rishka. I know this trip is something you’ve wanted for years, maybe your whole life.” And I wanted to take it with you. We were both so excited. He did quick calculations of risk in his head. He would have to watch Tilrey the entire time in Harbour—like a hawk. Hadn’t Tilrey implied that his Dissident activities were limited to spying in the Council? But Gersha couldn’t rely on that; no, he couldn’t let himself be taken in again.“I trust Albertine not to put you in a position where you can do too much damage,” he said at last. “She knows you had one arrest for mild Dissident activity in your adolescence, and she’s not stupid. But if you push the boundaries in any way, I will tell her about you. You understand?”“So I’m on house arrest.”Tilrey’s tone was poisonous, but Gersha could hear the pain in it—the disappointment. It would have been so much easier, and such a relief, to be able to dismiss everything between them as a lie. To tell himself that Tilrey had been deceiving him, and he was the only one being ripped apart by this moment.But he knew better.He wheeled back around, straightening with as much dignity as he could muster. “In a manner of speaking, yes. You know I’ll be watching your every move from now on.”Tilrey was on his feet now, too, arms crossed and eyes like a blast of cold air. “I suppose it was Dartán,” he said. “He watches me, too. He came to you. What did you tell him?”“Nothing.” Gersha’s tears were swelling again; he was inexpressibly glad he’d managed to maintain his composure throughout that hateful interview in his office. “I assured him I’d look into the matter, but I had the utmost trust in you, and he needn’t concern himself with my affairs any further, because I was quite capable of taking care of them.”“Good.” Tilrey’s eyes didn’t soften.And for the first time he could remember, the only thing Gersha wanted was not to have to look at Tilrey anymore.“You are not on house arrest,” he said, his whole body stiff with the effort of shaping the words, “because my home is no longer your home. I may not be able to turn you in, but I also can’t—”“I understand.” The room was a blur again, but Gersha could hear Tilrey’s voice retreating, halfway to the door. “I’ll get my things now, Fir, and go to my assigned dorm.”Don’t go. Please. A distant blizzard roared in Gersha’s ears, and for an instant the world spun madly around him. When he came back to himself, he was on his hands and knees, shuddering, his forehead pressed to the carpet. And Tilrey’s voice was above him, saying, “Don’t do this, love. You don’t need to.”Those strong hands caught his and pulled him up into an embrace, both of them kneeling. Gersha buried his face against Tilrey’s chest, feeling the distant thud of his heart, and held on as tight as he could.They stayed like that for . . . ten minutes? An hour? Gersha had no idea. His tears dried, sticky on his cheeks. Tilrey’s breath moved his hair. Outside, a wind began to howl. Neither spoke a word.Then, as if by mutual agreement, they let each other go and stood up, face-to-face.Gersha’s voice came out thin and smothered as if he’d been shouting for hours, arguing with Tilrey or himself.“You need to go now. Because if you stay, if you touch me again, I’ll do something that will make me hate myself, and then—and then I might do something worse. To you or to myself. So please, if you care about either of us, if you care about your cause—go. When I see you tomorrow in the Sector, we’ll act like this never happened.”He closed his eyes and waited for what felt like no more than a blink, focusing on each inhale and exhale as if breathing had become a task that required his conscious attention. When he opened his eyes again, Tilrey was gone.

At nearly eight on seventh-night, when Gersha always worked late, a knock came on the office door.

Tilrey was at the gym, leaving no one to field impromptu visitors, so Gersha ignored it at first. But one of them must have left the outer door unlocked, because the next thing he knew, the intruder was knocking briskly on the inner door, practically in his ear. He jumped up with a muttered curse and went to open it, expecting to see one of his colleagues—Besha, perhaps, offering takeout and wanting to gossip, or that bore Ekorin.

Instead, he found a young man of no higher than R7 or R8 Level, spindly and pale and wearing large, round glasses. “Bors Dartán, Fir Councillor,” the young man said, his gaze jittering nervously. “Int/Sec analyst, third class, with a private matter to discuss with you.”

Gersha’s first thought was that a third-class analyst didn’t belong in his office. What sort of nuisance was this? Then the man’s name registered, and he went cold.

With an effort of will, he managed to keep his voice neutral, with a touch of haughtiness. “Of course. You’re the lad that unearthed Egil’s treason.” And I despise you for it, though you may just have been doing your duty.

Dartán acknowledged this with a modest bob of his head. Clearly Gersha’s status intimidated him, but his spine looked stiff with determination.

“It’s about Egil that I come to you now, Fir Councillor,” he said. “What I have to say may or may not already be known to you, but I feel a strong ob—obligation to present the evidence regardless, because it involves a party close to you.”

