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"You really brought this thing to life, huh!"
She turns at the sound of Hiro's voice, mostly out of surprise. They're clinging to the thick, gnarled stem of the plant for dear life, wind whipping through their hair just like it's ruffling her own feathers. She notices instantly that their weapon is clutched in their hand. At least, out of everyone, it isn't pointed at her. Not yet.
She hadn't expected them to climb all the way up here; she hadn't expected to see them again. Hadn't expected to see anyone again. It was a bad, dangerous idea.
There's too much she wants to say, too much she can't, so instead of saying any of it, she sighs, "It was already alive, dummy. It's a plant."
A sparking wave of energy flows from the roots upwards, making the vines and tendrils of the thing curl and shudder all around them. She steadies herself; the branch she's sitting on extends far from the trunk, out over the precipitous fall below.
"...I've sorta been keeping my distance," she adds. "Since it obviously doesn't recognize me as… as its mom, or anything." No, it's far out of her control now, like everything else.
"Yeah, sorry about that."
Another wave rolls like thunder, and the two of them pause. She looks away from them, turning her gaze back to the city spread out below her, smoke rising and lights sparkling in the late afternoon sun, the roots of her creation choking the streets. Beyond the city limits in one direction, the sea stretches to the horizon; in the other, there are forests, hills, the jade silhouettes of the mountains.
When they speak next, there's something strange in their tone. Low and serious. Probably anger. Or maybe it's sadness.
"What are you doing up here, Ava?"
"I'm leaving. Nothing else for me here anymore, right?" she says, and it stings. "And did you come all this way just to fix my mistakes? Or are you gonna try to bring me in?"
"...I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to take care of this thing before anyone else gets hurt. That's what I'm here for," they say.
She remembers less than an hour ago, in front of a dozen of the most powerful people in Corkus, when she did the hopeful, naive, stupid thing and took off her helmet. And then with her feathers on display she had knocked that woman halfway across the room. No matter how awful she might've been, she must have broken a couple of ribs at the very least; maybe worse.
What else is happening down there now, she has no idea. When she set the accelerator loose on those pristinely-cultivated gardens, she was moving on automatic, blinded by anger at them, at herself– and yeah, maybe the tears as well. When the panic set in, when the vines first started smashing through windows and screams started to pour into the streets, she did what she does best, and ran. She wants to feel sick, but all she feels is hollow.
"No, you were here because of me." The words drown out everything else like a tidal wave, and she's not sure she can stop them. "I– I didn't want this. I just wanted to fix things, to fix myself, for people to look at me and not to see…" She trails off. "Well, they're looking at me now, huh? I'll be the talk of the entire nation. I'm on the top of the world!"
She stands in a flourish as she shouts, casting her arms out wide, staring into the middle distance, past the city, past Corkus, past everything.
"I don't know what else to do." Her breath hitches. "I don't know what to do."
It'll be a matter of minutes before they do the right thing and arrest her. She can't stay here. The avos have cast her out, and the humans will do a lot worse. She doesn't have anywhere to go, but all she knows is that she has to be anywhere else.
But they're intent on surprising her for the second time today, it seems, because instead they say, "...The President wanted me to tell you… that she's not that mad."
Hearing that she turns back, and somehow a thin laugh actually bubbles up in her throat. "W-what?"
"She– she really did!" they say, as if that makes it make any more sense. "I mean, the Council might be out for blood – some of them, at least – but she said she can handle them. Said that if you're gonna run… she just wants to talk to you."
She imagines facing President Efena again, the one who had almost convinced her she had a chance before snatching it all away, and she thinks she might be sick after all.
"I…" she says. "...You know I can't believe you. I attacked their Council– hell, their city, their whole province. It's over."
"Please, just… try. If it really comes down to it, I can protect you. I won't–"
"I won't go back, Hiro. I can't go back."
"The President really seems to think otherwise!" they protest. "And so do I!"
She finds herself backing away, and hisses, "Well, I'm telling you you're wrong."
"Ava, I trusted you to fly me across the province, held up by nothing by a magnet, a mile in the sky. Multiple times. I put my life in your hands, because I think… I think you're a good person. And I think you can make things better." They release their grip on the plant, stumbling slightly, and reach out an open hand towards her, their weapon forgotten.
"Just this once, I'm asking you to put your trust in me."
