Lost E-Book

M. Findley

• Herausgeber: M. Findley
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A secret society in control of a technology that could alter the world's fate.
A linguist turned assassin, bound to protect knowledge left long ago by visitors from another galaxy.
And a man, caught in the threads of time...

It was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, right?

At least that is what ZT tells himself when life gets him down, whether that loss is his beloved Margaret, his translation work for the Order, or even those ambitions he once held as a teenager.

But all that changed when he touched the Transportation stone in God’s Library at the Fortress in Istanbul.

Now, life is a series of missions and war, empty connections, and commitmentless sex, and all ZT wants is to make it home to his friends, Adam and Rachel. But that dream fades with each passing day until a dark, curly brown-haired beauty in a white muscle tank top, black cargo pants, and riding an ‘80s skateboard rolls into his life, calling him “Handsome” and helping him on missions.

Maybe life isn’t as bad as it seems, and perhaps those who are lost can be found, even if that means jumping through time.
Rated: 18+ for graphic sex scenes

Trigger warning: Shadow War, book 4, Lost has graphic sexual descriptions along with blood, gore, and violence, and is not recommended for those under 18. If you are upset by murder, vigilantism, blood/knife play, dubious consent, suicidal ideation, and frank discussions of CSA and institutionalized abuse, please take care of yourself and refrain from reading this novel.

Leseprobe

lost

A Standalone Sequel to the Shadow War Trilogy

shadow war

book four

M Findley

Artistic License Publishing, LLC

By M. Findley

Published by Artistic License Publishing, LLC

Copyright: 2025 by M. Findley. All rights reserved.

First Edition: November 2025

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your exclusive use, please consider buying a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone, living or dead, is unintentional.

The copyright laws of the United States of America protect this book. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

NO AI TRAINING

contents

Trigger Warnings / Content Warnings

Note From the Author

On The Back

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Ten Years Later

Research and Inspiration

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Contact Me

Other Works

trigger warnings / content warnings

Dear reader,

The following themes are present in this novel. This list attempts to be comprehensive. If these subjects are uncomfortable for you or you cannot read about them now, please consider skipping this book and prioritizing your well-being.

I’ll see you in the next one.

~Mana

Rated M for mature – R-rated for on-page sex and heavy themes

Human Death: Adult and Child, Funerals/Memorials

Violence: Blood, Gore, War

Vigilante Justice

Foul Language: Swearing and Cursing

Mental Health Crisis: Suicidal Thoughts, Loss of Friends, PTSD

Substance Abuse: Drinking/Alcoholism

Vomiting

Sex:

No Cheating / No Commitments

Bed Hopping

Non-Kink

Kink: Blood play

Kink: **A Non-Con D/s extraction mission with degradation, humiliation, and sadism, BUT both characters consider non-con as hard stops and discuss how to make the mission consensual within the bounds required of the undercover deployment. This warning is issued because, as the writer, I still consider it a non-consensual scene despite the characters creating a safe space with their consent.

Use of the word Rape

Child Abuse:

Off-page CSA

Discussions of physical and sexual abuse in institutions and by caregivers.

Additional Themes: Some are barely touched, while others are heavily explored.

War

PTSD

Friend and Family loss

Eating disorders

Misogyny

Societal norms

Homophobia

Biphobia

Xenophobia

Transphobia

Pedophilia

Hebephilia

Ephebophilia

Physical abuse, specifically in Foster care or by authority figures

Psychological damage due to repressed choices

Climate change

Pandemics

Political and Governmental climates

Due to my own internal, unknown, or unexplored bias, I cannot rule out the potential inclusion of fatphobia, ableism despite personal disability, misogyny, or systemic racism/oppression by a privileged class (Please see author’s note for more information)

note from the author

Hello, dear reader,

I don’t typically expose myself in a book’s note, but today is a special case.

This novel covers some rather heavy themes. I’ve been told before that I write dark stories.

After completing my rough draft and some self-reflection, I realized that most of my books revolve around the theme of overthrowing the system. For example, revolt heavily influences my Five Star novel (Parts 1 and 2), and Shadow War has “war” in the title. I believe these revolutions are my way of actualizing my personal history and working through it—a form of therapy, if you will.

The adage is, write what you know, right?

That being said, I am always trying to educate myself, and although I am a card-carrying member of many of the marginalized groups that make up my character base, I am of the privileged class and still harbor several internal biases.

I welcome sincere discourse and gentle critique. Berating me will teach me, but it is harmful to all involved. So, please be gentle. I can be taught. I have been taught. I’m willing to be taught. I don’t expect anyone to teach me.

That being said, I invite anyone who wishes to explore my handling of these themes to contact [email protected]. I promise to reevaluate my bias and to try to learn. It probably won’t change this novel. I tend to be deliberate in my themes and word choice, even if they contain harmful elements, but I can’t say that someone’s feedback won’t prompt an edit, since I have been known to correct biased errors before. Essentially, I’m trying to say, don’t feel like I'm a lost cause or that I can’t be taught. Tell me your thoughts, even if you think they won’t change anything.

Lastly, I won’t mention all the groups I'm a part of. Some things are better left unsaid, but I want to reiterate that I strive to treat all my characters as if they are real people with hopes, dreams, and flaws. For instance, in Five Star Law: Conscription Compromise, Casey’s loyalty is a strength in Part 1 but a weakness in Part 2 - Acquisition and Preservation, or in Shadow War 1, Mark’s drive to change the world is villainous, but if he’d been set on a different course, who knows what he could have become!

This book has a diverse range of representations for the LGBTQIA+ community. There are gay, pan, cis, bi, hetero, asexual, demi, trans, etc. I believe all have a place in the world, and they are all in my books in one way or another. I also feel that they are just people. That means I don’t single them out for their sexuality or how they identify unless the story calls for it. If the character says they are men or women, then they are men or women, but they may be trans men or trans women. I will mention their transition if the story or character requires more clarification, such as in Part 2 of the Five Star Law. It is the same with mental illness or chronic illness, et cetera.

All art is political, and writing is no exception. That doesn’t mean I condone the characters' actions or viewpoints. Characters are their own entities that serve a purpose in telling a narrative. At its core, the Shadow War series is vigilantism. It attempts to serve a greater purpose, but who is to say what that is?

These themes are explored in ZT’s story.

I hope you like it.

