Bree has recovered from surgery, but we’re still scheduling these ahead as we work on a secret project! Mwahahahaha! This serial was originally posted (mostly!) on Patreon, and has been edited and finished to be posted live on our blog over the next few weeks. But for those who just want it NOW, or who hate reading on a blog and would like an epub… Well here is the epub!
Return to the world after the Beyond Series and meet the residents of Sector Three…
When Ashwin asks Six & Bren to take in an emotionally fractured Makhai soldier, there are a thousand things that could go wrong. But they are hard at work building their school and rebuilding their sector, and Sebastian is a genius who can fix anything. Anything. In return for his help, all they have to do is give him a safe place to find out if his emotional wounds can be healed.
Just one traumatized supersoldier in the middle of a school filled with former feral street kids, war refugees from exclusive brothels, and a few dozen kids who barely know what a school is.
What could go wrong?
—
DISCLAIMERS: this is a serial meant for existing readers of the series. it contains full series spoilers for the Beyond Series and may not make sense if you haven’t read it.
It is also NOT erotic. This is the first part of a very very very slow burn romance between a broken Makhai soldier and an artist who escaped Sector Two after the bombings. There may also be a few other romances a brewing… consider this more like a TV show with multiple members of the cast up to hijinks, even if there are two main characters.
—
The solar panels on the roof of Six’s main school building were a disgrace.
No, they were an insult to disgraces.
At some point, Sebastian supposed these would have been considered cutting edge. After all, Eden and the Sectors had originally been envisioned as the city of the future. It had been constructed by experts in the field of self-contained renewable communities. Eden had been designed to be self-sufficient and sustainable for generations.
Whoever had installed this solar array probably hadn’t reckoned with the Sector being firebombed and then left to decay under the ravages of the weather, time, and neglect. A set-up like this should have produced enough power to power a city block. Now it wasn’t even keeping the building going.
Someone had wired a truly horrifying hacked together biofuel generator into the building’s power supply to make up the difference. It spat ugly smoke and smelled vaguely of the garbage that had been recycled into the fuel that ran it. It offended Sebastian even more than the truck engine had.
And Six was proud of it. Probably because this was the best her empire had.
Sector Three was a heartbreaking mess. Crumbling at the edges, held together with grit and stubborn hope and pride. They refused to admit they were all but broken.
They didn’t have to be. He could help.
He wanted to help.
The roof access door opened, hollow metal scraping over the patchy tar. “Hello?”
Sebastian turned, his entire body tensing at the unfamiliar voice, and found himself facing the young woman who’d been sitting with River and Six at breakfast.
She seemed an unlikely threat. Of middling height, her soft curves and sweet expression stood out in a Sector that seemed full of hard-edged, wary predators. Her brown hair was tucked behind her ears, and her flowered sundress revealed pale skin freckled by the sun. A tiny streak of blue rested high on one cheekbone, and the hands clutching a picnic basket in front of her had nails with paint embedded underneath them.
So. This was the artist. “Hello.”
“Hi.” She stared at him, her body stone still and her eyes roving over his face.
And this was why he hadn’t wanted to meet her. As guileless as those brown eyes were, there was something about the way she was looking at him that set his instincts on high alert. His entire life had been a life-or-death struggle to hide the unacceptable parts of him.
Being seen was intensely uncomfortable.
The silence dragged on until he cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”
That broke the spell. She shook her head a little and surged forward, one hand outstretched. “Sorry. I’m Callie. I teach here.”
He stared at her hand. His fingers itched. Did his promise to Bren extend to engaging in social rituals? No doubt if he asked, they’d reassure him that he could draw whatever boundaries he wished. Everyone here was positively frantic to protect him. Even the tiny children.
His pride finally pushed to the breaking point, he ignored his unease and reached out to clasp her hand. Her fingers were warm in his, smaller than his own but surprisingly strong. Her skin was soft, but she had calluses on her ring finger and thumb.
Definitely the artist.
His skin buzzed where they touched, but he ignored it. He was good at ignoring things. “I’m Sebastian. Bast.”
“From the Base, I know. You weren’t at lunch, and Bren said you were working on the power, so I brought you a basket. I thought you might be–” Her breath caught, staunching the flow of her words. “You’re beautiful.”
Sebastian blinked. “Excuse me?”
She blinked as well. “What? No, I mean… You… I’m an artist, and your face…” She sighed. “Your face is art.”
Sebastian quite literally did not know what to say. He stood with his hand still extended, grasping hers, utterly at a loss for words.
She relaxed, as if speaking had opened a pressure valve. Her smile was brilliant as she released his hand and lifted the basket. “Can we talk while we eat?”
He thought, briefly, about turning her down. But the earnest brightness in her eyes felt like something rare and precious. He didn’t particularly enjoy crushing people’s joy–much to the Base’s chagrin–and he was hungry. Eating was rational. Sharing the meal was a fulfilment of his obligation to Bren.
