Arc 9 | Chapter 409: Sometimes, You Just Have to Cry in the Bathroom

The moment Mikhail pressed a message reading,

“There are too many Drini who don’t want us here, and they’re thinking bad things about Emmie!”

into their group relay, forwarding along the readings from Coral that he had picked out as being

off

, Emilia breathed a sigh of relief. Thank fuck for Mikhail and his ability to pick up on the smallest of things. While the guy wasn’t traditionally intelligent, that difference in how his brain worked sometimes let him see things no one else would, and in this case, Emilia was going to have to lather praise on him.

The problem throughout this entire situation was that she had only barely been able to tell anyone that

something

was happening in the city because most of what she could say was locked behind The Black Knot’s private relay. Essentially, she and Halen had both been able to tell everyone that Olivier was seemingly dead, and she had been able to show them what had led up to his disappearance. All that information about how The Black Knot had already known that something was potentially brewing in the nation, and in Falmíer in particular? No, that she couldn’t tell them.

Instead, Emilia had needed to talk around that fact. In the end, she’d been able to tell them that the clones were already looking for Olivier, while also dealing with finding his runaway students and escorting the ones who hadn’t fucked off back to the embassy, all written around a vague implication that they had already been alert to the goings-on of their group. She’d also been able to tell them that Cameron had caused a bit of an incident when she’d taken off, and she had needed to escape her in order to look for Olivier. Then, she’d been able to tell them about the scary man she’d run into, and everything from there forward she had been more or less free to tell them.

Anything that was too entwined with her information about something happening in the city, however? All those wondering of whether the Drinarna were explicitly involved? Of whether Cameron knew or was just a passive party, her strings being pulled as she tried to keep Emilia under control so she either wouldn’t set the situation off or wouldn’t interfere when it exploded? Emilia hadn’t been able to tell any of her friends about that—fucking stars! She hadn’t even been able to tell them that those Drinarna officers back at the bakery had been corrupt!

Instead, she had needed to talk around all of that information, not even being allowed to say that the scary man had technically rescued her from the officers and their threats. Fortunately, she was good at that sort of talking around, and between Halen and all the Black Knot children in her rescue group, they’d been able to read between some of those lines.

Emilia didn’t want to see the scary man again, but if she did, she would perhaps try to thank him. Why? She didn’t know. Just a vibe? Because he hadn’t killed her? Because he had done something that had made her life a little easier? Because he had let her leave, which she had already been trying to do—emphasis on the

trying

! Such an odd thing, that—that this terrifying criminal should be thanked for letting her go; that she should need to

try

to leave the presence of several Drinarna agents while she was supposedly helping with their investigation into a missing Baalphorian non-dev.

Other things she had slipped into their group relay, poking at her friends to understand the situation? That she wouldn’t be contacting Wander—that it might be dangerous to let him know what was happening. Again, a thousand questions circled that sentiment, and through a give and take of fragments of information, her friends had landed at the assumption that something was up with the Drinarna—that none of them would be safe with the officers.

Still, it was just an assumption, and Emilia had never really managed to get through to them that, rather than the Drinarna not wanting her there as a whole, only part of the organization seemed to be corrupt. Neither had she been able to get them to realize that she was currently assuming that everything occurring had already been a vaguely known situation brewing in the background of the bustling city. So, the implication that the Drinarna were working for at least one faction of the same criminal organization had been lost on them, as had the fact that The Black Knot had already known that something was up in the city. Rafe might have guessed, but he wasn’t the sort to accidentally throw him family to the chaos that was their friend group without confirmation—and Emilia had no doubt that a few of them might blame The Black Knot for even allowing Olivier and his students into Lüshan.

Emilia… wasn’t sure whether to argue with them on that or not. It would have been rather suspicious for them to start recommending Baalphorians

not

visit Lüshan—especially considering how few visited the Free Colony in the first place. Probably, had Malcolm known Olivier was bringing his class there, he would have subtly suggested they not. With the tickets for the airship already bought, and the trip planned, however, it wouldn’t have been so easy to change everything around. While a random, missed class trip might not set off anyone’s awareness that The Black Knot knew something was up, it might have; hence, she understood why The Black Knot had decided to just let everything lie and not interfere too much. When she found Olivier, however, she was going to ask what he would have done, had he been advised not to go to Falmíer before they left—had Malcolm told him not to let his students off the ship, if the warning had come even just that morning. Potentially, he could have claimed illness, or perhaps that his students clearly weren’t prepared to be wandering around the Free Colonies, and they needed a talking to. It would have been believable, given the whole

running off at the first chance

thing.

