Raven black hair floated on the breeze as she stood on the dune of the frozen wasteland that they had been forced to call home for two weeks. Bryn was out bartering for a ship to fly them halfway across the galaxy, to a planet called Uria, while Flynt was out bartering for food. They had left her to “hold down the fort” as they put it, and she loathed them for it. Both men refused to let her go into town; for fear that one of the slave traders would see her and try to capture her for sale.

While it seemed like they were watching out for her, she mainly felt like a prisoner locked away from the world. They lived in a tumble down old hut forged of stone by traveling stone masons at least three hundred years before. It was relatively warm, with packed dirt floors and a fireplace that functioned quite well. Of course, if it was not a functioning fireplace the trio would have had to stay in the village, and she would truly be a prisoner.

At least this far from town she could come out into the sunlight and enjoy the temporary warmth of the high noon sun. After the few minutes of direct noonday sun, it grew frigid once more, with a stiff breeze washing over the dunes. She closed her amethyst colored eyes against the brilliant sun blazing off the white snow, and took a deep breath.

When she opened her eyes, a black dot had appeared two dunes out, and it trudged back down only moments later. She sighed, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. In her opinion the only thing worse than being stuck in the middle of nowhere was being stuck with the men in the middle of nowhere.

As he got closer she recognized the shock of red hair, and sighed. It was Flynt, bringing food. He crested the final hill and lifted an arm to wave, and she saw the bag strapped across his back. “Delia,” he called, “Come help me!”

Delia crossed the snow toward him, her cape billowing out behind her. Her hood was down, allowing her hair to float around her. She took a bag from him, and turned her back to head toward the hut. Flynt was quiet at first, until they got inside. There was a bright fire burning, and the whole place was warm. “Are you hungry?” Delia asked, setting the bag down near the fire. “I can make something light until Bryn gets home.”

“I saw him on my way home, he won’t be by for awhile. He’s having drinks with a pilot.”

“Drinks?” she asked with dismay. “He’s having drinks? How are we supposed to get off this horrible rock if he keeps spending our funds?”

“I know Delia, I know. But we can’t forbid him from going out. He’s a grown man.” She scoffed, emptying the bag of food near the fire and sorting through it. “What are you going to make?”

“Probably sandwiches,” Delia replied, looking through the frozen meats that he brought home. “Roasted fowl sound good?”

“Sure,” Flynt replied, pulling off his thick jacket and dropping it on his bedroll. “There’s fresh vegetables in there, too.” Delia stopped moving behind him and he continued, “They weren’t that expensive. I got them from that Altrian that flew us to Carven last year. He said hello, by the way.”

“You ran into Kelvin?” Delia asked, eyes wide.

“Just for a minute or two. We talked about you.” Fear filled those amethyst eyes as she literally froze where she was at. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Bryn,” Flynt finished softly. “I highly doubt he would want to know that a scumbag like that got you in bed.”

“Blast off, Flynt!” Delia exclaimed, rising to her feet. Her cape swirled around her as she headed for the door. “It’s fine for you and Bryn to sleep with every floozy that wiggles her eyebrows at you, but I’m not allowed to enjoy myself?”

“You’re better than that, De!” But he was saying it to a closed door, Delia had left.

Outside, Delia stood in the freezing weather, her cape wrapped tightly around her slight frame. Anger warmed her, bubbling up inside her and creating a barrier between her and the ice. Flynt had not tried to come out to find her since she had walked out, but he would not come in search. Flynt was not the type to find her, he usually sat in the background and waited for her to come out. Bryn hunted her, purposefully. He sought her out and intentionally pushed the buttons that needed to be pushed.

If she stayed out in the snow much longer it was going to get too cold for her to move, but she could not get the strength to walk back toward the hut. She wanted to run as far as she could from Flynt and the reality of her life. She knew that once they got off this planet, there would be another one. It might not be snow covered, but it would be some extreme; hot, cold, overgrown, overpopulated, polluted, or uneducated. Every planet had something that drove her crazy, and it did not help that they sometimes went weeks without leaving.