"That magnet was experimental," she mutters, barely above a whisper. "It could've killed you completely by accident any time, for no reason at all. I wouldn't trust me. And I can't trust the rest of you either."
Before they can say another word – before they can make her break – she lets herself drop off the edge, plummeting in freefall for an eternal moment before the wind catches her gently, carrying her away from the city, away from it all.
❋
The first time Ava ran away from home, she was ten years old. Barely a fledgling; her flight feathers had only just come in, and she was restless, already anxious to fly as far as she could.
Years later, when she was cast out by the avos for good, she was mature enough to know what she had lost. She felt the frigid isolation before she was even able to process it. But way back then, it had been the furthest thing from her mind.
She wanted to be anyone, anywhere else. So she ran.
The Chief taught her, like all the other chiefs before had taught him, that the torrential rain and storms that engulfed the island during the lean months were a gift from nature. They protected the island, sheltered the life that called it home, the avos included. More importantly, though, she was taught that nature wasn't to be trifled with.
So of course, Ava trifled with it, restless as she was, and flew into the colossal wall of the stormfront with little more than the clothes on her back and a map to guide her through the tempest, across the seas to a distant, fantastical land called Wynn.
She had intended to fly there and never look back. The storm, in all its terrible, raucous fury, seemed intent to shatter her into pieces against the cliffs and cast her down to be forgotten. But in the end, neither was meant to be.
She returned to Avosachi drenched and shivering, but alive against all odds. The Chief and all the rest tried to impress upon her the gravity of what she had almost done, but she had already stopped listening.
Years later still, when she fled Corkus City and left chaos in her wake, the contrivances of fate on that night resurfaced in her mind.
Nature works in mysterious ways, hm?
❋
Three weeks come and go.
And after a while, Ava comes to realize the thing about hitting rock bottom: that when you wake up the next day, and the day after, and the day after that, you aren't suddenly no longer there. It's a long, slow, agonizing climb.
When President Efena finally tracked her down, she was hours away from vanishing for good. She had spent days tearing through her workshop from the top down, sorting through the last of all the junk she's collected over the years, trying to find the few things light enough – and important enough – that she could carry them all the way to Wynn.
There was no storm on the horizon, not this time; it was practically calling to her. She would fly non-stop. East to the warm waters of the tropical belt, south to the shore. It would be rough, but she would make it. Then she could start to think about… what came next.
Even when she saw that Efena had arrived on her doorstep – inexplicably – not with armed soldiers, but alone, just herself and one of her Councilmen, she could still barely muster the will to care. It didn't matter what sentence she was here to serve, or how gentle she was going to be about it; it was already done. The workshop isn't her home anymore. Her homeland isn't hers.
And the President had exiled her, yes. But then, inexplicably, instead of taking away everything she had left that she'd fought so hard to keep, she had given her Maxie, too.
(They hadn't been lying after all.)
She still wakes up every day just barely keeping her head above water, but for the moment, she's trying not to think about it. Not the President, not Corkus, not the avos, none of it. You don't stop existing just because you wish you could.
She's busy now, and in a way, that's a blessing.
Not that she believes in those.
"Ouch. Oh– shoot."
Snapped out of her ruminations, Ava turns around to find that she's accidentally left Maxie halfway down the hillside behind her. Again. Whoops.
Now that things have calmed down in the city, the President has finally seen fit to send Maxie to her workshop full-time– for the next little while, at least. Unfortunately for both of them, there are no roads from Corkus up into the mountains, so he and Ava have been hauling his luggage on foot for the better part of the afternoon.
She insisted on carrying his electromagical gizmos and equipment, mostly to avoid the awkwardness of being stuck with his personal belongings. It's a steep road, though, and it's a no-win situation. She watches him jog down the hill after a bag that slipped from his back and escaped into the dew-soaked brush, and then she watches him trudge back to catch up with her. It's not exactly the first hiccup today.
He readjusts the weight across his shoulders, then clears his throat, noticing her gaze fixed on him. "Haha. Sorry, sorry. Please." He gestures forward, his curls bobbing around his face. Too grey for his age. "After you!"
"...Sure," she says, hiking up her own bag. "We're only a little ways out now."
Ten minutes later, she crests the last rise, and immediately drops her cargo into the grass with a sigh of relief, just barely remembering to ease it down for the safety of its fragile contents. A few seconds later, he's quick to follow.
"I forgot how slow having to walk everywhere is," she groans.