Was Karishkov behind this, trying to outfox Gersha again? Resolving not to show any concern, Gersha sat back down and stretched indolently in the desk chair. He nodded as if to say, Very well, speak if you must.

He hadn’t offered the analyst a chair, so the young man remained at attention, his arms awkward at his sides. “I’m going to show you a series of surveillance images, Fir Councillor. All taken from the hallways of vacant apartment blocks during approximately the three years before Fir Egil was exiled.”

Gersha nodded, tenting his fingers under his chin. Where was this going? “And what should I look for in these images?”

Instead of explaining, the analyst simply produced a tablet, swiped something up, and handed it to Gersha. “I’ll leave that for you to decide.”

Tilrey had dozed off on the couch. His cheek rested on a Harbourer phrase book, his hair was damp, and the belt of his bathrobe trailed on the floor.

Gersha stood over him too long, just looking. Memorizing the curve of the forehead, the knob of the shoulder, the elegant bones of the bare ankle, the lashes that lay dark against the left cheek.

He knew every inch of this body intimately, and he thought he knew Tilrey’s mind, too—from the light-filled domains of pride, integrity, and intelligence to the darker corners inhabited by cruelty, grudges, anger. He wanted to think he knew.

Was this the last time he would be able to look at his lover this way?

“I’m here, love,” he said softly.

Tilrey opened his eyes—puzzled at first, then smiling as he reached full awareness. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and sat up, patting the couch beside him. “Come sit with me.”

Gersha sat down, keeping an arm’s length between them. He wanted to hold this moment, just to live in it, savoring the faint flush on Tilrey’s cheeks and the arc of his smile in the instant before Tilrey realized something was wrong.

A blink, and the moment was over. Far too observant, Tilrey drew himself up, put his feet on the ground, and pulled the robe tight, the smile fading. “What is it?”

Gersha knew his own face was pale, and his fingers wouldn’t stop playing with the pleating of his tunic. He lowered his head.

But he couldn’t dance around it and give Tilrey time to think of an alibi, as Tilrey inevitably would. He had to chuck it all out on the table at once and see what happened.

“You were seeing Ranek Egil,” he said, forcing himself to meet Tilrey’s eyes. “For three years, from the time when he interrogated you in Int/Sec to his exile, you met him every month in a vacant apartment block, staying for an hour or two each time. You never told me about this. What were the two of you doing?”

Tilrey had gone very still. When Gersha finished, silence descended on the room, the two of them simply looking at each other.

To Gersha’s surprise, Tilrey broke the gaze first. His shoulders slumped. When he raised his eyes again, they gleamed with tears, but the rest of his face was a steel door closed in Gersha’s face.

“Do you want me to lie?” he asked. “To tell you a story that sets your mind at rest? I could, you know. I’m good at that.”

Something broke in Gersha’s chest, and Tilrey’s image blurred as his own eyes swam. But he managed to keep his voice steady. “No lies. I beg of you.”

“The last time something like this happened, you didn’t bother to get my side of the story. You had me packed off to a cell.”

Gersha’s eyes ached with the effort of withholding tears; he blinked and felt them spill hot down his cheeks. “That will not happen again.”

“No?” Tilrey cocked his head. “And what if I tell the truth, love, and it’s not what you want to hear?”

“I already—” He swallowed hard, finding it hard to form words. “I already know.”

And he did. All Tilrey’s late nights and mysterious meetings made sense now. So many things took on new significance in this light, from Tilrey’s willingness to ally himself with corrupt actors like Besha to his bizarre arrest in Thurskein.

In his heart of hearts, Gersha had known all this time he stood on the edge of a precipice. He’d been raised to believe that Dissent and reformism led inevitably to Dissidence, yet he’d thrown his upbringing aside because he knew the system had hurt Tilrey, and he loved Tilrey. He’d let Tilrey play on his sympathies and his sense of justice, over and over, until he found himself toppling a Supervisor in Thurskein and leading a movement for reform in the Council.

And the whole time he’d managed to convince himself he was doing nothing wrong.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and swallowed again, trying to maintain some kind of grip on himself. He needed to assess the extent of the damage. “And Ranek? It’s true, then? He recruited you—or you recruited him?”

“Gersha.” Strong hands tugged his own away from his face and clasped them fast. “I know Egil was your friend, but there was a side of him you didn’t know. He used both of us. He played on your fears to get me into that cell, and then he threatened to keep me there until I agreed to meet with him covertly. He used techniques to break down my resistance—nasty ones. He knew I could be a valuable asset.”

“He hurt you?” Gersha remembered how weak and shaken Tilrey had been when he emerged from that cell, and how he’d immediately bounced back, or seemed to.

