Chapter 265: Bringing Mark in

After finishing the conversation with Mark, I brought him inside and began leading him up through the hotel floors toward the top.

The most efficient path forward was a direct introduction. Mark and Kunta speaking to each other without an intermediary translating between them—his engineering instincts meeting her knowledge of Starakian systems directly—would accomplish more in an hour than I could facilitate in a day of careful back-and-forth.

"Storing an alien in the same building where sixty people are sleeping and eating and trying to rebuild their lives," Mark said as we climbed. "What an inspired choice, brat. Some civilians in the community will need just that excuse to ask for Margaret’s head."

"You can just say Brad, Billy and Kyle instead of ’civilians,’ Mark—we both know who you’re actually referring to," I said. "And besides, nobody else knows she’s up here. I intend to keep it that way. She didn’t exactly give me a choice about her staying—her own people want her dead for defecting, and throwing her back out into the street would have solved nothing."

"Does she know?" Mark asked, his tone dropping slightly as we passed another landing. "That you’re the one they’re actually looking for? The true Host?"

"No," I said. "And I need it to stay that way. As far as she’s concerned, I and the others carry various minor Symbiotes—nothing that would register as particularly significant on her threat assessment. Don’t give her any reason to revise that understanding."

"You have my word," Mark said simply. "I’m not in the habit of handing out sensitive information to people I’ve never met."

We climbed the remaining floors without much further conversation, the stairwell growing quieter and more removed from the hum of activity below with every level we gained. By the time we reached the top corridor I could already hear voices coming from the direction of Kunta’s room—more than one, more than I had expected.

I reached the doorway and looked inside.

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

Sydney was installed on the bed with her legs crossed, wearing the expression of someone who had recently said something designed specifically to produce the reaction she was currently observing with great satisfaction. Kunta was glaring at her. Rachel stood slightly to the side with a weary gaze.

Near the window, Rebecca and Daisy had crouched down beside Sonny, who was sitting while Daisy attempted to pat his head with a tentative, delighted smile.

"What is everyone doing up here?" I asked, stepping into the room.

"Ryan, perfect timing," Sydney said, brightening immediately. "I was just learning about Kunta’s fascinating plan to save all of us—extracting the Symbiotes from our bodies with an apparently quite significant risk of killing us in the process!" She pressed her hand to her chest with theatrical wonder. "What a generous, deeply considered contribution to our wellbeing. I am genuinely moved."

Kunta’s glare intensified but she said nothing, which probably meant Sydney had been doing this for long enough that Kunta had run out of productive responses and was simply enduring.

I let that particular situation sit unaddressed for the moment and looked at Rebecca and Daisy instead.

"What are you two doing here?" I asked.

Rebecca looked up at me from her position near Sonny. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"I do, actually," I said, keeping my voice even. "Very few people in this building know that Kunta exists and I intend to keep that number as small as possible for as long as possible. If a rotating group of people keeps disappearing upstairs for extended periods, it becomes a pattern. Patterns get noticed. One person watching over her is sufficient—having all of you up here simultaneously serves no purpose except to increase the risk of discovery." I looked at both of them directly. "Neither of you is contributing anything here that isn’t already covered."

Daisy stood up immediately, the smile evaporating from her face. "S...Sorry, we just wanted to—"

"Why are you apologizing to him?" Rebecca cut across her, pushing to her feet and turning toward me with something sharp and defensive in her expression. "He doesn’t consider us useful for anything except basic chores. That’s been obvious for a while now."

"I have never said that," I said.

"You didn’t need to say it," she replied. "It’s in how you treat us. How you make decisions about who comes and who stays behind. Who matters when things get difficult."

She moved toward the door, glancing at Daisy to follow.

I reached out and caught her wrist before she cleared the doorway.

She stopped, her back still to me.

I was quiet for a moment, making sure what I was about to say was what I actually meant to say rather than a reaction to her words.

"Rebecca," I said. "Look at me."

She turned slowly. Her green eyes were hard and defensive, braced for something.

"There is nothing shameful about acknowledging the reality of a situation," I said, keeping my voice level but not softening it. "You and Daisy are not trained fighters. You don’t have Symbiotes, you don’t have combat experience, and you have no technical knowledge that applies to the specific threats we’re dealing with right now—alien technology, hostile armed groups, Enhanced Infected. That’s not an insult. That’s just the accurate description of where things stand." I held her gaze. "What your sister and the rest of us are asking of you, what I am asking—is that you recognize those limits and work within them instead of against them. Not because you don’t matter, but because people get killed when they put themselves into situations they aren’t equipped for. And you getting killed because you needed to prove something would devastate people who love you."

Something shifted in her expression as I spoke—the hardness holding for a moment, then fracturing at the edges in a way she clearly hadn’t intended and couldn’t fully control.

Her eyes started tearing up.

"I....I know it’s my fault Mei got taken," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. "You don’t have to keep reminding me! I think about it every minute, I know—" She pulled her wrist free from my grip and was through the door before I could find a response.

"Rebecca—" Daisy was after her immediately, the door swinging in her wake.

Rachel waited before sighing and following after her sister as well.

The room settled into a brief, weighted silence.

"That was—" Sydney began.

"Don’t," I said.

"No—I mean it," she said, and her voice had lost its usual sharpness, settling into something that was almost, coming from Sydney, genuine. "For the first time since I’ve known you, you actually said it to her face instead of managing around it. The truth. I’m not being sarcastic right now." A pause. "I’m actually proud of you."