Whether you do or don’t, please consider leaving a review (or rating). They mean the world to authors.

~Mana

on the back

A secret society in control of a technology that could alter the world's fate.

A linguist turned assassin, bound to protect knowledge left long ago by visitors from another galaxy.

And a man, caught in the threads of time...

It was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, right?

At least that is what ZT tells himself when life gets him down, whether that loss is his beloved Margaret, his translation work for the Order, or even those ambitions he once held as a teenager.

But all that changed when he touched the Transportation stone in God’s Library at the Fortress in Istanbul.

Now, life is a series of missions and war, empty connections, and commitmentless sex, and all ZT wants is to make it home to his friends, Adam and Rachel. But that dream fades with each passing day until a dark, curly brown-haired beauty in a white muscle tank top, black cargo pants, and riding an ‘80s skateboard rolls into his life, calling him “Handsome” and helping him on missions.

Maybe life isn’t as bad as it seems, and perhaps those who are lost can be found, even if that means jumping through time.

Rated: 18+ for graphic sex scenes

Trigger warning: Shadow War, book 4, Lost has graphic sexual descriptions along with blood, gore, and violence, and is not recommended for those under 18. If you are upset by murder, vigilantism, blood/knife play, dubious consent, suicidal ideation, and frank discussions of CSA and institutionalized abuse, please take care of yourself and refrain from reading this novel.

chapterone

His mouth was dry, and his head throbbed. With a low moan, ZT rolled to his back, his arm covering his eyes. Where the fuck was he? When the fuck is he? He opened his eyes a crack, and the light from the skylight above him pierced his brain like an ice pick, making his headache ten times worse. His stomach churned, forcing him to swallow convulsively and close his eyes, struggling to keep his last meal in. Once everything had settled, ZT tried again and brought the mosaicked ceiling into focus.

He was in the Fortress in Istanbul.

Well, that settled the where. Now, when?

Rolling to his side, ZT sat up carefully. He still had a headache, but it was fading. He wouldn’t be here long—maybe a week? Two? Not three.

Once sitting, ZT let his hands fall to his side as he took in the rest of the darkened room.

The nightstand clock read three.

Late afternoon then.

Everything else was standard for a Fortress guest room: a small table, two armchairs, two end tables, one king-sized bed, and no window or door to a courtyard.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a duffel bag, the bathroom door, and the exit. ZT went to the bag, hoping to learn who owned it, though he had a pretty good idea of what he’d find.

Opening it, he discovered a familiar set of grey sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, all in size medium. There were also some textbooks for linguistics and philology, along with a spiral notebook containing scribbled notes referencing the textbooks. The handwriting matched his, and the bag itself was a standard issue from the London safehouse.

It was safe to conclude that ZT was back in 2017.

He got a glass of water and sat in the armchair as the memories flooded back. New ones transposed over the old: a future Adam, pushing 40, left legally blind and deaf from the attack, with Rach at his side as his eyes and ears. Adam, at 32 and in the prime of his career, stuck lugging ZT’s young ass across the pond to St. Louis, Missouri, where Adam then met Rach. Adam, at 33, angry and mystified, demanding ZT’s obedience to a hierarchical system that ZT no longer believed in and wouldn’t stay in for long in any case.

And then there was Rach.

Rachel.

If ZT was back in 2017, as he suspected, then Rach was here. Right now. He could see her. She’d either be in a conference room working on that URL link and password crack, in Adam’s hospital room moping, in her room in the guest wing next door sleeping, or in the cafeteria visiting with her new friends.

Cafeteria… ZT’s stomach rumbled, and hunger pushed him to act.

Walking to the dresser that every Order guest room kept stocked with essentials for their Hashashin, ZT grabbed a fresh set of clothes and a hoodie before heading to the shower. Afterward, he took care to buckle his vambrace tight and belt his knife at his side, then brushed his teeth with his favorite toothpaste, something he hadn’t done in a while, since the brand he loved wasn’t available in 1986.

Once presentable, ZT left the room his younger self inhabited, and after a second to orient himself within the Fortress, he made his way to the chow hall.

After a nice dinner, where he sat in the corner and people-watched, ZT went to Antipolemarchos Valis’s office, where, if memory served, Bart should be working. Sure enough, the big bear of a man was in the anteroom at his computer.

“Bart,” ZT said, gaining the other man’s attention.

Looking up, Bart raked him with his gaze. “And you are?”

“ZT Black,” ZT answered, giving his habitual response. “Just got in from a gig. Put me up for the week?” It wasn’t like he could stay with his younger self.

Bart squinted at his screen and typed on his PC, frowning. “I got a free room in the standard wing, though it’s still busy with the last of the guests for the memorials—You here for one of those?”

Crap. ZT had forgotten about them. Fuck Mark Prescott and his mission to destroy the Order, which had precipitated the death of so many agents. “No, but I’ll catch a few while I’m here. Can I have a room in Hashashin wing E?” ZT asked, knowing Bart wouldn’t give him a room there. Adam, and by extension, his team, had all those rooms to themselves.

Not that Rach benefited from the solitude at the moment, what with Adam all conked out and in the infirmary and all.

“Wing E?” Bart confirmed.

“Yup.”

“Let me see what’s open over there.”

“Don’t tell me. That wing’s busy, too?” ZT smiled and crossed his arms.

Bart was making a show of his search.

When had Bart’s power-lording over the logistics of room assignments become so blatant? Had it always been that way? His younger self had never noticed.

Unsurprisingly, Bart said with an affected, disappointed tone, “Bad news, nothing there.”

“All full?” ZT asked, attempting to project a sense of surprise he didn’t feel.

Looking up, Bart said, “I can house you in the overflow wing, a permanent guest house, with access, of course⁠—”

“Of course.”

“—or the Lokhagos wing.”

The Lokhagos wing was a no-go. ZT didn’t want to meet up with Mori. She might recognize him. Plus, it was too close to the Stratigos wing, and he didn’t want to run into Darius either. A permanent guest house might work. Crap. No, it wouldn’t. If memory served, Mark Prescott and his daughter, Liz, were there. “Give me the overflow.”

“You got it,” Bart replied. “You said a week?”

ZT debated. If he excluded his bounce-induced illness of 1938, then this one would be classified as being disruptive but not debilitating. His first estimate was likely correct, but he upped it for wiggle room. “Give me two weeks. I should be out of your hair then.”