"If there's one thing any human would love to have, I think it might be wings," he agrees. He takes a moment to catch his breath and to gaze at the view– the forested valley below their feet, and the faint lights and wisps of smoke from settlements dotted along the mountain range, human and avos alike, vanishing into the late-afternoon haze. Avosachi is far in the distance, gone over the horizon. Then he turns his attention to the workshop.
As far as she knows, it used to be an outpost of some kind used by the earlier Corkian settlers. She doesn't know where they went, and she's never really cared to find out. Nowadays it's a slapdash spire of crumbling brick and pipework, patched over with her repairs and additions in wood and aluminum. A crown of antennae rises from the roof, ivy-choked, shrieking and swaying in the sharp breeze.
Maxie has to lean back to see it all, and he looks just as thoroughly impressed as he was the first time he arrived, at the President's side.
"This is exciting. Isn't it? You and me, working together for real. And wow, Ava, I forgot how great this place is. I don't want to get ahead of myself, I just can't wait for a full tour."
"Right." She fishes a long, bent bronze key from her pockets – she had to design the locks herself – and strides over to unlock the door, throwing her weight against it once or twice before finally shoving it open. "...Welcome back, I guess. Home sweet home."
The interior of the workshop is crowded and dim, lit by flickering lamps and narrow rays of sunlight. The air is hot, flooding their breaths with the acrid scents of grease and dust. Machinery. Foraged, home-made meals.
The numb shock of being allowed to stay is still wearing off; her thought process is still a blur. She doesn't know what she was thinking, and she tries not to think about it.
Nothing in Wynn could ever, ever be as important to her as this place.
At long last having reached the final leg of their journey, Ava and Maxie start hauling his bags, suitcases and boxes of equipment up the spiral staircase rising from the foyer, up into the belly of the tower where Ava's workspace lies, and where she is now, apparently, making room for a second person in her life.
Her eyes sweep over the catastrophic mess that he fails to notice in his excitement, suddenly self-conscious. "So," she says. "You're really, uh. Staying here?"
He stops gawking and faces her in a flurry, raising his hands placatingly. "I won't be any trouble, I promise!"
"Sure, it's just that I figured you had an actual house? Back in the city?"
"Oh!" He lets out one of those weird nervous titters he's so prone to doing. "Well. Rhay's out of province on a work trip for another month, so. It's kind of lonely there right now. …That, and I'd much rather be here than have to deal with the commute every day, ha!" He casts his gaze around the room, apparently seeking an avenue by which to change the subject. "Oh, hold on. Is that a robot?"
Ava decides not to ask who in the world this 'Rhay' character is, and instead tries to keep him from damaging himself or the somewhat-derelict machine that's stolen his attention. It's a sort of decrepit thing, its plates oxidized to a golden-bronze despite the care she's taken with its more important mechanicals. Dead as a doornail, too, since she hasn't exactly had the time to scrounge up a replacement power cell. Given the situation.
"You had this thing in here the whole time and you made us carry all my stuff?!" Maxie asks, half-jokingly, she thinks. "Did you make this?"
"No. It wouldn't have been any help on the way up, anyway," she says. She neglects to give him more insight into her recent precarity than that, focuses her energy on the now. "I fixed it up a while back. The fine command system's busted, but I can still put it to use around here, once in a blue moon. Usually as a coat rack."
He doesn't laugh, but he smiles, distracted, not looking at her. "Either way, this is cool. It must be first-generation, practically ancient these days… you know, years ago, I actually studied autogolemancy. Wasn't any good at it."
He respects her work, at least, hovering around the robot's chassis from every angle, peering in at the humanoid joints. She doesn't have to tell him off about screwing around with it, because he doesn't try. A reminder to herself that he is, in fact, a professional electromage.
Ava, for the life of her, does not know what his deal is. What the angle is.
This is a problem between herself and practically everyone, in a general way – an outsider to two peoples, a chasm between them that she cannot sense, whose boundaries she's had to feel around in the dark to find – but also in several very specific ways. It's an understanding she hasn't been able to grasp with him, nor with President Efena herself. And with Hiro…
Hiro was like an experiment, a puzzle to solve to try and get at what she hoped they could give her. Maxie, though, is too simple. Too straightforward. Too talkative, downright conversational, friendly, even. She doesn't feel much like chatting, so for a few minutes she leaves him alone and moves some more of their gear. She lets his mumbling and measuring speak for the both of them, and tries to glean why he's here.
