All according to plan

Baral clunked down the alleys—left, right, left again—in the order that Baan had insisted he repeat too damn many times on the flight in. Around him, the buildings were no longer new and bright, but trickled away in a slow decay of gravel and dust. Sweat pooled in his collar, hot breath thickened the air in his helmet.

Behind him, the Nalaar girl raged and cursed, random obscenities echoing along the stone alleys.

***

The location had been Baan's suggestion. A maze of old-construction stone buildings along the river, stripped and bare, their yards long dried up and blown away. Nothing combustible anywhere.

He swung around a corner, tipped up the filigree mesh of his helmet, and bellowed over his shoulder, "All that time your mother suffered. Thinking you were dead."

***

Burn