Since the wars of the past century the slave trade had grown into a booming business, and women like her were prime for auction. A young woman of appropriate breeding age and able, toned body with non-orientation coloring was a perfect concubine for any dignitary. It was what the men had spent the last thirteen years trying to protect her from. Sometimes she wondered if being a slave for a rich old man would be worse then being a slave for the men in her life.

“Delia?” a voice echoed over the snow covered dunes. It was Bryn’s voice, thick with cold. “What are you doing out here? We can’t afford for you to get sick. It’s too expensive.”

With a groan, she turned toward him. “Don’t you think I know that? I wish you two would stop treating me like I’m a child!” She stormed away from him, finally angry enough to walk toward the house.

She slammed through the doorway and went to the fire, where Flynt knelt as he cooked. Bryn followed her in, cobalt blue eyes flashing. “What the hell is wrong with you, Delia?” he snapped, stomping his feet to free them of snow. “You can’t just storm away from me!”

“You’re right! I can’t get away from you at all! I’m stuck inside with you two all damn day!” Flynt rolled his eyes as he slammed roasted fowl onto bread. He offered it up, and Delia waved it away. Bryn was fuming; she could tell that he wanted to hit her. Amethyst eyes flickered at him, anger bubbling up and spilling into those eyes.

Flynt stood up, tossing flame red hair out of his eyes and glancing between the two of them. “Maybe we should take her into town, Bryn. I mean, as long as she’s with us she’ll be protected.”

“You’re always siding with her,” Bryn snapped, facing the red head. “We’re supposed to stand together, brother!”

“Shouldn’t that mean all three of us,” Delia jumped in, stepping up beside him. “Shouldn’t that mean that I don’t have to stay behind!”

Bryn scoffed and dropped his shoulder bag on his bedroll. “If you two would stop arguing with me for five minutes, you would have asked me how the talk went.”

“How’d the talk go?” Flynt asked, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“I got us a pilot.”

“You did?” Delia asked, jumping close to him. “Oh, that’s wonderful! When do we leave?”

He plopped down on his bedroll and pulled his bag into his lap. From the leather knapsack he pulled two bottles of cider. Delia’s eyes fell with shame; he had brought home her favorite drink. “Flynt, why don’t you heat it up,” he said, tossing the redhead a bottle. Delia smiled and launched herself at Bryn.

As the dark haired brother welcomed her into his arms, Flynt rolled his eyes and muttered, “Why do you two have to go to the extremes every time?”

“Because if we didn’t then we would have to be normal,” Delia giggled over Bryn’s shoulder, and then pulled away to smile at Flynt. “Normal is boring.”

“God forbid you seem boring,” Flynt retorted. He poured half the bottle of cider into a pot and set it on the flames. Delia swept her cape off and dropped it over the only chair in the room as she turned away from them in search of the proffered fowl sandwich. Without a word of communication between them, Flynt held it up again. With a smile, Delia accepted it.

“So, this pilot,” Flynt continued, “Who is he? Will he take us all the way to Uria?”

“No,” he replied. “He can’t take us all the way there. But he will take us to Mislé, which is nicer than this hell hole.”

“Mislé?” Delia asked around a mouthful. “Isn’t that a jungle planet?”

“Complete with treetop civilizations and savages,” Flynt responded.

“There are not savages!” Bryn retorted, irritation clouding his voice. “And treetop civilizations are quite relaxing.” Delia giggled and took another bite. “Besides, it’s better than freezing here and there’s no slave trade, so De can move about as she pleases.”

“I’m a fan of this place already,” Delia inserted, amethyst eyes twinkling. “Treetop living doesn’t seem so bad, you know.” Flynt poured three cups of hot cider and tested the warmth. Delia accepted hers with willing hands, warding off the frost from her fingers. Bryn was more cautious, being more susceptible to heat and chill. Flynt gulped his as if it were stone cold. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Bryn replied, gingerly taking a sip.

“Have I heard of this guy?” Flynt asked, pouring more cider into his cup.