These were all things Emilia had been trying not to think about, though. The fact that she couldn’t tell her friends the whole of the situation was frustrating, her only solace that locked relays were a little looser when talking to Free Coloniers, and combined with Jerrial and Vern already being aware of the criminals' organization, she’d been able to share quite a few of her thoughts with them—really, locked relays had so many issues and the moment she was back in Baalphoria she was going to be figuring out a way to make them better. Seriously, the fact that

she

couldn’t speak about what she knew with any of her friends, yet, if they ran into each other, Jerrial and Vern could share some of what she knew because her Censor had allowed her to share some of that locked information with them was just stupid!

In the end, skills and functions were only as smart as the person who created them, and errors happened. Actually, locked relays were old enough that the designer might not have even considered that someone using them would be in a position to be sharing information with a Free Colonier.

More than all that frustration, however, there had been the horrific reality that she couldn’t give voice to what the Drinarna officers had been willing to do to her—not to anyone she wanted to tell, wanted to steal a hug from.

Someone had threatened her—someone who was an authority figure. They were supposed to keep the peace. Law enforcement were supposed to protect everyone, and especially people like her, who were so often the victims of crimes for things they couldn’t control. Instead, that man had turned around and threatened the thing that people the continent over had, for millennia, argued

was fine

.

They were just silverstrains.

Natural-born sluts.

What’s a little force, when their genetics will make the wet and willing regardless?

Fuck, they might even get off on it, willing little whores that they were.

That man was supposed to protect people like her. Instead, he had been all too happy to threaten her. Worse, the other officers had barely spared his threats a second thought. Emilia had little doubt that, had she not gotten away—were she not the monster she was—the man would have taken her right there, screaming and crying, and none of those officers would have done a thing to stop him. It made her think they were used to it. It made it seem as though she hadn't been the first person they’d abandoned to that man’s threats and violence.

It was

that

that was getting to her, as she leaned against the wall of the dingy little bathroom she was hiding in, listening to Vern and Rayleen once again argue over something or other through the door. Their voices were a little ways off, and if she tried—if she let her Censor reach out and give her hearing and mind a little boost—she could make out what they were saying. Currently, she didn’t really care. She knew she should—knew she needed to move. They still needed to find Olivier, and if Vern killed Rayleen, that would just be another huge mess that they didn’t need.

The thing was, she couldn’t move. Instead, all she could do was focus on keeping her breathing even, that officer’s eyes overlaying with Warren’s—at least, she assumed they were Warren’s.

Technically

, Rafe had never told her how he had come to conclude that Warren had been the one to hurt her that night, although she’d eventually figured out that Halen had told him something. So, it was more that she didn’t know how Halen had figured out it was Warren—his friend, one of the few

okay

members of the

other side

of that class until that night… assuming Halen hadn’t given Rafe bad info. Probably, Rafe hadn’t killed some random, innocent classmate—Emilia had seen the ire filling virtually their entire school’s eyes whenever Warren’s family came around. So, clearly they all believed it had been him—although, she wasn’t even sure what they thought he had done. Maybe they knew it all. Maybe they suspected. Maybe they just knew Rafe had probably killed him, and Rafe wasn’t the sort of person to kill someone for no reason.

Now, if it had been Baylor who killed him…

“Emmie?”

As if on cue, Baylor’s voice fizzled through her brain, trying to tug her out of the mire of her thoughts on whether Warren had deserved to die, on what that Drinarna officer would have done to her—how much he had done to other people.

“What’s wrong?”

Vaguely, Emilia wondered why it was Baylor messaging her, presumably having seen something in the vitals that Halen’s version of her stalking function was feeding everyone. There was nothing wrong with her sweet little clone being the one to contact her, but generally that sort of responsibility fell to Taelor, and if he was unavailable, to Valor. Taelor was always their caretaker, so it made sense for him to take point in managing each of them, while Valor’s quiet was an empty well for her to fill with her sadness and frustration. Baylor wasn’t bad at comforting! He was just much more of a… hug it out and then go find a distraction type person.

