The midday sun hammered against the windows like an impatient creditor.
Sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling limply toward the floor, Elias stared at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster formed patterns he studied with care. His hand trailed over the worn velvet armrest, vaguely searching for the cup of cold tea he must have set down somewhere before boredom paralyzed him.
Responsibilities.
The word echoed in his head like a personal insult.
Who'd had the brilliant idea to make him captain of this outfit? A misunderstanding, surely. Some cosmic joke in poor taste. He closed his eyes, imagining himself a drifter, a poet, or better yet: a rock. Rocks didn't have to answer to anyone. They just existed, peaceful, useless. An ideal.
"How the hell did I end up in this mess?"
He muttered the words to the sky—or the ceiling, as it were. A sigh escaped.
The door banged open. Not hard, but enough to make him wince. Boots thudded across the floor with a determination that gave him a headache.
"Captain."
Elias turned his head just enough to see the agent standing in the doorway, stiff as a tent pole.
It was Finn. He'd lost some of his jitteriness, but lately he'd picked up this... rigid vibe?
'He's been infected by the witch...'
"What now?"
He stretched, faking nonchalance, but his voice came out grumpier than he'd intended.
"The vice-captain's looking for you. She insists on talking to you. Immediately."
Immediately.
Elias let out a groan, rolling onto his side to grab a cushion and slap it over his face. The silk was warm, scented.
"Tell her I'm dead. Or decomposing. Her choice."
Finn cleared his throat, awkward.
"She said it was... important."
'Everything's always important with her,' Elias thought, lifting the cushion to peek with one eye.
"Captain..."
'If I stay still long enough, maybe he'll leave. Maybe the world will stop.'
Silence. Then a resigned sigh, footsteps retreating. The door closed with a muffled thud.
Elias lay there, arm over his eyes, counting the fleeing seconds.
The vice-captain would come herself eventually, of course.
Elias knew it all too well.
He'd have to get up. Prepare. Come up with an excuse.
But the couch was so soft. And the sun was now caressing his bare feet with a tenderness no one else showed him.
'Anyway, she's the one who put a couch in here...'
"I'm a victim... Yeah, a poor victim..."
Meanwhile, the clock ticked on.
He closed his eyes.
Maybe if he slept, the problems would sort themselves out.
Or not.
But that was a problem for tomorrow's Elias.
The sun had shifted a bit more.
Elias was still sprawled on the couch, one foot dangling in the air, the other squashed against a cushion.
The door opened again—this time without knocking.
Elias didn't even need to look to know who it was.
"Mercer."
Elias yawned slowly, stretching every muscle like a cat.
"Captain, to you," he drawled, eyes half-closed.
She planted herself in front of him, arms crossed, silhouette carved into an uniform that looked like it was squeezing her. Her red hair was pulled into a tight bun.
"You ignored three summonses. Again."
Elias waved a vague hand, as if swatting an imaginary fly. "Summonses are like clouds. They come, they go..."
A nervous twitch tugged at the vice-captain's left eyelid.
'Victory,' he thought with satisfaction.
"The company doesn't run itself, Captain. Reports, training, decisions—"
"Are in your capable hands," he interrupted, half-sitting up, propped on an elbow. "Hence the 'vice' in your title. Convenient, right? Forgotten what Hargrave said?"
Mara clenched her jaw, fingers drumming on her forearm.
"You're insufferable."
"People tell me that a lot." He flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in general indifference. "But hey, as long as the results are there..."
She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a choke. "The heavens must have made a mistake giving so much talent to someone like you."
He turned his head toward her, one eyebrow raised. "'You'? Dropping titles now? I'm touched."
She ignored the jab, leaning in slightly. "Why? Why waste it? You could be..."
"...A model of productivity? A polished hero?" He finished with a smirk. "Too much effort. And where's the fun in that?"
Mara straightened, lips thin.
"Leave," he murmured, covering his eyes with an arm. "You're wasting your time. And mine."
"One day, your negligence will cost you dearly."
He chuckled softly, already half-asleep. "You'll be there to pick up the pieces, then."
Elias lay there, eyes half-closed, figuring the vice-captain had given up.
'Well played, Elias. Victory by forfeit. And damn... I forgot how stubborn she is.'
Mara set an envelope on the coffee table, next to the tea cup.
"I'm allergic to envelopes," he mumbled, lips barely moving.
She ignored it, of course. Her finger tapped the envelope twice, sharp. "Division HQ is summoning all captains. Urgent."
He turned his head toward the back of the couch. "Urgent, urgent... They can't come up with anything new."
Paper rustled.
She'd opened the envelope for him. He heard her unfold the letter with the sound of a guillotine.
"You're expected tomorrow. Eight o'clock."
"I'll go."
"You're lying."
He laughed, muffled in the cushions. "And if I do go, you owe me a bottle of wine."
"If you don't, you'll owe explanations. To the Commander. And to me."
Elias finally sat up, slowly.
"Handle it," he waved a limp hand at the envelope. "For... delegation's sake."
"No."
"Insubordination."
"The summons is for captains. Not their stand-ins." She enunciated each word like he'd suddenly lost the ability to understand language.
He lay back down. "I've got reasons."
"What reasons?"
"...I forgot."
Mara sighed. "If I were you, I'd avoid drawing attention."
He blinked, feigning innocence. "Too late. I'm already a legend."
Her fingers tightened on the table edge.
"O'Connell, just so you know, I don't like you."
She didn't flinch. "Feeling's mutual."
A smile lingered on his lips.
She headed for the door. "Tonight, eighteen hundred. In uniform."
"I hate uniforms. They itch."
"You hate anything that looks like effort."
"You're starting to get me," he admitted, closing his eyes.
The door slammed.
Elias lay there a moment, listening to the clock tick, seeming to say lazy, lazy, lazy.
The envelope sat on the table.
'Maybe if I sleep until tomorrow, the urgency will vanish on its own. Maybe not. Well... if I'm lucky.'