“Kelvin Frate; he flew us to Carven last year, remember?” Delia choked on her cider, and Flynt almost dropped his cup. “I see you remember him.”

Delia and Flynt exchanged glances, both afraid to speak first. Bryn was normally a catalyst, he did not wait for anything. He would come in, guns blazing and ask questions of the ghosts. It was not his style to drop a name and wait for a reaction. He always showed his hand, and never used a poker face.

“Look, Bryn,” Delia began, her voice a mere squeak.

“No,” Bryn replied, raising his hand to silence her. “I don’t want an explanation. I just want to enjoy my cider with you guys and ignore that fact that a lowlife pilot from Altria slept with my baby sister.”

“Dad was a pilot!” Delia argued, hands on her hips.

“Dad was a soldier; Frate is a smuggler. There’s a big difference.”

“So, you’re pissed,” Delia said more than asked. Bryn looked away, but did not speak. “Look, Bryn”-

Once more, he held up a hand to silence her. “No, Delia. Let it be. I don’t want to talk about it.” Flynt and Delia glanced at each other silently, without moving. Finally, Bryn took another sip and shattered the silence. “So, I was thinking that we would go into town early in the morning, so we can have one last look around before hopping on the freighter.”

“You’re all right with all of this?” Flynt asked.

“No, but I’m not waiting around for another two weeks to find another pilot willing to take on three passengers for less than he can win in a card game.” Delia finished her cider and sat quietly on the only chair in the room. He turned to level his gaze at his younger sister and said, “I need you to promise me that you won’t sleep with him, Ardelia.”

“I swear it,” Delia replied, tears in her eyes. “It was a mistake the first time. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now, what are we having for dinner?”

“Roasted fowl,” Flynt replied, offering up a sandwich.

Snowflakes fell lightly from a deep gray sky, chilling them to the bone. Delia walked down the crowded street, flanked by her two columns of protection. Flynt wore his crossbow on his back, and a dagger in his boot. Bryn preferred his long sword, which rested in its sheath across his back, just beneath the cape. He had cut a slash in the neck of the cape so that he could have quick access to it.

Delia was not paying attention to her brothers; she was paying attention to the people staring at her. And it seemed like every single person on the street was watching her. She was wearing her cloak over her gray fitted trousers and wide collared jacket. Flynt had made her tie her hair back and pull her hood up in an effort to conceal her appearance. It was apparent from the amount of attention that they were unsuccessful.

The trio pulled to a stop outside a cantina, and Delia turned her back to the entrance, stepping closer to Flynt. There was a loud group of drunks gathered out front, and all of them were leering at her. “Wait here,” Bryn said softly, turning away. “I’ll go get Frate.”

As soon as Bryn stepped away, Flynt’s arm felt around her shoulder and he pulled her in close to him. She turned herself to fit against him, but still allowed herself the ability to see her surroundings. The buildings here were stark white, or at least they were after so many years in the blinding light and snow. The people were haggard, and unkempt. The men near her reeked of whiskey and sweat. Flynt sheltered her from the scruff of the town, but she did not have blinders on. She saw the way the men stared at her, with heat in their eyes and lust on their breaths.

One man growled, circling her and Flynt. “You have a lovely little tart there, don’t you?” he snarled, taking her in from head to toe. He had an Avarian accent, and the thick matted hair of their warriors. “Come play with us, ducky,” he said. Flynt’s arm tightened around her and he tensed to reach for his crossbow.

Beneath her cloak, Delia’s palm played over her own firearms that were strapped to her back. “Flynt,” she whispered, trying to keep the panic from her voice. He pulled her closer and spun her away from the group of men gathering. “What will we do?” Delia continued, shifting the gun into her hand.

The door to the tavern opened and Bryn stepped out, followed closely by Kelvin Frate. Drunks turned, obviously expecting help in capturing Delia, and found themselves face to face with a swiftly drawn long sword. “I suggest you reconsider your current choices,” Bryn declared, beckoning to his family to join him. Flynt tucked Delia as close as he could get her, and stepped through the crowd to Bryn and Frate. Frate held a gun in his relaxed hand, but he watched every twitch of the drunkards while Bryn welcomed Delia into his arms.

