Into the Fire (Into the Churn Book 2)

by Hayley Reese Chow

“Well, yeah.” Bex pushed off from the wall. “That’s why we’re not here to stop you.”

“We’re royalers, aren’t we?” Bex crossed the cramped ship, her ice-chip eyes boring into Ezren’s. “We’re the ones who’ve got your back.” She lifted her chin at Shiro as he slipped past them into the cockpit. “Not some rando.” “Well, I did tell Foster.” Ezren ran her fingers across the smooth wall of the ship, trying to school her emotions before they spilled out in an anxious mess of gratitude and embarrassment. “He’s on his way now.” Sylvia tossed a triumphant grin toward Bex. “See, I told you they would work it out.”

While she understood the need to hide their position, going dark meant she wouldn’t be able to send or receive any messages from Foster. She had to know he was okay.

A deep pink, six-tailed cat jumped up on the seat beside Bex with a soft mew, interrupting Sylvia’s latest lecture. “Why is there a tiny cat?”

Ezren’s hands knotted in her long sleeves. She thought of Foster winning the brawl in the BRR for them. Of him carrying her across the finish line. There was nothing Foster Sterling, race royale prodigy, couldn’t do… but her? “I… I don’t know if I can do this alone.” Sylvia reached out and squeezed her arm. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not alone.” Ezren looked from Sylvia’s soft expression of understanding to Bex’s set jaw, and her voice dropped to a choked whisper. “Thank you.”

“Fill our wings with fair winds, Mother Belethea, till your solid ground is beneath our feet once more.” The cat trilled beside her, and Bex bowed her head, her voice barely a whisper. “Keep us safe.” The words sent an icy trickle down Ezren’s spine, a cold disquiet soaking into her skin. She sent up her own silent prayer that Foster was safe down there and that he would forgive her for leaving without him. “It’s okay, Hart,” Bex said, running a hand along the cat’s back. “He’ll understand.”

At least, no matter the dangers they faced on Otho, Foster would be safe on Belethea. After all, Calderon was trying to silence her voice—the voice of terraforming—not Foster’s. He would be fine, and she would see him in eight days at the ambassador summit, just like Sylvia had planned.

Ezren had to believe that or she couldn’t do this. And she had to do this. Her dad was worth it. Or at least, he had been once.

“I can’t believe they left me out.” Grady adjusted his octagonal goggs in his dark curls, which, even after a scrap and a sprint from Carmella, looked immaculate. “I mean, what is this, some kind of girls’ trip?” A kindred annoyance crawled through Foster. He should’ve thought to call Shiro last night too. Should’ve known there’d be no holding Ezren back. Should’ve run after her and insisted they work through it together rather than wait until the last minute. Chaff, if it weren’t for him, they could’ve all been on Shiro’s ship last night and avoided all this. But he’d hesitated, and now Ezren was in more danger than ever.

“I guess it could be worse.” “I’m not waiting for it to get worse.” Seething, Foster spun on his heel and stalked toward the exit. “I’m going after them.” “You mean we’re going after them.” Grady grinned, matching him stride for stride.

“You know what, don’t worry about it. I know a guy.” And honestly, Foster didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The door hissed open, and Grady rolled in with three hover-dollies of luggage. Foster barked out an unsurprised laugh. “You know we’ll be only gone for like a week, right?”

“Did you pack our pilot in there too?” “No, I’m right here.” Foster frowned at the vague familiarity of the voice but couldn’t quite pinpoint its owner until he glanced at the doorway. There, a guy his own age stood with dark hair styled into a sweep, an olive glow to his complexion, and a spacer’s half-visor over one eye. Davis Banda. No fodding way. Foster’s head whipped back to Grady with a barely suppressed growl. “That’s our pilot?”

Foster took in a controlled breath and folded his arms. The problem with Davis was that he’d once been more than Ezren’s friend, and even after all this time, he knew Davis would’ve welcomed more. Paradoxically, there was a part of Foster that personally hated Davis for breaking Ezren’s heart, but he had to admit, he’d always been there for her in a pinch. And at least this way, he didn’t have to worry about this episode getting leaked on VSoc. But he still didn’t like it.

“Shaft.” Foster’s shoulders dropped, his arms falling to his sides. Ezren had thought her dad abandoned her. He hated even thinking about how much pain that must’ve put her through, and yet they’d been wrong all along.

“I have to admit, that girl’s reaction time is fast, but she really has a bad habit of running off in a fritz. Remember that time she ran out into a blizzard to find you, Sterling?” Guilt wriggled through Foster’s already tense muscles. He should have seen this coming—should’ve told her he’d go right away.

“Yeah, but hiring a P.I. to find her dad was a pretty blime thing to do, Foster. At least she has a chance to find him now.” Foster let out a long sigh. He really didn’t want to like Davis, so why’d he have to be so nice? “Yeah, well, it went down kind of rough.”

They weren’t Ezren. Not his double. But they were on his team. And right now, he needed that.

“Hold up, kin. It’s Gerard Y.” Davis raised a brow with a cautious smile. “Tell me that’s not a famous assassin.” “Worse.” Foster scowled, his hands curling into fists as his jaw worked. “It’s my dad.”

The Tumble Bucket, as the ship was so aptly named, had only three connected rooms.

But even in the cramped space, Foster’s absence haunted her. She’d left him behind in a spray of bullets, and now she couldn’t even contact him.