Maxie was – is – on the Council. But on that day, when she revealed herself, he was the only one who hadn't been the least bit surprised to see that she was avos. Even Efena… well, she remembers every moment of that meeting in sharp, painful detail, so she doesn't feel the need to relitigate. But that's strange, isn't it?
It's all different than she expected. Not better, necessarily, but different nonetheless.
Can she trust Efena?
Can she trust him?
The robot croaks, a sweep of rust falling from the jagged fault line between two plates, and Maxie nearly jumps out of his boots.
"...So where do humans learn electromagic, anyway?" she probes.
"Ah. CAMI, generally," he says. She knew the answer, of course, and he must have guessed, because he doesn't bother explaining the acronym: the Corkus City Automagical Institute. It was either that, or the provincial university. He lays off the derelict machine, eyebrows raised. "And now from you, right? But that's a little less traditional."
"Yeah, well. I'm not planning on making a habit of it." Ava leaves the robot behind, surveying the small hill of baggage piled in the middle of her workshop. A different kind of mess than she's used to. She adds, "You'd better consider yourself lucky!"
"Don't worry, I do."
She hesitates, then gestures over her shoulder. "C'mon, then, if you're planning on staying, you should get yourself settled in. I got a room cleared out upstairs."
She starts moving before he replies, but before she knows it he's following her up the last set of stairs enthusiastically, his bag hiked back up to his shoulders. "Lead the way, ma'am!"
❋
The last time Ava had a home to run away from, she was twenty-three, a few years and a lifetime ago. A real home, she might clarify to herself in her worse moments; a place she could live rather than just survive, no matter how much comfort the workshop now brings her. A place where she didn't have to scavenge the outskirts of other peoples' lives for scraps.
Never mind that by then, the rift had already opened between herself and the avos, an insurmountable open wound that had been festering in her for years.
She barely touched the ground as she barged into the Chief's hall, throwing the doors open like a hurricane with all its fury. His head snapped up from his hushed conversation with a couple greying advisors, and she barely avoided impaling herself as his guards brought their spearheads to her chest in a heartbeat. She had nothing to say to anyone but him.
"You had the guards ransack my whole workspace in Rocknest." She stared the accusation over the spears and into him, matter of fact. "They wrecked weeks of my work."
He was infuriatingly calm, even as he gestured for the spearmen to stand down. "I told them–"
"I don't care what you told them," she said, "that's what they did. After all the effort I went to relocate, too, at your insistence."
"And you still haven't been honest with me, have you? About the work you're doing there."
"...What of it?"
"I hear you've started buying electromagical parts from humans lately."
That was true. She'd made a few deals with a couple amenable, less-patriotic Corkian merchants, for lots of things. Certainly longer than he even knew about. She already knew avos magic; if she wanted to make human magic work for her too, she had to take it apart and put it back together, see what made it tick.
When she declined to respond, he sighed, his face hardening slightly. "How many times have I tried to impress on you the danger of what you're doing?"
"What do you mean, my suppliers?" she asked, deflecting. She had not wanted to lose control this early. The Chief was too damn… himself. "Sure, they're Corkian, but I take precautions!"
"Not just them," he said. "And not just for you, either. Because I also hear that one of the 'projects' you had up there was an actual automaton, was it not?"
Also true, unfortunately. "...It's harmless. I can control it."
"No one can control electromagic, Ava. Certainly not you; not even that electromage the humans practically worship, Cerid, the father of their industry. His work – even before he lost control – destroyed swathes of our homeland, and it very nearly did much worse. It is inherently volatile, inherently unstable, inherently dangerous. Even he couldn't survive it."
"It's a tool, the same as our magic, the same as anything. Lots of tools are dangerous! Are you going to tell me that harnessing fire was a mistake, too?"
"It isn't just that, either," he continued, without heed to her point. "Your actions reflect on all of us. I'm starting to think you are too young and naive to accept this, but if the Corkian Council ever found out that we were refitting their automata… if they even suspected it… you don't know their government. You don't know their priorities, and what they will do if they feel threatened. Your work is increasingly becoming a liability."
This, somehow, struck her as even more ridiculous an issue. "I'm not living under a rock, Chief. You already know I've met humans. They'll try to take whatever they want, but they do that whether or not they feel 'threatened'." She felt a fervor rising. "Keeping quiet won't make them respect you. If they want to come after us because– because I fixed up a stupid service bot, then let them! I like our odds! Why shouldn't we risk doing things differently!?"