“Let’s go, Rickards,” Frate said, gesturing away from the tavern. “We’ve got a ship to get to.” The trio turned and headed toward the shipyard while Frate backed away from the group, hefting his gun in his hand. “Catch you later, boys,” he finished, disappearing around the corner.

The Rickards awaited him across the street, near the shipyard. “Hello Flynt, Delia. It’s a pleasure to be working with you again.” His gaze lingered on Delia, but he did not comment. Motioning to the shipyard behind them, he brushed past and led the way.

His ship was the same as before, with a few new panels and some new burns; but it was still the same ship. The gangplank dropped down and they stepped within, almost immediately they were welcomed by the warmth. Delia dropped her bag on the floor of the storage bay while Flynt and Bryn shed their coats. She pulled back her hood, letting her raven hair cascade down her back again.

With a sigh, she pulled off her cape and dropped it on her bag, revealing her gray trousers and wide collared jacket. She removed her twin guns from her back holsters and placed them back in the hip holsters.

“You don’t need weapons here, De,” Kelvin said, watching her.

She shot him a lightning quick glance that chilled him to the bone. “I always need my weapons, Frate.” The pilot did not reply, simply watched her as she pulled weapons from boots and sleeves. “When do we fly?”

“Soon. I trust you remember where the bunks are? Or do you need me to show you?”

Flynt clenched his fists and took a step back as he glanced to Bryn, who had frozen in his spot. “No,” Delia replied, unfazed, “I remember.”

Frate nodded, and bowed low before turning away and moving down the corridor in the direction of the cockpit. Flynt rolled his eyes and tossed his bag alongside Delia’s. “He hasn’t changed a damn bit,” he said, cobalt blue eyes flashing. Delia nodded but did not speak, unable to voice her opinion on the subject for fear of Bryn’s anger. But Bryn composed himself before he turned back to his siblings.

His eyes held a thousand unspoken emotions, but his lips could only form a few words. “Delia, I’m going to have to insist that you bunk with us,” he said. Delia exchanged glances with Flynt, who nodded.

“No arguments here, boys,” Delia replied, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll be grateful for the company.”

“And protection,” Flynt added, hoisting his bag, and Delia’s cape and jacket onto his shoulder. She nodded and fell into step behind him. “Bryn, you coming?”

“I’m going to see when we’re going to take off. I want to get off this damn planet.” The other two nodded and continued on their way while Bryn headed off toward the cockpit.

Frate stood at the helm, going over his star charts. He did seem handsome in the Altrian way; his dark hair, and dark skin, and dark eyes. But he was also a smuggler, with greasy hair and oily skin. Bryn hated that Delia had been reduced to turning to smugglers and pirates for affection. If their father was still alive she would be decently wed by now, to a man with property in his name. She would not be bunking with her brothers for her safety in a trek across the galaxy.

“Hello, Bryn,” Frate said, turning to glance over his shoulder. “We’ll be taking off shortly.” Bryn nodded but did not speak. “Is there some kind of problem?”

In his mind’s eye Bryn saw himself taking Frate in his clenched fists and shattering his spinal cord against the helm, and hearing him gurgle his last words. Instead, he shook his head and moved toward the star charts. “Just wondering when we will be taking off,” he replied, moving the map closer to him. “And where we’re heading first.”

“Probably to the Cusp,” Frate replied, taking the chart back. “So, Delia didn’t seem to happy to see me.”

“Imagine that,” Bryn retorted, turning away. “She’ll be bunking with us, by the way.” Frate looked shocked, but covered it quickly. “Call me if you need help getting this thing off the ground,” Bryn finished, turning on his heel and brushing out of the cockpit.

Down the hall Flynt and Delia stood in the largest of the bunkrooms, staring at the beds in silence. Two of them were bunks, and one of them was a trundle. “So, I’ll take the smaller one,” Delia was saying, looking at the one on the floor. “And you and Bryn can fight over the bunks.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Bryn said, coming into the room. “I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him. I’m not leaving you unguarded for a minute.’