Bart clicked on his PC. He then held an RFID card to a reader. Once the card was programmed, Bart handed it to ZT and said, “There you go. Let me know if you need anything else, Hashashin… Black?”

ZT gave Bart a satisfied grin. Bart had finally cottoned on to the surname, and ZT was about to be mentioned in the archive again—that poor archive.

Rapping the desk with his knuckles, ZT wished Bart a good day and quit the room for his new home away from home. After a slight struggle to find the correct wing, ZT let himself into his guest room, stripped off his clothes, and fell into bed naked except for his vambrace and the knife he clipped to it for safekeeping while he slept.

After several time jumps to his name, some of them mid-shower—time travel waits for no one, not even while on the can—he stopped caring if he was found nude. Clothes were replaceable. His knife and bracer, on the other hand, were not. As long as he had them, he was golden.

Rolling himself into a blanket burrito, ZT zonked out. He awoke at dawn and allowed himself another relaxing shower, skipping the shave. After dressing in the standard Hashashin uniform, he went to the cafeteria.

Entering the room, he beelined for the order window, where he saw a familiar-looking line cook prepping food. “Hey, Elvis? I didn’t realize you’d redeployed here.”

Elvis checked him through the pass-through. “Do I know you?” ZT held up his arm, his bracer in view, and Elvis frowned. “What do you want, Hashashin?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” ZT requested. Being an honorary Hashashin did have its perks.

“Have a seat. I’ll bring them out to you.”

“Thanks, man!” ZT said and grabbed a coffee.

Heading to a table near the archway, he stopped to pick up one of the newspapers left out for the boomers and luddites, and deliberately sat with his back to the door. It took everything he had not to scratch the skin between his shoulder blades, but he put up with the exposed feeling, not wanting a young Zach to glance in and casually see him sitting here.

The young Zach was still clueless as to what was going to happen, and ZT wanted to let that Zach keep his innocence a little longer.

ZT hadn’t been there long when Elvis dropped the fresh stack, drowning in butter, on the table before him. In Elvis’s other hand was a carafe, and a second later, the maple syrup flowed in a thick stream of sweet goodness, and ZT salivated. “Thanks, Elvis.”

Elvis grunted and left to go back to his tasks in the kitchen.

ZT crammed in a bite as fast as he could, and muttered, “These are fucking delicious.”

Halfway through the plate, ZT clocked someone’s entry into the cafeteria. He knew immediately that it wasn’t a Hashashin—he could hear the footsteps—but the newcomer was a woman. A moment later, they entered his peripheral vision, and he nearly dropped his fork.

“Rach?”

Turning, she took a long, assessing look from his head to his toes, lingering overlong on his neckline, where ZT knew his Black family crest pin resided. She then brought her eyes to his, finally meeting his gaze. “Zach—ZT?” she asked.

Good. She knows.

Rachel collapsed into the chair across from him. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, with her dark red hair, huge breasts, and musical voice.

She didn’t hold a candle to his precious Margaret.

“Hi, Rach. I wondered if I’d be here long enough to see you again.”

Her mouth opened and closed, her pulse so rapid that ZT could see it pounding in her neck from where he sat.

He sighed and gave her a half-hearted shrug. “I see the questions dancing in your eyes. Let me see how many I can answer before you ask any?” She had always been a curious one. He pointed to the vambrace. “Honorary for my service in WWII.”

Pointing to his ears, he said, “Repaired in 2022.” He shuddered. ‘22 had been a bad bounce.

Fingering the lapel pin, he continued, “I designed this in 1944 but had two of them cast in 2016, right after speaking with Darius.” He gave her a pinched smile. “I intended to give one to Adam, but that didn’t happen.”

What else? Oh, yeah. The mission.

“You’ll hand me that USB drive in late January.”—Had it been January?—“Or maybe it was early February? This shit gets hard to track the more bounces I do—of next year, right before Adam finally wakes on Valentine's Day. Regardless, you give it to me on my third jump in this new life of mine.”

ZT looked down and stabbed some pancakes with his fork. Before taking a bite, he added, “You’ll remember to tell me the message that I gave Darius in 2016 about Adam’s treatment and Isaac needing to trust you. How’s that going, by the way? I assume good, but it isn’t February yet, so I figure he’s still in that coma?”

Rachel gaped at him, nodding. She glanced around. After a long pause and a tone full of awe, she whispered, “I… So, Fiona’s treatment really works?”

This part was fun, predicting the future, and rocking people's world.

Speaking with his mouth full and waving his fork around, ZT said, “I missed these. I’ve had good chip-cakes elsewhere, but these Fortress ones are top-notch.” Swallowing his food, he chased it with a swig of coffee before curiosity overtook him. “How many did I answer?”

“Most of them.” After a beat, she added, “How are you here? How old are you now? When does this all happen—the jumping, I mean.”

Smiling ruefully, ZT said, “I woke up here yesterday afternoon in my old—I guess, current—room. I assume young me is in the library?”

Rachel bobbed her head, and ZT laughed.

“I remember I was studying about cursed objects and how they related to God’s Library. It's too bad I didn’t read about the teleportation stone during those studies. Might have avoided all this mess.”

Taking another bite, ZT glanced up to the dinner-like call window behind Rachel, caught Elvis’s eye, and ordered two more plates by flashing a peace sign. “Anyway, got here, took a good long nap, and then have been hiding out. Avoiding the usual spots young me might visit. Not hard to do. Avoid the gym and research library, and I’m good to go.”

“Zach comes here, too.”

“Hopefully, I’m here on an off time, and we’ll miss each other. Though, I can’t say if it matters all that much. I haven’t encountered an issue with the time continuum yet.” ZT paused. Elvis was headed their way with the food. Rachel turned, presumably to see what he was looking at, and saw the cook approaching with two plates. Elvis placed one in front of her and one in front of ZT.

“Thanks, Elvis,” ZT acknowledged. “I think that answers the how and when. As for the ‘How old am I now?’. Maybe 27-ish? 28? 30? Not too sure, really. Hard to keep track of your revolutions around the sun when you bounce back and forth through the years as often as I have. I feel fifty, though.”

“Oh, Zach,” Rachel said, sympathy in her expression.