A desperate hope clawed its way to the surface of his mind. Maybe Tilrey had lived in fear as long as Ranek was alive. “Was he coercing you that whole time? Making you work with him?” He forced himself to look steadily at Tilrey again, because he needed to gauge the honesty of Tilrey’s initial reaction to the question, as well as his answer. “If you’ve gotten caught up in something against your will, I swear to help you.”

Look at me. Say yes.

But Tilrey dropped his eyes. “Now you’re practically feeding me the lie you want me to tell, love. I think we’re past that.”

Gersha’s heart sank. He couldn’t find the strength to tear his hands free. “You’re saying . . .”

“Egil tried to coerce me. Yes. But I got the upper hand, and I listened to him, and when I went to meet with him, I went of my own free will.” The blue eyes fixed on Gersha’s again, shining with something that could be pride. “He called it a reform movement at first, a movement of both Upstarts and Laborers.”

“But it wasn’t just about reform.” The words came out in a whisper. Ranek had seduced Tilrey with idealistic notions, just as Tilrey had in turn seduced Gersha.

Gersha remembered the Dissident incidents he’d studied in school—the sabotage of three vital factories in Karkei, the bombing of a tram in Redda, and a sabotage in the Wastes that had left nearly a dozen loyal soldiers of the Republic dead of exposure. Granted, all those things took place generations ago, but what difference did it make? Trying to tear down the system led inevitably to chaos. And chaos led to Unraveling.

“What have they done?” he asked, his voice shaking with dread. “What have they made you do?”

Tilrey’s hands released his. “Nothing! I’ve done virtually nothing you don’t know about. I understand what you’ve been raised to believe, Gersha. But we aren’t talking about blowing up Sector buildings, sabotaging power stations, or laying siege to Redda. I had the same fears at first.”

Now it was Tilrey who was being naïve, Gersha thought. “So they’re using you as their spy in the Council and their puppet, encouraging you to push a reform agenda. You’re passing inside information to them—don’t tell me you’re not. How much have they even told you about their greater plan?”

Tilrey shook his head, his face becoming that closed door again. “What little I do know, I can’t tell you. Other people’s lives are at stake. If you really want to know . . .”

You could join us. The unspoken words hung in the air like smoke wafting from an explosion.

For a moment, Gersha actually allowed himself to consider the possibility. Then his own steel door slammed shut.

“You’re mad, and Ranek was mad,” he said, drawing himself up like the scion of a proud bloodline that he was. “There’s only one thing shirkers ever want—to take over and run the government by themselves. And if they do that, I’ll end up exiled—you understand that, don’t you?”

If they were in control, they’d send us to the Wastes, his uncle used to say about Laborers who didn’t know their place. Every last one of us.

It was self-evident, yet Tilrey looked a little stunned. “You really believe that, after everything we’ve been through together? That we can’t level things out without overturning everything?”

There was anger in his voice, but also pain, as if he’d sincerely hoped to win Gersha over to his point of view. And it was that note of regret that cut Gersha the deepest, because he wanted more than anything to say yes to Tilrey one more time.

The realization opened a calm space inside him, drying his tears and steadying his voice. “I don’t know, Rishka. But I know what I am—a Councillor. I swore an oath to uphold the Republic, not undermine it.”

Tilrey’s face had gone disturbingly blank again. “So . . . what now?”

Visions of interrogation cells flickered in Gersha’s head, and he knew Tilrey was having the same thoughts. But there was no point in pretending, to himself or to Tilrey, that he could even entertain such a possibility.

“Technically,” he said in a flat voice, “it is my duty to report you and give Int/Sec the opportunity to wring every last mite of information out of your head.”

“But you won’t.”

“No. I won’t.” Gersha’s chest heaved in a long sigh. “I don’t have that in me. I will not dismiss you from your posting, either, at least not yet. That could attract notice.”

“But?”

“But I will take every measure in my power to ensure you can’t use your position in service of the Republic’s enemies. And our trip to Harbour—you’ll need to find a reason to recuse yourself from that. A diplomatic mission is too sensitive to be risked.”

He expected Tilrey to accept this with a sad bow of his head—it was, after all, the least concession one could ask of him. So it was an unwelcome surprise when, instead, Tilrey grinned with a cold gleam in his eye. “You’ll need to explain your reasoning to Fir’n Councillor Linnett.”

“We’ll say you’re ill or have family matters keeping you here. As for her wanting to give you a security clearance—well, obviously, that won’t happen. I’ll find an excuse.”

“No, Gersha.” Tilrey’s grin had faded, but a look of grim triumph remained. “You don’t understand. When I went to see Councillor Linnett for the second time, she told me there’s a special reason she wants me to go to Harbour—a classified reason. I don’t expect she’ll accept any recusals.”