“You’re over-reacting, bro,” Flynt replied, turning to face him. “Frate isn’t going to try anything with us in the same room. We could snap that punk like a twig.”

Cobalt blue eyes darted to Delia, taking her in, sizing her up. She felt his gaze burning into her, raking over her flesh, searing her to the core. She turned to face him, and burned him with the same stare. Her amethyst eyes flashed silver, the same as their mother’s had when she was taking him in. She had always seemed to have the same talent at reading him as their mother.

“I’ll sleep with my gun under my pillow if it makes you feel better,” she said, turning to her duffel bag. Unzipping it, she began to pull out her warmer clothing, needing to shed the quilted layers she was laden with. Her jacket fell to the ground and she loosened her collar, preparing to change clothes. “When do we fly?” she continued, not waiting for a reply from Bryn. She could sleep with a bomb wired around her bed and he wouldn’t feel better.

There was a yawning metallic sound as the turbines warmed up. Frate’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Rickards, we’ll be cleared for take-off in six minutes. The exit is a bit jumpy, so be prepared. Six minutes.” There was a dull whining as the whole ship began to tremble with the power of the engines. Delia glanced around as Bryn and Flynt found seats to wait out take off while she remained cross-legged on the floor.

“Tell me about Mislé,” Delia said softly, unlacing her boots. “Tell me about how perfect it is…”

With a laugh, Bryn leaned back and replied, “Are you sure that you’re thinking about Mislé, not Utopia?” Delia pulled the boots off and placed them next to her duffel. Amethyst eyes danced in his direction, and a smile played on her pink lips. “I don’t know that much about it. We haven’t been there since the Battle for Tegan.” He glanced to Flynt, “My god, bro, do you remember Tegan?”

A smile spread of Flynt’s face, and he winked at Delia. “I do. But the question is… Do you?” Bryn snorted, rolling his eyes at Flynt and Delia. The two laughed out loud, causing him to smile. “I hated fighting, but the parts between the battles… Now those were fun.”

“The girls,” Flynt replied.

“The drinks,” Bryn said.

“The travel.”

“The bunkmates.”

“You have better bunkmates than me,” Flynt argued, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it toward his duffel.

With a jolt, the ship woke, a low hum drummed through the floorboards. They felt the pull of gravity as the thrusters pushed them from the ground. Delia leaned into it, bracing herself against the propulsion as if it were second nature. The ship itself wobbled in the air for a moment, then leveled out and they shot off at top speed.

Once the velocity shock faded away, Delia rose to her feet and shook it off. “I’m famished,” she said, brushing herself off. “Do you think I need a bodyguard to go to the galley? Or am I safe for now?”

“I’m actually hungry,” Flynt replied, rising as well. “I’ll walk with you. You can protect me from the big bad wolf.” Delia smiled and hit the open switch on the door, and stepped out. The hallway stretched in both directions, one leading toward the common areas of the ship, the other leading to the cockpit and entrance hatch. They turned left and headed in the direction of the galley and game room.

“Do you think Bryn is okay?” Delia asked.

“I think Frate might end up dead in the middle of the night,” Flynt replied.

“I hope not, for our sake…”

“At least we’d have a ship.”

With a hidden smile, she shook her head, and said, “Not funny.”

A kitchen had always been Delia’s escape. Her mother had died when she was very young, too young to remember. Ever since she was old enough to operate a stove she had found herself in her father’s kitchen, and she had felt very comfortable there. Even now, when her whole existence had been turned upside down, she was most comfortable in a kitchen.

Perched on the counter, she munched on a sandwich while Flynt poured water for them both. His flame red hair had a metallic sheen to it in the bright lighting and his skin was sallow and pale. She knew him by heart, every freckle, every hair. He was her savior, her confidant. Bryn had always been the bad-ass, with the big gun and the short fuse. He would kill a man for being disrespectful. But Flynt was the quieter brother, softer around the edges, but just as protective. He was tougher to anger, but he could fight just as well.

