You finger the object in your pocket; smooth glass warmed by your touch, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.
“It’s not all bad,” your partner says, but he wouldn’t know. This is his first time on the field, first time outside of the simulators. He’s never seen someone draw their hand when it matters. The sun beats down, cicadas crying and the asphalt wavers over the horizon.
“We’ll do it quick,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Just like that.”
You shake your head, motioning with your hands. He stares at you quizzically and you remember that right now his sign language capabilities only extend to the alphabet. You roll your eyes, an imitation of a sigh, and spell it out.
It’s not that easy.
“When will command give us a mind link, huh?”
Figures that he wouldn’t be willing to put in the work. You massage the puckered skin along your throat. If you squint, then Jace kind of looks like him a little bit, the shaggy black hair, the judgemental curve of his nose.
You put your hand under your chin and make a motion even Jace would understand.
Fuck you.
He shrugs. “Fuck you too.”
“That’s them,” Jace murmurs. “Two o’clock.”
You turn your head casually and though everything is tinged caramel through your sunglasses, you immediately catch the sight of long, pure white hair, the same as you saw in the photos at command, a large flayed scar sliced through the midline of their face.
Your hand around the glass immediately begins to dampen, but if it’s from stress or the fact that it feels like you’re wading through a swamp, who can say.
“Can I do it this time?” Jace asks, his fist rotating in his pocket. The action is too obvious.
Before you can discuss whose rightful turn it is, you find yourself in motion. Your hand is out of your pocket and you’re sprinting towards the white fringe that’s weaving through the packed crowd. You were hoping it wouldn’t come to this, as you steal a glance into the yellow swirls of your marble, tiny bubbles suspended around twisted veins.
As you slide over a table, enjoying the action moviesque nature of it all a bit too much, you peel back your arm, pushing someone out of the way and take aim.
The marble is barely visible as it zips through the air and then, everything goes bright. There’s a yellow flash, streams of orange splitting off into the sky. The air was already hot, but now it burns, the screams of bystanders pelting your ears.
“Fuck, Bramble!” Jace yells. His own marble, streaked with turquoise, leaves his hand, trying to hit as many bystanders as possible. Catch and release, catch and release, his tiny crystal ball flings forward, knocking people over, sheaths of blue wrapping them up, sending them to sleep. They won’t remember any of this when the paramedics get here.
The light and burning slowly fades and you walk over to where the ground is scorched charcoal black. In the centre, there’s a single marble. You pick it up, slide your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose and squint. Slashed down the yellow centre is a ragged white line.
Jace comes up next to you, leaning down to get a closer look. With his sunglasses pushed up into his mass of tangled hair, you can see his eerily bright blue eyes, bubbles of violet circling the pupil, a ring of dark turquoise around the iris.
“Oh, stop staring,” he says when he turns, and you’re looking directly into each other’s eyes. “Mine don’t look any weirder than yours.”
You smirk, sliding your sunglasses back into place, and stuffing your marble back into your pocket.
Let’s get out of here.
Featured graphic by Sara Mizannojehdehi.