He waved away her concern. “It’s shit not knowing how long I’ll be in one spot. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I have a running theory on how long I’ll stay per bounce. It seems that the sicker I am when I land, the longer I’ll stay. I was out for almost a week in 1938. Stayed for six years.”

Rachel touched his forearm.

ZT continued, “I think the worst was meeting Margaret in ‘42 and leaving her. I keep hoping to bounce and see her again, but it hasn’t happened so far. Probably best that I don’t. It would tear me up to bounce at the wrong time and catch her in bed with her husband instead of me.” He took a deep breath. “I met her granddaughter, though. ‘Course, I didn’t know about that connection at the time. Young me just knew I liked her for some reason. Thank the alien tech cache and all the ancient pantheons that she wasn’t my granddaughter. That would have been seriously weird with hindsight.”

Rachel nodded.

“Anyway,” ZT said. “I suspect I’ll be here about a week, maybe a smidge more. I was only sick for a few minutes.” He shoved another big bite into his mouth.

“Any idea where you will go next?” Rachel asked.

ZT shook his head. “I don’t think I get a say in where I go. So far, I’ve only been to the past.” Shit, that wasn’t right. ‘22… Ugh. Bad year. Bad, bad, bad year. Amending his prior statement, ZT said, “Wait, that’s not true. I did land in next year—like I said—which was after the transport stone debacle. And spent some time in ‘22 to fix the gauges.”

And get a transfusion treatment for his case of COVID-19. He’d been sicker than sick—the regular kind, not the time jump kind—landing himself in the Fortress hospital with pneumonia caused by that fucking virus where good ole Dr. Greer shot him up with a nanobot-infused transfusion. It was a miracle that Dr. Greer found a donor match in their cryogenic freezer.

ZT ran a hand through his hair.

“Sometime soon—in this year, even—we go off to God’s Library to return the Basano Vase, and I end up jumping.”

“Basano Vase?”

That stupid vase, also known as the FGRT-334, was always causing problems.

He’d heard about it several times back during WWII and remembered his studies from when he was 19. That was when he learned about his time jumps to ’88 and his efforts to secure it. Maybe he could also keep Sadik alive and prevent Adam from getting hurt.

Chuckling, ZT said, “Yeah. It's one of those cursed objects I’m studying in the library. It turns out we have it for some reason. Never did learn why.”

“Okay,” Rachel replied, looking at him expectantly. ZT had no idea what she wanted to know this time. Eventually, she asked, “If you haven’t been far in the future… How did you know Adam gets better? Is he awake before that first ‘bounce’?”

“As I mentioned,” ZT said, shaking his head. “You tell me about the treatment when you hand me the drive. I’m guessing Adam will be showing signs of waking by then, and you remember this conversation and tell 19-year-old me about it. Anyway, it’s in my past, but it's in your future, so who knows? It will happen when it happens. I do know Adam’s awake and kickin’ in ‘22. I finally get to give him that lapel pin.”

Speaking of… “You figure out that drive yet?”

“No.”

Shrugging, he said, “Guess it isn’t the right time.”

“Do you know what is on it? Or what’s the password?”

ZT nodded.

“Can you tell me?”

Eating more pancakes, he replied with his mouth full, said, “Isn’t the right time yet.”

Rachel chuckled ruefully, then changed the subject while shaking her head. “So, ZT, what else can you tell me?”

What else?

Finishing the last of his second food order, ZT said, “Want to hear more about WWII and Margaret?”

She leaned forward with a nod.

* * *

After breakfast, ZT returned to his room and collapsed in one of the armchairs. Leaning back, he stretched his legs and placed his hands behind his head. Something bothered him about the conversation with Rach. Prognosticating the future was old hat, but his memories of ‘22 raised some new questions—ones he hadn’t thought about back in ‘22 when he’d stumbled into the Fortress hospital wing, on the verge of death and needing a ventilator. He didn’t need help like that anymore. The nanobots in his blood took care of him.

But therein lies the rub.

How had Dr. Greer been able to give him a transfusion in the first place?

She shouldn’t have been able to… Like, at all.

He had no Order lineage to fall back on and no siblings. Hell, even his real parents were dead. So how had Dr. Greer done it? Even in ‘22, Dr. Greer’s research and treatments were limited to close familial ties, but if you had that connection? You were fine. She’d shoot you right up.

So, how?

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he groaned. Gripping the arms of the chair, he stared at the ceiling. Each thought that spiraled out came back to the same entry point. To have a transfusion available to him in ‘22, sometime before then, he had to get the Paulatim Sanatorem himself and then donate his blood to Dr. Greer for that future transfer. ZT rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, ending in pinching the bridge of his nose. Dropping his hands to his lap, he returned to staring out the window.

He had to become a real Hashashin, not an honorary one.

Eventually, ZT leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. He had to act quickly if he planned to infect himself with the Paulatim Sanatorem. Who knew when he’d be back at the Fortress with enough time to hit the ceremonial room stone? He probably didn’t have much time as it was to get everything done before his next Shift.

Standing, he grabbed his key, pocketed it in his hoodie, and then quit the room.

Several twists and turns later, ZT was in front of Antipolemarchos Valis’s office, and Bart was nowhere to be found. Probably out on a piss break, but it suited ZT just fine. He didn’t want to manufacture an excuse to talk with Valis. Striding to the inner office door, ZT banged on it, only realizing a second later that he probably should have knocked instead of pounding like a cop with a search warrant.

“Come in.”

ZT entered and sat in the designated chair across from Valis without waiting for an invitation. Pushing the hoodie cuff up his arms, ZT made sure to flash the leather of his bracer before lacing his fingers behind his head and sprawling out in the guest chair. “Sup, Valis?” he greeted with a wide grin.

Valis’s initial surprised expression cleared quickly. “ZT. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Ever the polite one. Has our friendship meant nothing over the years?”

“You know that is not what I mean.” Valis paused for several beats. “When are you from?”

“Twenty-four—maybe thirty-six?—hours ago, give or take, Saif, Zahara, myself, and you were in the commons down the hall, drinking raki and watching Beşiktaş win the Süper Lig championship on a little TV with a huge-ass antenna that somebody smuggled in from who knows where. The picture was snowy. Bad reception. Good game, though.”

Valis’s expression hardened. ZT didn’t know why, nor did he care. A lot happened between three days ago and now—approximately 31 years.