"I feel like I was just an absolute bastard," I said, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead.

"No, you weren’t, boy." Mark’s large hand came down on my shoulder from behind as he stepped past me into the room. "She needed to hear that. She’s been carrying that guilt and that chip on her shoulder simultaneously and nobody had the courage to address either one directly." He looked at me steadily. "You did her a kindness, even if it doesn’t feel like one right now."

I looked at him for a moment. Then at the door through which Rebecca had disappeared.

Then I straightened, pushed the feeling down into somewhere it could be addressed later, and turned toward Kunta—who had been watching the entire exchange from her position on the floor with wide, uncertain eyes and Sonny pressed close against her side.

"Kunta," I said, "this is Mark. He’s the most capable engineer I’ve ever encountered and he works exclusively with whatever materials are available to him." I glanced at Mark. "Mark, this is Kunta. She’s Starakian, she’s cooperative, and she has working knowledge of the technology we discussed." I reached into my bag onto the ground and drew out the Nexon Battery, setting it on the floor between them. The smooth white surface caught the light cleanly. "You two need to talk to each other."

Mark straightened slightly from his examination of the Nexon Battery and turned his gaze toward Kunta.

"So this is what a Starakian looks like," he said. "Humanoid build, small horns, grey undertone to the skin." He nodded slowly, as if filing it against some internal taxonomy. "Closer to human than I’d have expected, honestly."

"Pretty unimpressive overall, right?" Sydney offered from her position on the bed, crossing her legs. "Though I’ll admit—begrudgingly—the brain seems to work well enough."

"They do seem to have that going for them," Mark agreed mildly, returning his attention to the Nexon Battery and turning it carefully in his large hands, examining the surface and edges.

"Kunta," I said, catching her eye before she could formulate a response to Sydney’s commentary. "Explain as much as you can, as clearly as you can. The more Mark understands, the more useful this arrangement becomes for everyone." I held her gaze steadily. "And if you want to see Zakthar again—cooperate fully."

"I know that already!" Kunta snapped. She pushed herself to her feet regardless and crossed toward Mark with Sonny padding mechanically at her heels, positioning herself beside the older man and looking down at the Battery. "Fine. What do you want to know first?"

Mark glanced up at her briefly from under his brow.

"Be careful Mark, she might stab you anytime, don’t trust her fully," Sydney had to say it.

"Sydney," I said, turning and reaching for her wrist. "Come outside a moment."

She allowed herself to be drawn into the corridor.

"Well, Ryan," she said as the door swung partially shut behind us, her smirk assembling itself quickly. "Pulling me out here privately. Don’t tell me this was what you wanted all along. Should we show that Starakian how humans reproduce?"

"I fucked you less than three days ago," I said, keeping my low, "and you are behaving as though you’ve been surviving on rationed supplies."

The crudeness of it landed precisely as I intended—Sydney’s composure broke immediately, a genuine flush rising up her neck and into her cheeks with a speed she couldn’t manage. She tucked a strand of hair behind her reddened ears.

I laughed. She could be remarkably, unexpectedly cute when the performance dropped for a second and the actual person underneath surfaced.

"Can you go and find Margaret, Martin and Clara?" I asked, letting the laughter settle. "Bring them up here."

Sydney’s brows lifted. The smirk was replaced by something more genuinely attentive. "You’re sure about that? I thought you wanted to keep the circle small."

"I did," I said. "But small isn’t the same as exclusive when it stops being practical. After what happened with Gaspar—after one of their people was killed directly because of his involvement—Margaret’s community is no longer standing at a safe distance from this. They’re in it whether we formalized that or not." I glanced back toward the room. "I want them to know that there is a Starakian girl living on this floor. I want them to know she isn’t a threat. And I want that to come from an honest conversation rather than accidental discovery." A pause. "Trust is harder to build after the fact."

"You’re not wrong," Sydney nodded.

"I need you to give them the broad picture first before they come up," I added. "Nothing too technical. Just enough that they aren’t walking into that room completely cold."

"Leaving somewhere?" She asked having expected me to do the talks and explanation.

"I need to check that Christopher hasn’t killed our hostage," I said. "And after that I’m thinking of going to the Boardwalk to speak with them."

"You better call for me before you go anywhere near the Boardwalk," she said immediately.

"I’m not sure they’d welcome someone who made as strong a first impression as you did," I said, allowing the smile back in. "You may have set a specific tone during that initial meeting that’s difficult to walk back."

"Someone needed to show them some backbones," Sydney said scoffing.

"Your backbone is far too beautiful to be wasted showing those people anything," I said.

The words landed and Sydney went still for a half second—caught off guard—and the color returned to her cheeks in a way that was entirely different from the flustered reaction of a few minutes ago.

I leaned toward her, one hand finding the wall beside her as her back came to rest against it, and kissed her gently.

She kissed me back in kind.

When I pulled back, her eyes stayed closed for a half second longer than necessary before she opened them. Her hand came up and rested against my cheek.

"You can be genuinely romantic when you decide to be," she said softly. "It’s deeply inconvenient."

"I also want to see more of that side of you," I said. "You know, that cute and lovely side."

She shrugged off.

"Cinderella shows plenty of her soft side," she said. "Go flirt with her if you want hear some cute girl’s moans in response to your words."

Then the blue shimmer began covering her body and she vanished running off from the floor.

"On my way," I said smiling into the empty corridor knowing she would have heard it anyway.