Chapter 50: Logistics for you.

Chapter 50: Chapter 50: Logistics for you.

Jared stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

"What’s the matter?"

Zoey was sitting up in bed now, hair sticking out in all directions, the blanket tangled around her waist. She blinked at him, bleary and unfocused, as if trying to remember who he was.

"Oh," she said. "It’s just something I thought about before I slept."

"Okay. What is it?"

"I’m getting to it."

"You said wait."

"I know what I said." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I just woke up, so forgive me. You’re going to have to be a little slow with me. Booting and all."

Jared folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Booting? Seriously?."

"Don’t judge."

"I’m not judging. I’m waiting."

" Waiting impatiently. Same thing."

She swung her legs off the bed, found her slippers with her toes, and stood. She shuffled across the room, gripping the edge of the dresser for balance, and padded out into the hall. Jared followed a step behind, still fully dressed, jacket buttoned, pouch tied at his belt.

The kitchen was dim and cool. A thin band of gray light fell across the table. Zoey went straight to the kettle, filled it, set it on the stove, and leaned against the counter with her arms folded, staring at the burner.

"We go on raids at different times," she said.

"Mm."

"Sometimes at completely different times. Sometimes maybe multiple a day. Yours might run long. Mine might run short. Or the other way around."

"Okay."

"I guess what I’m saying is that we never really worked out our transportation."

Jared blinked.

"We don’t have a plan," she went on. "We’ve just been, you know, winging it. Driving together. Going home together. That won’t work. Not when we’re on different teams. I don’t think it’s wise for the person who finishes first to stay behind waiting for the other. It’s a waste of time. It’s boring. And it’s a bit sad."

She looked at him.

"That’s all."

’Oh,’ Jared thought. ’That’s it.’

It was such a small thing. He had braced himself for something huge. A confession. A fight. A new complication. He had stood in her doorway with his heart in his throat, imagining a dozen terrible possibilities. And all she had wanted was a transportation plan.

A tiny, absurd laugh rose in his chest. He swallowed it.

"You’re right," he said.

"I am?"

"That’s a good point. We never talked about it. So what do you suggest?"

She tilted her head, thinking. The kettle began to tick.

"Well," she said. "To be fair, I think we either use public means individually, or we alternate Mom’s car."

[Bold,]

Jared’s lips twitched.

[That’s very bold of her. Considering it’s your mother, and not hers. She just volunteered your mother’s car. Without asking. At 6:30 in the morning.]

’It’s technically her mother too.’

[It’s adopted.]

’That’s still...’

[I’m only saying. It’s remarkable. Zero hesitation.]

Jared coughed to cover a smile. He glanced at Zoey, who was watching the kettle.

’Since I transmigrated,’ he thought, ’is it really fair to say so? Is it my mother? She’s not really my mother, is she?’

[Semantics,]

Jared snorted.

Zoey turned.

"Excuse me," she said. "Was it something I said?"

"No. No." He waved a hand, still wheezing. "It’s nothing. Sorry. It’s just..."

"Just what?"

"I’m surprised you didn’t mention Dad’s car as an option."

For a beat, nobody moved.

Zoey’s eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open. Then a small, strangled sound escaped her, a squeak, a gasp, a laugh. She slapped a hand over her face, shoulders shaking. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, laughing like two people at a funeral, until the kettle shrieked and Zoey flinched, stumbled, and nearly dropped it.

"Dad’s car," she gasped. "Oh my goodness. He’d kill us. He’d actually kill us."

"He’d bury us in the garden."

"He’d stuff us in the trunk."

"He’d have a whole ass ceremony after."

They collapsed into each other, wiping their eyes. It felt good. It felt like air after a long time underwater.

When the laughter faded, Zoey poured the tea into a pair of chipped mugs, handed him one, and took a long sip.

"Okay," she said, sniffing. "Okay. Then transport is fine for both of us. We’ll alternate Mom’s car. Whoever finishes first takes a cab or the bus, and the other drives."

"Deal."

"Great." She set her mug on the counter. "Now if you’ll excuse me."

Jared straightened and gave a small, formal nod.

"Miss Zoey."

She bowed, a quick, exaggerated dip, one hand pressed to her chest.

"Mr. Jared," she said.

He bit the inside of his cheek. She turned and swept out of the kitchen.

Jared stood alone, mug in hand.

[What was that about?]

He didn’t answer.

[Rex?]

He took a sip of tea.

[That was a very specific performance. A bow. A title. An exit. Was that a joke? An inside joke? Is there an inside joke I’m somehow not privy to?]

He set the mug in the sink.

[Hello?]

He picked up his bag.

[Why are you smiling?]

He hadn’t realized. The corners of his mouth were curved up, wide and warm and entirely unplanned. It was a big grin, a ridiculous grin, stretching ear to ear. He couldn’t wipe it off. He didn’t try.

[What’s with the big grin?]

No answer.

[It’s very suspicious.]

Still no answer.

He pulled the front door open and stepped into the morning, whistling under his breath.

* * *

40 minutes later, he was standing in the guild’s wide, echoing lobby, hands in his pockets, watching the clock.

He’d gotten to the training room. Almost. He had barely finished his first stretch when a voice crackled through the speakers, summoning all of Team C to the main hall. He’d sighed, dropped the gem back in his pouch, and followed the others upstairs.

Now Karl stood in the center of the room, clipboard in hand, counting heads.

"All right," he said. "We’re enough. This will do. "

Jared frowned.

It was strange, he thought. A few minutes ago, they hadn’t been enough. They’d presumeably been waiting. And then Jared had walked in, and suddenly the count was complete.

Nobody questioned it.

There were only six of them. Karl, Jared, and four others. It wasn’t much of a team. Not for a gate.

It was past 7. They could have afforded to wait.

For some reason, Captain Karl didn’t want to.

"Let’s move," he said.

They headed out to the jet. They climbed aboard, strapped in, and lifted off into the pale morning sky. The flight was short. When they reached the drop site, Karl whistled, and his owl swooped down from the clouds, huge and silent.

They climbed onto its back and glided down to a quiet industrial lot ringed by rusted fences.

The gate was waiting.

It was a small one. Karl glanced at it, shrugged, and led the way in.

They vanished through the shimmer, one by one.

* * *

2 hours later, they came out.

The gate behind them flickered once, shrank to a point of light and then nothing.

It was cleared.

Nobody spoke about what had happened inside. There was nothing to say.

Karl’s phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and his eyebrows rose.

An alert.

"Okay," he said.

He tucked the phone away and clapped his hands.

"Let’s go."

A groan rippled through the team.

"Already?" someone muttered.

"We just finished," said another.

"Move," Karl said. He made a sharp, circular gesture with one hand, a signal. The team staggered to their feet.

His phone buzzed again.

He looked down. He read the message. A small, tight smile crossed his face.

"There’s another," he said.

The group stared at him.

Nobody moved.

Jared stood at the back, bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his chin. His legs felt like jelly. His throat burned. He couldn’t straighten his back.

Huff! Huff! Jared was still out of breath.