“You’re not serious? Why would there be a classified reason for you to accompany a diplomatic mission? You’re . . .” Nothing. Nothing without me. I gave you everything you have, and look how you repay me.

Tilrey stared at him from hooded eyes. “If I could tell you the reason, it wouldn’t be classified. I’m sorry, Gersha. If there were a way out of this trip that weren’t likely to land me in a cell, I’d take it.”

“No, you fucking wouldn’t.” Gersha rose too quickly and strode to the window, where snow whirled in the pearly radiance of a high-summer white night. His head whirled, too, with possibilities and fears.

“Don’t lie to me, Rishka. I know this trip is something you’ve wanted for years, maybe your whole life.” And I wanted to take it with you. We were both so excited. He did quick calculations of risk in his head. He would have to watch Tilrey the entire time in Harbour—like a hawk. Hadn’t Tilrey implied that his Dissident activities were limited to spying in the Council? But Gersha couldn’t rely on that; no, he couldn’t let himself be taken in again.

“I trust Albertine not to put you in a position where you can do too much damage,” he said at last. “She knows you had one arrest for mild Dissident activity in your adolescence, and she’s not stupid. But if you push the boundaries in any way, I will tell her about you. You understand?”

“So I’m on house arrest.”

Tilrey’s tone was poisonous, but Gersha could hear the pain in it—the disappointment. It would have been so much easier, and such a relief, to be able to dismiss everything between them as a lie. To tell himself that Tilrey had been deceiving him, and he was the only one being ripped apart by this moment.

But he knew better.

He wheeled back around, straightening with as much dignity as he could muster. “In a manner of speaking, yes. You know I’ll be watching your every move from now on.”

Tilrey was on his feet now, too, arms crossed and eyes like a blast of cold air. “I suppose it was Dartán,” he said. “He watches me, too. He came to you. What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” Gersha’s tears were swelling again; he was inexpressibly glad he’d managed to maintain his composure throughout that hateful interview in his office. “I assured him I’d look into the matter, but I had the utmost trust in you, and he needn’t concern himself with my affairs any further, because I was quite capable of taking care of them.”

“Good.” Tilrey’s eyes didn’t soften.

And for the first time he could remember, the only thing Gersha wanted was not to have to look at Tilrey anymore.

“You are not on house arrest,” he said, his whole body stiff with the effort of shaping the words, “because my home is no longer your home. I may not be able to turn you in, but I also can’t—”

“I understand.” The room was a blur again, but Gersha could hear Tilrey’s voice retreating, halfway to the door. “I’ll get my things now, Fir, and go to my assigned dorm.”

Don’t go. Please. A distant blizzard roared in Gersha’s ears, and for an instant the world spun madly around him. When he came back to himself, he was on his hands and knees, shuddering, his forehead pressed to the carpet. And Tilrey’s voice was above him, saying, “Don’t do this, love. You don’t need to.”

Those strong hands caught his and pulled him up into an embrace, both of them kneeling. Gersha buried his face against Tilrey’s chest, feeling the distant thud of his heart, and held on as tight as he could.

They stayed like that for . . . ten minutes? An hour? Gersha had no idea. His tears dried, sticky on his cheeks. Tilrey’s breath moved his hair. Outside, a wind began to howl. Neither spoke a word.

Then, as if by mutual agreement, they let each other go and stood up, face-to-face.

Gersha’s voice came out thin and smothered as if he’d been shouting for hours, arguing with Tilrey or himself.

“You need to go now. Because if you stay, if you touch me again, I’ll do something that will make me hate myself, and then—and then I might do something worse. To you or to myself. So please, if you care about either of us, if you care about your cause—go. When I see you tomorrow in the Sector, we’ll act like this never happened.”

He closed his eyes and waited for what felt like no more than a blink, focusing on each inhale and exhale as if breathing had become a task that required his conscious attention. When he opened his eyes again, Tilrey was gone.

Chapter End Notes

That was a hard scene to write! But I hope it’s clear these two aren’t ready to let each other go. There will be tenderness and make-up sex in their future, just not immediately. :)Next on the menu is a short (probably?) story where we see Tilrey’s reaction to what just happened, and then the longer trip to Harbour story. I’m excited about doing some more worldbuilding. Thanks again for reading!!!

Chapter End Notes

That was a hard scene to write! But I hope it’s clear these two aren’t ready to let each other go. There will be tenderness and make-up sex in their future, just not immediately. :)

Next on the menu is a short (probably?) story where we see Tilrey’s reaction to what just happened, and then the longer trip to Harbour story. I’m excited about doing some more worldbuilding. Thanks again for reading!!!