“When did you get here?”

“You mean this jump?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday,” ZT said, sitting forward abruptly, hands landing on Valis’s desk. The metal of his vambrace’s buckles glinted from the office overhead lights. “I need Confirmed.” Slowly relaxing, ZT returned to his lazy posture, with his hands behind his head, legs kicked out, and ankles crossed. He gave Valis a slow-growing grin, knowing he’d have zero pushback.

One of the things he’d learned over the past few years was how the “people in the know” about his time travel typically gave him anything he asked for with no questions asked. If they balked at all, ZT tossed in some nonsense about the space-time continuum, and they bent over backward to take back any denials. Today would be no different.

“When?” Valis asked.

“Sooner rather than later.”

Valis reclined in his chair, laced his fingers, and rested them on his chest, somewhat mirroring ZT’s pose. “We can have the room ready tonight.”

“Excellent,” ZT replied.

Pointing to ZT’s vambrace, Valis reclasped his hands and asked, “Why do you need another ceremony?”

“Honorary,” ZT answered. “Want to change that status. In the archive and reality.”

If the shoes fit, he’d better wear them, right? As it were, he had no idea how many were dead at his hand. Some agents kept a tally, like Saif, but Adam hadn’t. So, it had already been deep into ZT’s staggeringly high body count before he even remotely thought to keep track.

All of the duties and none of the Confirmation Stone’s perks.

That was about to change. With Valis’s help, of course.

ZT forced himself to keep eye contact.

“Certainly,” Valis agreed, though slower this time.

With a fresh, cheeky grin, ZT said, “Feel free to log me under ZT Black. I want to keep that mystery going.”

He pushed to his feet, and Valis followed.

“Seven tonight?” ZT confirmed, providing a convenient time for him to undergo his formal inauguration into the ranks of Hashashin.

“Seven.”

ZT rapped the desk with his fingertips and left the room. He needed to talk to Dr. Greer next.

chaptertwo

Talking to Greer would be easy; finding her was proving difficult. After looking for what had to be an hour, ZT discovered a research wing entrance hidden in an alcove behind the main infirmary. That was where he found several decked-out medical labs and offices. Lo and behold, Dr. Greer was in one of them.

He approached the doorway and leaned against it with an easy smile. He crossed his arms over his chest, making sure his bracer was visible.

“Dr. Greer,” he greeted.

Dr. Fiona Greer startled with a “eep” and turned to the door, and hesitantly smiled. She licked the corner of her lips, eyes warming appreciatively, as she perused his form.

Pushing off the doorjamb, he made his way to her. “Antipolemarchos Valis sent me.”

“And you are?” she asked, her tone full of suggestion.

Did she know she was sending him “come hither” vibes? She was alluring with her freckles and bright curly red hair, but he couldn’t take her up on her unspoken offer. Dames like her tended to remember the people they fucked, even if it was a one-night stand, and ‘22 Dr. Greer didn’t remember him at all. Therefore, he couldn’t fuck her.

A shame, really, because she did rock that doctor look.

He grinned wider, stopping at her side. “Hashashin ZT, at your service.”

“Hello, Hashashin ZT. What can I help you with? You said Antipolemarchos sent you?”

“Yes,” ZT said, clasping his hands behind his back, which gave him a softer look. “He wants you to store several blood donations of mine for future transfusion treatments.” ZT gently closed her mouth with the tip of his finger and returned to parade rest. “He wants to build up a bank of supplies, and I volunteered as one of the first.” Leaning close enough to share breath, ZT added, “You never know what tomorrow will bring, and he thinks it’s a good idea to be prepared. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Greer?”

Her pupils were blown wide, and she gave a minute nod.

ZT stepped back.

The return of her personal space must have flustered her, for she gave her clothes and lab jacket a quick tug, even though they weren’t misaligned.

Clearing her throat, Dr. Greer asked, “When would you like to begin?”

Taking into account the day for the ceremony and the day to recover, ZT said, “Two days?”

“I’ll have everything ready for you,” she said, checking the time while adjusting her watch.

“Excellent. See you then,” ZT said, tipping an imaginary hat and leaving for his guest room.

Once there, he set his alarm, stripped down, and crawled into bed for a quick nap. A few hours later, he awoke, used the en suite facilities, and then went to the ceremonial room. Turning the corner, he saw Antipolemarchos waiting.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” Valis said, in lieu of a greeting.

“Still here, brother.”

“Good.” Valis looked him over as if questioning ZT’s conviction, or maybe he was curious about something else and was unwilling to ask. Who knew? Not, ZT. Nor did he care.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Valis studied him a moment longer, but right as it turned uncomfortable, Valis unlocked the ceremonial room’s door and opened it, waving ZT inside. “Do you want the benediction?”

Stepping into the room backward, ZT asked, “Is it necessary?”

“Not in the slightest, but it makes the graduates more comfortable.”

“Well, I ain’t no kid, and I’m good without it. Lock me in, coach.”

“You’ll have twenty-four hours inside. Touch the stone for a few seconds every hour, and then rest. I’ll be back this time tomorrow.”

ZT saluted, then glanced behind him. His attention was drawn to the oddly shaped stone on an altar. It pulled him. Called him. He tore his gaze away and checked the rest of the room. He saw a whole lot of decorations, cushions, and even some blankets, but no clock. “How will I know when to touch the stone?”

“It will tell you.”

He quirked his brow, but Valis declined to elaborate, and with an ominously final-sounding thud, the ceremonial room door closed, locking ZT inside.

“Well, this should be interesting,” ZT muttered.

Stepping toward the Stone, ZT noticed a thrumming pulse against his skin, and he wasn’t surprised. It was a physical touch caressing his arms, legs, face, and hair. Unusual but not unpleasant. The Stone gently pressed on his shoulders, and ZT dropped to his knees before it on a conveniently placed cushion.

ZT cocked his head to the side, waiting as the odd sensation on his skin raced down his arms, gripped his hand, and placed it on the stone.

“Heh, so that’s what he meant,” ZT said softly, feeling a jab on his palm. He pulled his hand away, revealing a little red dot. Licking the spot, he confirmed it was blood.

“Interesting,” he told the Stone.

The phantom touch brushed along his cheek like a lover’s caress.