Such clever rationalizations. It appeared even he was vulnerable to having people say nice things to him.
Moving slowly, he unbuckled the heavy tool belt from his hips. “Thank you for bringing me lunch.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She ducked beneath the tattered awning that had been set up adjacent to the roof stairwell enclosure.
There was a table there–for breaks, he assumed. Callie set the basket on one of the rickety folding chairs and pulled out a tablecloth, which she unfurled over the rough stone surface.
She made quick work of unpacking the rest of the basket, then stood there, her hands on her hips, and surveyed the spread. “Just sandwiches, but I snagged an extra bottle of lemonade and some coffee.”
“Sandwiches are good.” He picked up a towel and scrubbed it over his hands, though he had grease as deeply embedded under his fingernails as the paint was hers. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I’d like to hire you.”
He hesitated with one hand on the back of the second chair, confused again. “If you need something fixed, it’s not necessary to hire me. I’m here to help.”
“Not for that.” She sat and primly unfolded a napkin across her lap. “As a model.”
His fingers clenched around the flimsy chair. The metal bent slightly under his grip. He’d been demoted from terrifying monster to purely decorative over the span of thirty-six incredibly baffling hours.
“You want a model,” he said flatly. “Do you know what I am?”
“Of course. You’re Sebastian Montoya.” She opened one container and looked up at him. “Green beans?”
Bren and Six were warriors to their fingernails. River was clearly a survivor, and dangerous in her own right. And the child this morning hadn’t known the kind of beast she was poking.
But Callie did. She sat there, sweet-faced and utterly earnest, staring up at him like he wasn’t strong enough to bend metal with his bare hands and trained to do the same to human necks without feeling or regret.
Only he didn’t find it quirky this time. Or odd. Or mildly irritating or reluctantly amusing. Her vulnerability enraged him. She shouldn’t put herself at risk like this. She shouldn’t trust him.
Bracing one hand on the table, he bent down until his face was even with hers. “Men like me are dangerous,” he said softly. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. But if you approached another Makhai soldier like this, you likely wouldn’t survive the experience. Tell me you won’t.”
Her smile softened into something almost sad. “Don’t worry, Sebastian. I know all about dangerous men. But you do have my word–I won’t approach any other Makhai soldiers.”
It didn’t soothe him. If anything, the sadness in her eyes made the itching under his skin worse. And that resigned tone of voice, the echo of pain. Soft, almost hidden…but it had been hidden on the Base, too. Sebastian had manufactured the reassignment–and eventual rescue–of more than one domestic handler assigned to his colder Makhai brothers.
Callie was likely from Sector Two. It was unlikely the men there presented the same kind of physical threat as a Makhai soldier, but there were many ways to abuse power. So many ways to hurt people.
Swallowing the need to extract a name from her, he slid into the chair and made a peace offering. “I like green beans.”
Her smile returned, clear and brighter than ever, unencumbered by pain. She served the plates and passed him a wrapped bundle of cutlery. “I understand if you’d rather not make any firm commitments, or if the idea of being paid for something like that…” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “You could do it as a favor to me, and I would owe you one. Or several.”
Making her smile felt better. He parted his lips to agree, just to do it again, but his brain caught up. “I’m a man who isn’t supposed to exist. It might be best if my face isn’t displayed publicly. And safer for you, after I’m gone.”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.” Callie bit her lower lip, then reached across the table, her hand stopping just shy of his. “I’ll work around it. If you don’t want your face to be visible, I’ll do profiles, or maybe shadows. And I’ll swear to you right now, up front, that everything will remain private. No one but us ever has to see it. No one else even has to know.”
Her fingers were too close. He could feel them, even though she wasn’t touching him. At least he had regained enough self-control not to show it by jerking his hand away. He held himself perfectly still and considered her offer.
It seemed harmless. It would clearly ingratiate him to her, and undoubtedly please Bren and Six. But more importantly, if she was from Sector Two…
The irrationality of the people in this sector was threatening to succeed where the Base had failed. If he couldn’t find a way to understand them, he really would crack. Surely a woman trained to understand people–the woman who had created the art in his room with such naked clarity of vision–could explain the people here to him.
“Not a favor,” he said firmly. “An exchange.”
She opened her mouth, and he could see the eager agreement she hadn’t yet voiced. Then she stopped, arched one eyebrow, and eyed him with something approaching skepticism. “What do you want?”
“Information.” He settled back in his chair, sliding his hand from hers. “I don’t understand the culture or people here. I don’t know how to contextualize their behavior. I suspect you do.”
“I’m not from here,” she told him dubiously, “and I’m not sure how much contextualization has to happen. People in Three tend to pretty much say what they mean.”
“I’m interested in your insight regardless. Especially as someone not from here.”