All of them were good options for soothing her frayed heart, but ever since falling into the triplets’ beds, it had often been Taelor she sought out when she was having a hard time. He would always take care of her, even if it was somewhat unfair to ask that of him. Fortunately, he enjoyed it—and knew whom to call to help with whatever issue she or his brothers were dealing with, when more help was needed—but sometimes, Emilia knew it all weighed on him.

The weight of taking care of all three of them had been weighing on the oldest triplet more recently, she thought. Most likely, it was the culmination of all their needs not lining up. Baylor needed an outlet. Valor wanted to be normal. Emilia wanted the triplets with her. Taelor… Emilia wasn’t even sure what Taelor wanted, other than for them all to be happy, although she thought he must want

something

for himself. With such divergent wants, Emilia wasn’t sure even his want of them all happy was possible. So, she kept her want of them to stay behind quiet, more often than not. They knew she wanted them to stay, but she would never demand it of them, knowing the price Baylor would pay. For that same reason, Valor wouldn’t ask to be left to live his life free from The Black Knot—wouldn’t beg his brothers to leave it behind with him.

They all made sacrifices. Baylor couldn’t be the killer his mind demanded he be. Valor couldn’t have the normal life he wished for. Emilia couldn’t have them. Taelor couldn’t make them all happy.

What a depressing trail of thoughts all of that was! People who loved one another, destined to never fucking manage to be happy. Not as one; certainly not as a whole.

A laugh bubbled out of her, soft and wet as she wiped at her eyes with Olivier’s sweater, the sleeve coming away blackened by makeup—the stuff that could withstand wiping and tears and life was too hard to remove for her lazy ass. Without thinking, a skill to fix the sweater and her makeup sliced out of her—automatic because there were always so many reasons why her and her friends’ appearances would be marred. Crying was a big one, all the sweat from running around for class or their prank war another. There had been actual fights, as well as accidental trips into swimming pools. Exploded drinks and spilled food.

“All fixed up~”

her skill sang out, just for her because no one needed to know when you’d been crying in the bathroom or when you’d suffered a panic attack and lost your lunch. The singing was just for the person who needed it, a little box popping up to ask if she needed to let anyone know she was sad and needed a hug.

Emilia had changed the setting for the skill just the night before, when snuggling into Olivier’s bed for the night. Many of the names would never change: the Laprise boys and the triplets, who would bundle her up and threaten to never let her go; Lux and Darrian, who would always come running; Grenner, who was almost always nearby and happy to wrap her into himself; her family, who would be rather offended if one of her other friends came bursting into their house because her Censor had demanded hugs from them, rather than a family member lingering a room away—not that they weren’t good at giving hugs! They totally were! Everyone’s hug just had a different vibe, was all, and sometimes, Emilia just wanted a certain sort of hug—a hug her family couldn’t give her.

Adding Halen to the list had been a joke—at least, that’s what she had told herself the night before. Now, leaning against the bathroom wall and telling Baylor she was okay, it was just all so much, and she’d needed a moment to just collapse in on herself, Emilia couldn’t lie to herself. The idea of Halen there, hugging her after he’d broken the laws of their world and what should have been possible with skills and possibly the aether itself getting to her, would be nice. Maybe once he got into the city, she’d ask for a hug. Better yet, maybe she’d just bury herself in his chest and see what he would do.

As for the other name she had added the night before, that was the one she hit now. Olivier wouldn’t get the request, of course, his name greyed out to signal that his Censor was offaether. If—when—it reconnected to the aethernet, it would get her request. It was silly, but in that bathroom, her Censor telling her that Jerrial was approaching the door—presumably to ask if she was okay, given how long she’d been hiding in there for—Emilia sent the request off to Olivier, hoping that Rayleen wasn’t lying, and soon, they would get to him, and he’d be alright.

Then, of course, she’d have to explain the hug request to him—tell him that she had been sad and needed a hug, and she was ridiculous, so of course she had programmed a combination skill-function to send out such requests!

“Ridiculous,”

she could almost imagine him saying as he wrapped himself around her, squeezing until it hurt, her own arms hugging him just as tightly, the gentle pain a reminder that they were both alive and it would be okay.