No wonder the crusaders who’d initially handled this Stone found it magical. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have, too. The Stone—and this hallucinatory touch—defied scientific explanation, or at least, an Earthly one. Obviously, the aliens had it all figured out, or it wouldn’t exist.

ZT shifted to better rest on his heels. “We’ve been worshiping you for over a millennia,” he told the Stone, not entirely sure why he was voicing his thoughts out loud, only that he felt compelled to. “Maybe that’s what Adam meant. You know, when he talked about the fasting and prayers? About how it was different for everybody.”

ZT waited to see if the Stone would respond.

It didn’t.

“My mentor said that Hashashin hopefulls often request a long life, fast reflexes, or increased stamina. I don’t know what I would ask for, or even if I should—I never expected to be here in the first place, so, I guess, as long as I get to leave this room alive, and with your nanobot healers active inside me, you can do whatever you want, grant whatever benefits you want, and I will appreciate it.”

The Stone’s presence reached for him, guiding his hand to press against its surface. Again, ZT felt the needles and found new minuscule wounds. This continued through the night. At some point, several hours into the ordeal, ZT gave up sitting by the Stone, opting instead to lie at the base of its altar, holding his head or his stomach, depending on what hurt worse at the time. He didn’t think he could make it and feared Valis would open the door to find ZT lifeless inside.

There was a scratch at the door as if a key were being inserted into a lock, and ZT pulled himself to a sitting position, bracing himself as he listed to the side. He burped, and it brought friends, which did not make his stomach feel any better. In fact, he felt almost as bad as in ‘22 with the ‘rona.

“The time for my release is here, little Stone. I thank you for your gifts, whatever they are. May I be worthy of them with each of my remaining days,” ZT told it.

Invisible forces grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him to his feet, but vertical was not his friend, and he gagged. The Stone didn’t seem to care. It yanked him near and locked ZT’s hands on its surface while ZT frantically tried to pull away. The Stone refused to release him, stabbing him with what felt like a thousand wasp stings all at once, and he gritted his teeth.

Right as he neared collapse from the battering, the door opened, and the Stone let go.

ZT spun, took two wobbly steps toward the door, and fell, the ground rushing toward his nose, but before impact, someone caught him.

“I’ve got you,” Valis whispered, carrying him from the room.

In the hall, Valis pushed him against the wall as he closed the ceremonial room door, locked it, and shifted ZT’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed,” Valis murmured.

“Stuck on babysitting duty, huh? Too bad my mentor isn’t here to help. Oh… Wait… He is. Fuckin’ wanker. Had to go and get himself nearly killed.”

“Oh, Zachary Alexander Tremblay.”

Hearing his name said softly and with such tenderness filled ZT with a wicked sense of homesickness. “Fuckin’ hell. Whatever.” ZT’s head lolled to the side, only to realize he was in his room and on his bed.

He did not remember how he’d gotten there.

Groaning, he covered his eyes. The room spun and shook worse than the blackout drunk he’d once been after a particularly bad deployment.

“Need anything? A bucket? PJs? The covers?” Valis asked.

“Covers… Bucket… Bracer and knife, stay on!”

“I wouldn’t dream of removing them, ZT.”

Letting his head fall back to the mattress, ZT muttered an agreement. The room wouldn’t settle, but now that he was in bed, ZT had to admit that bouncing was worse, and this feeling right now was infinitely more tolerable than when he landed in 1938. ZT rolled to his side, taking some blankets with him.

“Don’t go,” ZT whispered.

“All right,” Valis said, grabbing a chair and pulling it close. He brushed the bangs from ZT’s forehead. “Maybe you’ll tell me about your travels sometime.”

ZT snorted and then regretted it. “Haven’t I?”

“No, ZT, not really.”

“Theresareason,” ZT said, his words slurred together.

“Rest now,” Valis told him.

* * *

When ZT awoke, the sun was shining through the windows and skylight. He was sprawled across the bed, nearly sideways, and on top of the covers, fully dressed. The first thing he checked before cataloging any other ills was his vambrace and knife. Both were on his person and secure.

Rubbing his face, ZT sat up, noting that the chair had been returned to the table.

He didn’t remember Valis leaving.

ZT looked at his palms. Not a single mark lingered to indicate how often the stone had stuck him like an overzealous seamstress with a particularly valuable pincushion. “You in there, you little beasties?” he asked, poking at his arm. He could feel his blood circulating through his limbs, through his capillaries, like the phantom hand was still guiding him, but ZT knew it wasn’t true.

The stone was several hallways away and locked behind a heavy door.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, ZT confirmed he was stable enough to stand, and after grabbing some fresh clothes from the dresser, he hobbled his way to the shower. He shaved at the sink and paused, looking at the blade. The Paulatim Sanatorem running through his veins made all the Order’s Hashashin practically indestructible. Life-threatening injuries were nearly obsolete, and now they were also his.

A true Hashashin now in name as well as deed.

How fast did the Paulatim Sanatorem work? Would he be able to see the regeneration in real time? He knew from the archives that the newly acquired fast healing was already at work, mending the damage done by the stone itself, but ZT wanted to test the limits in an environment where he could control the how and why.

Setting the razor down, he unsheathed his knife, then applied the tip to his forearm, cutting enough to bleed but not need medical attention. The slice was fast and clean, and he never felt it happen, but that was how he knew his knives were sharp enough to slide between ribs and pierce hearts.

The blood seeped, and ZT licked it. A habit he’d picked up from Adam while under his tutelage. With one swipe of his tongue, the blood no longer welled, which was expected from a small cut. ZT wiped down his blade and returned it to its sheath. When he checked again, it was healed.

Placing both the vambrace and the knife on the edge of the tub where he could grab them if he felt the shimmer, ZT set about getting clean. After his shower, he re-equipped first, then thoroughly dried himself, and finished getting ready.

At the cafeteria, he found a few agents inside, but no one he recognized. Walking to the line cook window, ZT asked, “Can I get an order of chocolate chip pancakes?”

The woman scowled, and ZT flashed his bracer.

She made a gesture of surrender and asked, “You want eggs? Bacon?”

“Nah.”

“Fine. Go sit down. I’ll bring them to you.”

ZT grinned and thanked her. He knew he should feel guilty about disrupting her work for his indulgence, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Sitting in the corner, this time with an eye on the door in case his younger self appeared, ZT waited for his food and drank his coffee, and his mood brightened when his food arrived.