Callie took a deep breath and released it on a small sigh, her shoulders falling. “Honestly? This doesn’t seem fair to you. I’m asking for literal hours of your free time, and you only…want me to tell you what the people here are like?”
Sebastian nodded. “I asked for what I wanted. You can accept or decline.”
“I accept,” she said quickly, her hurry melting into a rueful smile. “I don’t approve, but I accept.”
He caught her gaze and held it, stifling another surge of irritation at her sincere lack of self-preservation. “One thing you can always trust is that a Makhai soldier knows how to look out for their own interests. You should be more suspicious.”
She just nodded politely, smiled again, and took a bite of her sandwich.
He could have proved his point. Risen from this chair and snapped the stone table in half with his bare hands, or any number of intimidating displays of his genetically enhanced danger. He suspected at this point that it would only earn him a disapproving look, like a school child who’d decided to misbehave.
Whatever else the people of this sector were, they were certainly survivors.
And Sebastian was no bully. Destruction for the sake of intimidation was–
pain. fire in his veins.
–wrong.
He swallowed down the nausea that always came with challenging their attempts at recalibration, and reached for one of the sandwiches. It was simple but good, made from fresh ingredients. His appetite was slowly returning. Surely that was a good sign.
Maybe he wasn’t entirely broken.
“Lucky you, you get a head start.”
“A head start?”
“Yes.” She rewrapped half her sandwich and braced her elbows on the table. “Ask me anything.”
He considered for a moment. He wanted to ask about her–and about who might have put that shadow of pain in her eyes, so he could find them and remove from them the capacity to repeat the experience–but it felt too revealing and too raw. So he asked something safe. “Tell me about Bren and Six.”
“Six is local. She had a difficult time under the last sector leader, Wilson Trent. He hurt her. She spent some time over in Four with the O’Kanes, and now she’s back, running the place.” Callie retrieved one of the bottles of lemonade and tilted it back and forth, a slow-motion agitation. “She has a plan to rebuild–I’m guessing that’s where you come in. But nothing is more important to her than this school.” She shrugged. “I don’t know as much about Bren. He’s from Eden, got booted from Special Tasks, then fell in with O’Kane over in Four. That’s how he and Six met. But sometimes…” She hesitated. “Sometimes, I get the feeling his background isn’t so different from Six’s. He’s got the same street-kid air as some of the others. It’s sad.”
“Is that why they’re spending so much time on the school?”
Callie’s gaze sharpened, filled with appraisal as she studied him. “I think so, yes.”
“It’s questionable strategically,” he explained, in response to her look. “The resources she’s put into this could have already rebuilt their manufacturing capacity. Given the rebuilding going on in multiple sectors, that would be the quickest way to achieve financial independence. That’s the way people are trained to think on the Base. Resources first, people second.”
“How very short-sighted of them.”
“Mmm.” He finished his sandwich and washed it down with a sip of tart lemonade. Six and Bren could be investing in the future of their Sector–an educated work force would be able to produce at a far superior level. But Sebastian suspected their motivations had been more personal.
More irrational.
He finished the lemonade and exhaled, bracing himself for the question he had to ask. “When would you like me to sit for you?”
She bit her lower lip. “Tomorrow afternoon? I’m free after two.”
During daylight. That felt safer, somehow. Perhaps the intimacy of being alone, under her too-observant gaze, would be somewhat blunted by fierce sunlight. “I should be available, as long as I can fix these solar panels today.”
“If you need to change it, just let me know.” She rose and began to efficiently gather the remains of their lunch. “You’re the one doing me the favor. I’ll rearrange my schedule, if I have to.”
What were you supposed to say to end a conversation like this? He’d had so few, nothing felt natural. His chair almost collapsed under him as he shoved it back, and he rose swiftly and found himself hovering, unsure if he should help clean up.
Enough.
Enough.
He might not be conversant in pretty manners, but he was a grown man who’d navigated far more treacherous waters than this. He’d survived and even sometimes thrived on a Base that wanted to destroy the essence of who he was.
He would not be skittish around one small, harmless artist.
Clearing his throat, he moved to hoist his tool belt. “I’ll make the schedule work. Tomorrow, at two. Where should I meet you?”
“I have a studio next door to the greenhouse–upstairs.” Her smile turned shy as she handed him two extra bottles of the lemonade. “I’ll see you then.”
She vanished through the door, taking her brightly colored sundress and pretty picnic basket with her. The roof seemed sadder and grayer than before, somehow. The grimy solar panels more desperate, the sputtering generator more neglected.
That was dangerous. He’d started ascribing moods to inanimate objects.
Feelings were truly insidious.
He set both bottles of lemonade down on the sad little stone table and turned his back deliberately on them. Then he buckled on his work belt and told himself that his determination to finish rewiring the solar panels tonight was about getting this building back on efficient power, and nothing else.
Lying to himself was insidious, too.