23. Just Missing a Spark

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Raith and Yvan waited in the hallway, both ignoring the chairs that had been set aside for them to use. Although the Troit soldiers left them alone, that didn't stop the more curious from accidentally walking past in order to sneak peeks.

Perhaps another flyer might have ordered them leave, or to stop their silliness, but Raith just closed his eyes in thought and ignored them. He was occupied by the conundrum at hand.

The Kairg bodies in the yard. Apparently it was the Kairg themselves who swooped in at the last minute to save the little white flyer. And not just any Kairg, either.

According to the reports, there was one flyer who wore the same mottled grays and greens as the rest, but moved in an entirely inhuman way. His speed rivaled, perhaps even exceeded, that of Raven's, appearing to nearly teleport across the yard as he bulldozed his way to Jett's side. Nothing could touch him. If he had so wished, he could easily have cleared the entire yard of Troit in a single-handed slaughter.

But he didn't. Instead, he let his men fight and die for him, while he alone focused on the white flyer. This Kairg flyer - there was only one in existence who could move so fast that he appeared to be teleporting. That was Ra'Skevvor himself, and he came to personally save Jett.

That alone was enough to confirm a few of Raith's suspicions, but instead of setting him at ease, it made him even more unsettled.

Ra'Skevvor was a cold, twisted man, one who acted at his leisure. His actions had always been somewhat predictable, since his goal and intentions were known. But now that Jett was in the picture, his movements had changed. It was disturbing.

But -- Raith's lips quirked -- perhaps now, if they did things right, Ra'Skevvor's actions could become even easier to predict.

The nearby door opened and Syk stepped out. He looked entirely calm and relaxed, as if he'd just awakened from a refreshing nap. Just before the door swung shut, Raith opened his eyes and glanced inside.

A man with dark skin and pale eyes sat slumped in the only chair in the room. He was sweating, trembling, his gaze unfocused and wide. The door shut, cutting off the view.

Raith turned away from the door, ignoring the little twist of unease he felt at the sight. "Well?"

"Hm, he was quite the helpful one," Syk murmured. He pulled a thin square of cloth from one of his compact utility pouches, and meticulously wiped his hands. He'd removed his gloves for the interrogation, something that Raith found odd, but he didn't mention it.

"Did he know where the rebels were?" Raith asked.

"No," Syk finished cleaning his hands. He returned the cloth to its pouch, then carefully pulled on the pale yellow gloves. They fit his slender hands snugly like a second skin, the material designed to be both antimicrobial and unobtrusive to ones movements. "He was actually on his way to meet someone from the rebel's camp when our men picked him up the first time. A girl named Moxie was his contact."

Yvan pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against, a faint scowl on his face. "That doesn't help us then."

"On the contrary," Syk smiled. "Mr. Stewart had a lot so share. I am very glad that our soldiers were able to find him again."

"What'd he say?" There was hint of impatience in Yvan's tone. Raith didn't blame him - to a man of action like Yvan, he must have felt that they were waiting around and wasting time with interviews and interrogations. But in Raith' eyes, the more information they had, the less time it would take to capture their prey.

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