“Thanks,” ZT told the cook and wolfed them down.

After eating, he left for the pool. He’d do some laps and then hit the gym, and maybe find someone down for some sparring.

Later, as the dinner hour drew closer, ZT found himself hovering outside Adam’s hospital room. Confirming no one was inside, he entered. Before he sat at the bedside, ZT pulled his sleeve down over his bracer, tugged the hem of his hoodie low to cover his knife, and flipped up his hood to hide his face. Once he felt suitably disguised, he made himself comfortable beside Adam.

“Hello, brother,” he murmured even though ZT knew Adam was deaf and wouldn’t hear it. “Bum deal, this. Good news, though, you’ll be awake in about two more months.” ZT took Adam’s hand, and the machines chirped.

ZT smiled, knowing that Adam felt his hand being held. In the coming years, Adam would do nearly everything by touch with his eyesight and hearing destroyed by that shitty sound weapon. The Paulatim Sanatorem—and, by extension, Adam—was already becoming incredibly sensitive to the slightest pressure change, whether that was a breeze or a hand in his.

Actual sleep with that degree of acuity must be hell, but future Adam’s skills as a lover had to be out of this world, and Rachel must be goddamned lucky for it. ZT shook his head, ridding himself of the carnal thoughts. It was like imagining your parents… He cut that thought off, unwilling to go there.

“Met your mom and dad, and their third wheel. No cap. It’s kinda awkward.” ZT paused, remembering the soccer championship game from a few days ago, where he’d seen a few things he’d like to forget. “Anyway, your mom’s fucking fly as hell, and your dad ain’t too bad to look at, either. Has a bit of a temper. I see where Isaac gets it from.”

Not letting go of Adam’s hand, ZT shifted in the chair.

“I’ll be going back to ‘86. Soon. I'm not sure when, but the archive shows that I never left, even though I’m here in ‘17 and not there. Guess I blipped.” ZT glanced at the machinery as it beeped. “My mission to the Alps is coming up. I have a few ideas on altering the timeline to keep this from happening to you.” …and me.

Shifting in his chair, ZT accidentally thwacked his foot against the leg of the gurney, and Adam’s heart monitor spiked. “Oops. Sorry.” ZT said, releasing Adam’s hand to massage the aching toe through the top of his shoe. “It’ll be interesting to see if I can provoke a change. So far, no dice.”

Relaxing in the chair, ZT rubbed the back of his neck under the hoodie. He’d already tried a few things to alter the current timeline, but it all came down to the “chicken and the egg” philosophy. Did his changes to the timeline make it happen, or did having it happen in the timeline prompt his changes? The Hashashin ceremony and his transfusion in ‘22 came to mind.

ZT resumed holding Adam’s hand, smiling as Adam’s vitals went nuts again.

Maybe ZT should try his hand at some forgery to complement his pickpocketing and lockpicking talent? Get an order from “Valis” or “Zanetti”, and do his level best at dropping a Faraday cage around the Transportation stone before his younger self tripped and fell on it. Seriously, why did all the non-weapon shit have to be rocks? There were a ton of rocks in the caves… And the fucking aliens, always storing shit in caverns, making it so you couldn’t even walk through one without worrying you might time travel, end up unable to lie—ever—or contract some generational DNA-altering nanobots.

At least storing the weapons inside one made sense.

He scoffed.

Not only would the forgery attempt not work, ZT feared he was too close to that first bounce. He doubted he could get into God’s library in time to avoid that particular event.

ZT tensed as Adam’s room door opened, and he side-eyed the new arrival.

Dr. Greer.

Relaxing his shoulders, ZT dropped Adam’s hand.

“Hello, Dr. Greer,” he said, as he shook the hood from his head and gave her a sly smile.

“ZT? Did you know Adam?” she asked, pressing her back to the door. Her breath came in short bursts, and she ran her necklace pendant back and forth with one hand while the other hand squeezed her thigh.

She must be really hard up, he thought. Most women were a bit more subtle with their lustful thoughts, unless they just wanted to be fuck-buddies. Dr. Greer didn’t strike him as the type for casual dalliances.

Standing, he asked, “Doesn’t everyone know of Hashashin Black?”

Dr. Greer gave a strained laugh. “He is a bit of a legend, isn’t he?”

“Got that right,” ZT agreed. “We on for that donation process?”

“Oh! Of course. Let me give Adam his next treatment, and we can go back to my place—I mean, office—and begin the process,” she said, her cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red.

Taking care not to encourage her further, he said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

After he exited Adam’s room, he wandered down the hall, and she caught up to him quickly.

“This way,” she said, taking the lead and motioning for him to follow. “How fast you fill a bag will determine when you can get out of here.”

“Sounds good.”

“You free after?”

“I have a mission tonight,” he said, sidestepping her hinted-at offer. “Gotta prepare.”

“Of course,” she murmured, her tone sounding crestfallen. “A Hashashin’s never idle, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth?” ZT agreed affably, then entered Dr. Greer’s office after her.

“Take a seat,” she said, pointing to a chair.

As he complied, she brought over a small rolling tray with blood-drawing tools. Apologizing for the needle stick, she left him to wait out the process. Returning a few minutes later, she extracted the needle, separated the bag from the tubing, and asked, “See you tomorrow for another draw?”

“Unless something goes wrong tonight, you bet.”

Dr. Greer gave him a tentative smile.

“See you later, alligator,” he said, popping some finger guns for her.

“After-while, crocodile,” she finished.

Four additional donations later, he was gone.

He didn’t even witness his first bounce.

chapterthree

ZT staggered, scraping his left arm against stone from elbow to shoulder as he caught himself. His skin felt oversensitive, especially where the fresh bruising and cuts were, but other than that, he was alert and felt fine.

Holding himself still, he assessed his surroundings to answer his familiar refrain of where and when.

The where was an alleyway in a yet-to-be-determined city, and what he first thought was stone was actually brick. He could see his breath pushing steam through the air, and the sky was a deep blue but not full dark, which meant it was either dusk or about to be dawn.

A shadow crossed in front of him at the alley's entryway. No, not crossed, slinked, as in, up to no good. ZT’s hand hovered near the handle of his knife. The figure had the bulk and gait of a man and had brought something to his mouth. When the device lit up, ZT confirmed both the gender and that he held a phone.

