Whisper kept one hand on Wolf to anchor herself as she looked around the jet, considering. Maker was holding onto Wolf, making sure they didn't lose him; silvery grey dimensional matter slid in and out of reality on Wolf.
Storm leaned down into the hold from the small galley between hold and cockpit. "You figured out where we're taking him?" he asked dryly. In Wolf's absence, Storm would be team leader.
It almost startled Whisper into shattering something—she was too tense, holding too much air around them taut—when she realized he was treating her as second where he was third. She looked in his dark, determined eyes and knew they were both committed. Wolf had to make it.
Her mind flitted through possibilities, picking them up and discarding them with the rapidity of necessity. She found one and hesitated to let it go. She nodded sharply and gave him the coordinates quietly.
Storm looked at her oddly.
"Let me go in first," she said, sotto voice. She held a little more tightly to Wolf, then let him go and slid forward into the cockpit behind Storm. It was time for her to lead.
A dark, quiet neighborhood appeared out of the night. Storm's jaw was tight as he landed the jet in a field barely big enough to contain. Maker's dimension shimmered around them, cushioning the landing and acting as the silencer on a gun.
Whisper inhaled gently. She could hear the crickets singing outside in the tall grass. She unbuckled and headed down the ramp.
She had always been a tracer. Almost before she had heard of the courses, she threw herself headlong into learning how to control and manipulate computers, security systems, surveillance, networks, and government databases. She had known for years now what had become of her family, her parents, her illegitimate sister; there had simply been nothing she could really do with that knowledge. Until now.
Storm shadowed her out of the jet. He would soon be needed elsewhere to help head up this rebellion she had ordered into existence, but for right now, he could walk with her down the streets of what could have been her childhood and wait down on the walk as she stepped up to a homey door and knocked lightly.
It was late, but there was light in the window. Her father had been a military man before she was born. He had always kept long hours, early and late.
Harold "Harry" Lewis. He was good people, as they said in the business. Always had been.
Had it been anyone less patient than Whisper, she would have knocked again, but it wasn't, so she waited quietly in the shadow of the eave over the front porch, pressure taut between her open hands, with only a whisper to warn of how deadly she could be.
The door creaked open and there was Harry framed in the doorway, looking exactly the way she'd always remembered him, perhaps a little more tired, a little greyer around the edges. His eyes narrowed slightly in disbelieving recognition. "Sierra?"
"Hi, Daddy," she said softly, almost a whisper but not. "I need your help."
Kingdoms and Thorn Ficlet: Shattered by Night [1/2]
Storm leaned down into the hold from the small galley between hold and cockpit. "You figured out where we're taking him?" he asked dryly. In Wolf's absence, Storm would be team leader.
It almost startled Whisper into shattering something—she was too tense, holding too much air around them taut—when she realized he was treating her as second where he was third. She looked in his dark, determined eyes and knew they were both committed. Wolf had to make it.
Her mind flitted through possibilities, picking them up and discarding them with the rapidity of necessity. She found one and hesitated to let it go. She nodded sharply and gave him the coordinates quietly.
Storm looked at her oddly.
"Let me go in first," she said, sotto voice. She held a little more tightly to Wolf, then let him go and slid forward into the cockpit behind Storm. It was time for her to lead.
A dark, quiet neighborhood appeared out of the night. Storm's jaw was tight as he landed the jet in a field barely big enough to contain. Maker's dimension shimmered around them, cushioning the landing and acting as the silencer on a gun.
Whisper inhaled gently. She could hear the crickets singing outside in the tall grass. She unbuckled and headed down the ramp.
She had always been a tracer. Almost before she had heard of the courses, she threw herself headlong into learning how to control and manipulate computers, security systems, surveillance, networks, and government databases. She had known for years now what had become of her family, her parents, her illegitimate sister; there had simply been nothing she could really do with that knowledge. Until now.
Storm shadowed her out of the jet. He would soon be needed elsewhere to help head up this rebellion she had ordered into existence, but for right now, he could walk with her down the streets of what could have been her childhood and wait down on the walk as she stepped up to a homey door and knocked lightly.
It was late, but there was light in the window. Her father had been a military man before she was born. He had always kept long hours, early and late.
Harold "Harry" Lewis. He was good people, as they said in the business. Always had been.
Had it been anyone less patient than Whisper, she would have knocked again, but it wasn't, so she waited quietly in the shadow of the eave over the front porch, pressure taut between her open hands, with only a whisper to warn of how deadly she could be.
The door creaked open and there was Harry framed in the doorway, looking exactly the way she'd always remembered him, perhaps a little more tired, a little greyer around the edges. His eyes narrowed slightly in disbelieving recognition. "Sierra?"
"Hi, Daddy," she said softly, almost a whisper but not. "I need your help."