“What are you thinking?” Flynt asked, propping himself against the counter beside her.

“I’m thinking about you,” she replied, reaching up to brush a stray piece of red hair from his face. “You’ve always protected me, you know.”

“It’s my job,” he replied. “I made a promise, and I’ll always keep it.”

Frate’s voice interrupted their sentiments as he exploded over the intercom. “Rickards. Cockpit. Now.”

“Ugh,” Delia said, setting down her sandwich, “I hate him.”

Flynt wrapped his arm around Delia’s shoulders and pulled her tight. “I know, kiddo. Let’s get there before Bryn throws him through the blast shield.”

In the cockpit Bryn was leaned over the console watching Frate’s fingers flying over the dials. “What do you mean we’re landing?” Bryn demanded, his fists clenching on the back of Frate’s chair.

“We’re landing?” Flynt asked, moving toward them, blocking Delia from having to get to close. “Why?”

Frate spun around in his chair, and Delia recoiled from the anger in his eyes. “When did you intend to tell me that you were wanted?” he snapped, glaring at her.

“Wanted?” she asked, shifting her gaze from Frate to her eldest brother. “I’m not wanted.” Flynt cleared his throat and exchanged glances with Bryn. She snapped her eyes between the two and glared. “Am I?”

“Um, er,” Bryn stammered uncharacteristically. Delia turned to Flynt, anger flashing in amethyst eyes.

“You remember that guy in Melso?” Flynt whispered. Delia nodded. “He didn’t make it like we told you.”

“Oh my god…” Delia whispered, taking two steps back. “I killed him?” Flynt reached out to her but she darted out of his grasp. “I killed someone?” she continued to whisper, her eyes shifting wildly. “How could I kill him?”

Bryn took a rapid step toward her and captured her arm. She wrenched herself from his powerful grip and ran from the cockpit. Flynt shot him a look but did not speak, anger bubbling up at his older brother. It was always Bryn that sheltered her from the hard things in life, and Flynt had always expressed that he felt that it was only hurting her. But Bryn was the type that could not be wrong. Without a word, Flynt followed in his sister’s rapid footsteps, leaving Bryn to deal with Frate.

In the galley Delia stood with her palms flat on the countertop, staring at her half-eaten sandwich. She did not move when Flynt opened the door, nor when he closed it. She still did not move when he came around and began to quietly clean the mess they had left. After a few moments, she turned around to face him and he could almost taste the salty tears on the apples of her cheeks.

“I’m a murderer,” she muttered, her eyes trained on the floor. “I murdered him in cold blood and I didn’t even know it.”

“It was self-defense, Delia,” Flynt whispered, needing to take a step toward her but restraining himself. “He was robbing us, and we couldn’t stop him. Only you had access to the gun.”

“Then why am I wanted?” Delia demanded, lifting her eyes to glare at him.

“We left before the trial. Automatically you become a fugitive, if it’s considered murder.” Delia’s amethyst eyes pleaded with him, those burning tears filling them. “We had to leave! We wouldn’t have been able to find another pilot to take us!”

“What will I do?” Delia whispered, hanging her head again.

“We’ll just keep going,” Flynt replied, coming to wrap his arms around her. She collapsed in his arms, wrapping her own arms around his torso. “If they can’t find you then they can’t try you.”

“How do you know all of this?” she questioned.

“He’s wanted on two planets,” Bryn said from behind her. “But because we fought in the war, he was pardoned.” Flynt kissed the top of Delia’s head, his bright cobalt eyes burning into Bryn. They both knew that they had crossed a line by not telling her that it was an option, but they had thought that it would never come back to haunt them. They had been horribly mistaken. “I’m so sorry,” Bryn whispered, coming to them and wrapping his arms around Delia.

She nodded into his chest, squished between her two older brothers, unable to move; unwilling to move.

The turbines powered down and they felt the ship turning on it’s path. They were landing on the nearest planet. “Where are we?” Delia asked from her niche. “What planet are we at?”