“Position one?” the man asked in a whisper.

Interesting… Not only was the man forgoing an earpiece in what looked like a surveillance mission, but ZT could hear what he said, and from this distance, ZT shouldn’t have been able to.

The man received a response, but other than knowing an answer had come, ZT couldn’t hear what had been said.

Then the man asked, “Position two?”

And everything, from the city to the time of day to the man before him, clicked with ZT.

The Organization was after one of ZT’s brothers or sisters, and this man was the team lead.

“Position three?” the man asked as ZT quietly unsheathed his blade and crept closer. The distance, which admittedly hadn’t been much, was crossed in a breath, and ZT sent a silent thanks to the ceremonial stone for his enhanced speed—and apparently, his silent footfalls since the Org agent didn’t hear ZT coming.

Situating himself for a quick kill, and as the man muted his phone, ZT struck, grabbing the agent by the neck and sliding the blade into his ribs. With an upward slant and a slight twist, ZT speared through the lung and into the Org agent’s heart.

The man was dead.

ZT doubted he even felt it.

Letting the agent drop at his feet, ZT paid the corpse no more heed than he would an orange peel, casually tossed as he walked.

Up the street, ZT found the Org’s target, which answered the where and the when conclusively.

Hashashin Dimitri Megalos.

A safe house was nearby.

Checking the rooftops, ZT spied two of the Organization’s gunmen. One was across the road and a short distance to the east, but the other was on the building next to ZT.

Backing up a few feet, ZT took two large steps and wall ran up the building. He grabbed the lip of the roof and hoisted himself over it, smiling to himself. The vertical wall climb hadn’t been challenging in years, but it was even easier now that he had those little nano beasties in him.

Letting his attention flow to the Org agent, ZT reveled in his newly found superpower and strolled toward the man. ZT finally understood how Adam had always been so blasé about his missions. ZT felt as though he could take on the world and be guaranteed to come out on top, and he struggled with his composure as he stepped into position behind the gunman.

With a quick thrust of his blade, ZT dispatched that agent as well.

Guiding the dead man to the ground, ZT wiped the blood off his blade, then sheathed it before retrieving the Org agent’s pistol. Crouching, ZT scanned the street, waiting for movement or something to indicate where the other agents were hiding. He also tracked Dimitri’s progress. ZT wanted to be ready to assist Dimitri when the Org attack came, which it would, and ZT knew Dimitri would be gravely injured during the battle.

They found the same agent at the same time. ZT aimed, waiting for an opening, but Dimitri had it under control.

Shifting his focus, ZT muttered, “Merde,” when he realized that the last Org agent had moved. When ZT finally spotted him again, he was too close to Dimitri for ZT to take the shot. All ZT could do was watch how things unfolded and jump in if an opportunity arose.

Down on the street, Dimitri had dispatched the first man and was now tracking the arrival of the newest agent. Unfortunately for Dimitri, the new guy wasn’t interested in some good old-fashioned fisticuffs and, instead, shot Dimitri in the chest, making Dimitri stagger and drop to one knee, but this did give ZT the opportunity he needed.

Sighting down his arm and the barrel, ZT lined up his shot. It ended up moot. Before ZT could fire and despite his injury, Dimitri had come to his feet, feigned to the left, and pounced from the right, bringing that last agent down with an inelegant blade strike across the abdomen and the neck. Blood was blossoming on both men, but the Org agent was dead.

Moving to the edge of the roof, intent on taking Dimitri to the safe house for treatment, ZT felt the first stage of his shimmer. He had enough time to wonder if helping out and eliminating two of the Org on this team sent to kill Dimitri had altered the timeline. The story, as ZT knew it from his teenage years, was that Dimitri had eliminated two Org agents without encountering the remaining team members. Everyone at the time chalked it up to the Org’s team lead retreat protocol and a coward hiding, but now ZT suspected his arrival and help during the Org strike in Johannesburg was actually the answer.

In the next moment, he was in a sterile hallway, where several things were happening simultaneously: first, there was the hollering, then the slamming and locking doors, and lastly, a frantic “Merde!” could be heard behind a door where three men were trying to brute-force it open.

ZT knew precisely where and when he’d landed. He was in his old dorm, and these men were from the same sequence of attacks he’d left back in Johannesburg, and across the city, Adam and Rach were battling for their lives against the two Org teams sent to kill Adam.

There was nothing ZT could do about the Adam and Rach thing. Besides, Adam had it in hand.

Aiming the gun he’d acquired in Johannesburg, ZT fired at the Org agents in the hall. Pop. Pop—and down went two of the attackers. The third had breached the younger Zach’s defences and gained access to the dorm room.

Stepping forward, fully planning on helping his younger self with this final threat, ZT shimmered, falling to his hands and knees as the sounds of tinny cheering filled the room. The gun spun away from his nerveless fingers to a destination unknown, and ZT vomited on the floor.

Too many fucking jumps in too quick a succession.

“ZT?” a female voice called, drawing near, and then knelt at his side as ZT threw up again.

Where was he?

A trash can appeared before him just in time for him to barf again. ZT grabbed the bin and held it close while his vision swam and his stomach continued to lurch.

“Too much raki?” Ah, Saif, from the sound of it. Then the woman was Zahara.

Was he back in the Fortress’s commons?

ZT squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing his stomach to settle, as he was dragged to the wall and set against it. Rolling his head to the side, ZT found Valis crouched beside him.

“Thanks,” ZT murmured, blinking hard to bring the room back into focus.

Valis gave ZT a pained look.

“Anton, get me some sand, would you?” Zahara asked.

“Sure thing.” Valis stood and disappeared down the hall to the custodial closet.

“You were gone a long time,” Zahara said.

ZT gagged and hugged his bucket as if it were his favorite stuffie. “I thought I was done,” he lied.

Several seconds later, Valis returned and poured the congealant over ZT’s sick. “That's why you changed your clothes?” Zahara asked.

A quick check revealed a black hoodie and sweatpants, complete with blood splatters. He probably had blood on his face as well. He eyed Zahara and then Valis. ZT couldn’t remember what he’d been wearing when he left. For him, that had been more than a week ago. And how was he going to explain the blood?

Again, he lied, “Yup.”

Valis handed him a cool and damp hand towel.

Setting the bin aside, ZT took the cloth and washed his face. “Thanks.”