“No matter how far I go, my heart is always right here with yours. I love you all so much, you’ll feel it, even from here. Whenever you look up at the sky, know that I’m looking right back down at you.”

But he unbuckled the weapon too, leaving him in a sleeveless spacer’s jumpsuit that showed off his well-defined shoulders and biceps. Apparently, he was no slouch either.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t the fists.” Sylvia strained against him, frustration twisting her face though not hurt in the slightest—another testament to his skill. “But they recruited me for my wheels.”

Ezren shook her head, the uneasiness once again quaking through her. “Guns aren’t allowed in the BRR.”

“Royalers don’t use guns.” Bex stepped away from him, her lips curling in distaste. “It’s an ignoble weapon.”

“The more I find out about you, Ian Shiro, the more suspicious you seem.” His grin widened, and this time, it creased the laugh lines edging his face. “And you know what, Sylvia Long, I think you like it.” Ezren stifled a snort and peeked at Bex. But if Bex was picking up on the flirtatious tension between these two, she wasn’t showing it.

“Don’t let him shake you,” Bex said. “It’s dangerous, but if there’s one thing royalers know, it’s how to get in and out of danger. There’s no one better to run in there and figure out what’s going on.” Her gaze drifted toward the cockpit, her lips twisting thoughtfully. “And I think he knows that.”

“You could come play with us,” his father continued, lifting his glass to Foster. “Get some bonding time in.” “Big pass.” Foster sat up, ready to flee if need be. By definition, lunar hoppers weren’t huge, but he’d rather be in the cargo hold than drink with his father. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“That place is a hotbed of organized crime. Are you sure you want to go there?” Prickles of disquiet stabbed Foster in a thousand places, sharpening his tone. “If Ezren is there, that’s even more reason to go.”

Foster’s hand spasmed, and he covered it with the other.

Davis smiled, but a tightness tugged at the corners of his eyes. “Your son doesn’t want to be famous.” “But…” Gerard frowned, squinting in confusion. “We’ve always been famous.” Chaff, how did Foster end up on a ship with three insufferable people? “Ah yes, and it was always such a treat having my every move documented on VSoc growing up.”

What if something had already happened to Ezren? He had to know she was okay, and more than that, he needed to get off this ship before he strangled his dad and started to like Davis Banda.

The ill-fitting spacer jumpsuits Shiro had procured for Bex and Ezren hung loose from their limbs, and the half-visors looked out of place over their left eyes. Ezren imagined she looked even more unrecognizable with her hair dyed back to her natural mousy brown and a gray scarf covering the lower half of her face. Or at least, she hoped she would be unrecognizable, because there was nowhere to run if she was mobbed in here.

Shiro took her jibes with an easy grin as the boarding plank raised behind him, the pink cat—who Ezren had finally dubbed Turnip—darting out at the last second.

The mag train was packed to its limit as they shuffled in, bodies pressed together from every side, and Ezren found herself wishing for the tin can again.

eyes flicked to her lips so quickly that for a second Ezren thought she imagined it. Sylvia’s eyes flashed before she turned away, giving him a face full of her curls. Ezren stifled a snort.

Not that it was any of her business, and she wasn’t sure if she trusted Shiro, but it was the first time she’d seen someone fluster Sylvia. It was good for her, and Ezren couldn’t help but root for them.

After all, she had no doubt that if someone tried to shoot her—again—Foster would be the first to jump in front of the bullet.

He turned his dark gaze on Ezren. “Information is money here, and money is power. So when my contact arrives, none of you says a word.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Even if he asks you a question, don’t answer. From here on out, we don’t trust anybody.”

Ezren’s chest iced over, and any regard for Shiro’s rules went out the airlock. “What’s changed?” she whispered.

Bex’s brows knitted as she studied him. “You were there.” Shiro audibly slapped a hand to his forehead, but they were beyond his suspicions now.

Ezren’s mind raced, trying to piece together this new information. “It was a terraforming breakthrough,” she whispered. “It had to be.”

“Am I dying?” Sylvia moaned from his shoulder, a trail of crimson dripping from her leg. “If you are, I’m seriously impressed with your lucidity.” Shiro took a sharp corner, adjusting her on his shoulder.

In a blink, his gaze jumped to Ezren and she nodded, hundreds of hours of Bex’s hand-to-hand training surging through her in a rush of adrenaline. With a lunge, Ezren grabbed the man’s arm and used his momentum to flip him over her hip. He slammed into the floor, and twisting his hand, she wrested the gun from his fist, just as she’d practiced on Bex a hundred plus times in the past few days.

That done, Shiro turned on his heel and picked up Sylvia from where she leaned against the wall. Though his hands were gentle as he lifted her into a bridal-carry, her eyes screwed shut in pain.

Ezren turned and stopped mid-step, her mouth falling open. This ship was nothing like the Tumble Bucket. In fact, this was about as far away from a bucket as it got.

Sylvia looked up at Shiro beneath knitted rainbow brows. “Who the chaff are you?” “A private investigator, a pilot, your current savior.” He smiled down at her as he lowered her into the copilot chair and strapped her in. “I wear lots of hats.”

“Finally. Nothing says warm and cozy like superior firepower.” “Stop crowing already and get us out of here,” Sylvia snapped. “If a bullet won’t get her down, I’m beginning to think nothing will,” Shiro said, the ship easing off the ground and into the airlock.

With Turnip zipped into her spacer jumpsuit, Bex squeezed Ezren’s hand, her own gaze steady. “You’re not dying today, Hart. Just breathe.”