"It's not that simple. I have diplomatic responsibilities–"
"Responsibilities you inherited from some birds who – lest you forget! – were strong-armed by the Corkians themselves, and who've been dead for centuries since then. You–" At that, she gestured wildly to the advisors behind him, who ruffled and started like they'd been struck– "All of you, you're locked into these ancient ways of thinking to the point that you can't even see what's in front of you now! And–"
"Enough!" the Chief shouted. As loud as she had ever heard him. "You will not disrespect your ancestors to my face, and to the faces of your elders–"
"I'm not your successor, chief, and upholding your ancestry is not my concern," she spat. "I thought we made that clear a long time ago."
It happened so slowly she almost didn't notice; and then it happened all at once.
This schism had been boiling in both of them for weeks, she suddenly realized. Months. Years. How long had she been drifting from Avosachi? Forever?
"Mm," the Chief grumbled, as if coming to an understanding of his own. "Maybe I haven't made things clear enough for you."
She couldn't bring herself away from what she knew was coming; a force of nature. Looking back, she remembered the conversation as an outsider looking in. She swallowed, hardening her glare. "Maybe not."
"If I can't make you see reason, then that is my failure," he said. "But if you continue to pose a danger to yourself, and to all of us, I cannot allow you to remain here."
A hush fell over the room. The guards and the advisors were silent and still, staring at him. She felt like she was burning up, like a shooting star falling to earth.
"Are you listening to me, Ava?"
"Sure I am, Chief." A shaky breath. "Sure. Sure. You've been wanting to do this for a long time, right? Then say it," she demanded, trying to keep the heat and quaver from her voice. "You're so fond of tradition, say it to my face."
What feeling did his voice carry? She didn't know.
He recited the rite of exile in a single, deep, drawn-out breath. He held her gaze for every moment.
And the instant her name left his mouth for the last time, she whirled and stormed out into the night without another word.
❋
The day gets on, and the sun dips low. The calls of the owls, nighthawks, herons, nightingales all soar down over the mountain slope.
As it turns out, Maxie brought food with him, and Ava decides she already appreciates his presence a little more.
At his insistence, they wordlessly sort through some of the stuff he brought in between all his books and basic supplies. Her cooking setup isn't exactly up to provincial standards, but while he goes about cutting up some bread she examines the rest – grapes, oranges, a bottle of… vinegar? – before caving and deciding to fetch some of her dried herbs from one of the disused aeries high up in the tower's rafters.
He seems to appreciate them, and she tells him they're pretty much the only good thing that grows this high in the mountains, and she peels the fruit with a claw while he pours the vinaigrette, and finally they sit down to eat, a bit cramped between the clutter. But damn, if it isn't the best meal she's had in… almost longer than she can remember.
They eat in silence for a while, until Maxie poses the question he must have been eagerly sitting on since he arrived. "So. Where are we going to start?"
She keeps eating for a second, although it's not like she hasn't already put some thought into all this. "I'm not really a natural teacher, but I guess I'll have to see what your electromagic's like, first of all. So that's tomorrow's first lesson," she says. "Though I'm not sure how easy it'll be to transfer what I taught myself to you."
"I don't think real progress is ever easy," he says. "You know, among human magical circles, the common wisdom is that only humans are capable of electromagic. The specific wiring of our brains or somesuch is tuned to it."
"I've read some of your textbooks, I'm well aware, believe me," she snorts.
He smiles apologetically, but sincerely, too. Gestures at her in a way that might be meant to say, take a look at yourself. "You're a living refutation of that way of thinking. We're all in uncharted territory, now. I'm really hoping that however all this turns out, we can change some peoples' minds, make them acknowledge the truth that's already right in front of them."
Something about that causes a twinge in her chest, and she stops eating. "I'm not so good at that, in case you haven't noticed. I've got a terrible record."
"What about your growth accelerator? There's no way anyone can ignore that. The great Corkian electromages will still be trying to explain it away a year from now."
He puts a slight sarcastic spin on when he's talking about the old guard of electromagic – she's already gathered that he's had his share of friction with them before – and she allows herself a faint smile. "Fair point, sure, but I never recovered it… it probably ended up being crushed in the rubble when everything came down," she sighs. "And I can't rebuild it with what I've got here, not without… well, y'know, I just can't."