“Lindenger,” Bryn replied. ‘But we won’t be here long. I have a plan.”

Bryn would not share his plan with his siblings; he simply left them at a table in a nearby tavern. Delia sat beside Flynt, her cloak lying discarded on the seat beside her. Flynt had fallen silent; unmoving in the chair beside her. She spent most of her time observing her brothers, learning their tells, watching their movements. In short, she had become an expert on the two men.

Flynt was not as easy to read as Bryn, who only had two moods – angry and angrier – and Delia found it difficult to get him to talk to her. With Flynt she had to pick the right wording, the right emotion. He did not like to admit it, but he was an empath of sorts and that influenced the way he handled her and the way she handled him.

“Are you dreaming again?” she asked as a server placed a jug of liquor on the table. Her brother didn’t look at her, but she knew the tensing of his shoulders, the squaring of his jaw. “Same ones?” she finished, pouring them both a beverage.

He nodded, but did not speak. For years he had been tormented by dreams of ethereal connections between their trio and an unknown, unnamed, woman. She seemed to be the missing piece in the puzzle of what Delia considered her destiny. Flynt’s gifts seemed to be important in her search for people to construct her team of warriors but it was not meant to be. They needed someone with more power at their disposal. Flynt believed that they needed that woman.

Only recently had the dreams changed. Until just last week he had dreamed of a mysterious woman, shrouded in mists. She faced away from him. In the dream, Delia and Bryn were behind him with long glowing lines flowing from them into him. From him they drifted into the woman, and from her they fed into three shadowy figures.

But last week the mysterious woman had turned to face him. She had stretched out her hands and met his eyes. Although he was too far from her to see them clearly, he felt her penetrating gaze boring into him. Then, her voice traveled to him over the cloudy terrain.

Her lips formed the words and her voice rang like bells as she said, “Carmen Orinda.”

He could only assume that it was her name, the name that he had to follow. The name that would lead him to her. Lead him to the woman that would help his sister find her way.

“Come in Flynt,” Delia called, setting her empty glass down on the table. “I hate drinking alone.”

“Sorry,” he replied, reaching for his glass. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah you were,” she said, pouring herself another glass. “That was the problem.” She reached over and slipped her hand into his. His cobalt blue eyes flickered to her, but did not reveal his inner thoughts. He had grown too good at masking his emotions, and she had missed a few lessons on how to read him.

He squeezed her hand, but did not speak. She frowned, but didn’t speak. Taking another sip of her drink, she allowed her gaze to drift to the other patrons of the tavern. A woman sat not too far from them, her stringy brunette hair falling over sallow cheeks and heavy eyes. She had a pitcher of liquor on the table where she sat alone. As Delia watched her the woman lifted her eyes and met her gaze, the hallow empty look sending shivers down Delia’s spine.

How long they sat there, she did not know. The shadows shifted on the floor, lengthening, stretching. Flynt was lost in his own mind, unwilling to share his thoughts, and Delia was unwilling to seek them out. The two of them just sat in silence, drinking their liquor and hiding their thoughts.

“Where’s Bryn?” Delia asked, knowing that Flynt did not have an answer. He did not try to respond, simply poured her another drink. Together, they had killed the jug.

The later it grew the more crowded the room became; the louder the room became. Delia did not hear Bryn calling her name over the barbaric men singing at the bar. When his hand clapped down on her shoulder she jumped and cried out startling Flynt.

“You okay?” Bryn asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She clutched her chest for a moment, breathing heavily. When she finally nodded, he plopped down in the seat beside her. “I got us another ride off the planet.”

“What’s the pilot’s name?”

“Flynt Rickard,” Bryn replied. Both of them turned to stare at him. “I bought a ship.”

“You – bought – a ship?” Delia asked incredulously. “Why did you buy a ship?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Flynt replied. “I know where we’re going.”

“What?” Bryn asked.

“We need to find Carmen Orinda.”

“Orinda?” Delia asked, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in askance.

“The girl from my dreams…”