"It was partially avos magic, right?" he pries. Damn, he's too observant for his own good. "If you need something from them, I might be able to ask the Chief about it. I've been an occasional liaison between him and the Council for some time–"
"No," she snaps. The twinge turns into a sting. "It's not that. It doesn't matter."
Maxie doesn't respond for a moment, and she avoids meeting his gaze, instantly keenly aware of how weird that was. Then he says, "Well, with or without it, you've got me in your corner here. I'm sure we'll figure things out."
He's careful what he says to – and around – her, she's noticed that much. Does he pity her? A part of her wishes he did, but a larger part hopes he doesn't, and she doesn't think he does. As she runs through it all in her head, though, he smiles, and then he's already turned back to his plate, and she finds herself unable.
Almost grimacing, she says, "I'm still not… convinced."
He looks up again and quirks an eyebrow. "Not convinced of what?"
"I don't know. Of anything. Of–" Of what? Myself?
She doesn't finish the thought, and instead she asks him the question that's been hanging over her head since he first turned up with the President at her door. "What do you want, Maxie?"
He stops eating. Dinner is practically forgotten.
"...Generally speaking? I want to fix things. I want to master electromagic. I want to be recognized, appreciated, I want the work I believe in to pay off. I want to see the end of the strife in our province in my lifetime. I want to know that what I do matters. And if it's not asking too much, I'd like to be with my husband more often." She scoffs, and he chuckles. "But right now? I want you to be able to trust me. Trust us. I want you to believe that you can."
"You're a Councilman," she states. She meets his eyes momentarily, then looks away at nothing. "You still answer to Efena, don't you?"
"You know, believe it or not, President Efena is on your side too."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"...Yes, ultimately," he says.
She takes a deep breath. "So if I did try to leave, would you have to stop me?"
"Are you planning on leaving?"
"I asked you first," she says shortly.
Put on the spot, his face twists uncomfortably. "It's true, having someone here to keep an eye on you is one of the reasons she sent me. But if you really want to go, make a new life somewhere else, I don't believe it'd be right of me to stop you. And I think – I hope – that she understood that when she chose me."
He doesn't have anything else to say or to argue after that. They lapse into silence, Ava rolling his words around in her head, seeing how they feel. Weighing the ways everything that comes after this could go. The sensation is a bit like standing on the cliff's edge, looking out at the sea. No matter what happens, she can't go back.
After watching her for a while and growing increasingly uncomfortable, he moves as if to stand up. Something crystallizes in her mind. "If me being here isn't what you want, I can–"
"No," she says. She breathes it out casually, as if saying it, asserting it, hearing it, is completely mundanely ordinary and not the sort of thing that, for some reason, has left her reeling. "Stay," she adds quickly. "I'm sorry, you're fine, it's just... ugh. It's just me."
The two of them relax, fractionally; they both notice it. Ava lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She doesn't know what she's doing, but it's somehow a relief.
"...So... are you planning on leaving?"
"No." She asserts it again, more certain this time.
"Oh thank goodness," he sighs. She shoots him a glare, but he's laughing through his nervous smile. "I mean– I meant everything I just said, I promise, but... honestly I've got no idea what I would've told Efena if I'd scared you off already."
"Yeah. At the very least I'm glad you're the one who has to work with her!"
"Mhm. She won't hear that one from me."
They finish dinner, eventually. She stands up as soon as they're done, takes their dishes before he has a chance to get involved. Maxie drifts through the junk and starts hovering over his mostly-unpacked equipment and checklists again, sensing that after that conversation, the night is winding down. That's fine by her; it was good, she thinks, good to clear the air. But she also hadn't realized sitting down and talking could be so exhausting.
She guesses she'll have to get used to it. She's been through worse.
After she's done she makes for bed, several floors and narrow, ramshackle staircases above their heads in the upper eaves of the workshop. As she passes Maxie again, though, she stops with one foot on the bottom step, and raps a claw on the metal. That gets his attention. "About time to turn in?" he asks. "Go on, I'll be alright down here."
She nods. "Good. I'll, uh... I will see you in the morning, then. Bright and early. We'll see how it goes from there. And don't think I'll go easy on you," she adds, and she means it.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he says. "I'll be ready." She nods and starts climbing without fanfare, and he turns back. Over his shoulder, he calls, "Sleep well."
"...Yeah," she says. And she repeats it to herself. "Tomorrow."
❋
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