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Nestra was excited. Not only was Camille a great adversary, but they were also cool as a person and now they were going to get adventures together! Not now, though, because it would be a bad time to get caught sneaking out. With the stew consumed and the leftovers properly packed (and labeled), Nestra slipped out of the world while Camille simply walked through the entrance portal. The aperture was in full view of the cabin, but Camille had a great disguise: they were simply not wearing their mask.

It was kind of crazy how the mask became an identity and the lack thereof, anonymity. Actually, Crescent was much more famous than Nestra, even, so that was the same thing. With a last smile, Nestra walked through the tarp into her allocated bedroom to find that nothing had changed. It just smelled a bit like rank plastic but she’d live with it. With her stomach full and a bit of blood loss, she easily fell asleep.

The next morning, neither Weiwei nor Derek showed any sign that they’d noticed her leaving. That almost annoyed her. Weren’t people supposed to check on someone with a cranial trauma? To see if there was anything bad happening? Well, they weren’t doctors so whatever. Maybe they’d preferred to let her sleep.

“My fortune for fresh coffee,” Nestra announced.

Derek looked up from their breakfast table. Those looked like military rations. Some Threshold-issued rations were pretty tasty.

“You look much better. Unfortunately, I would recommend against caffeine with a healing wound.”

“It’s almost fully healed!” Nestra protested.

And indeed, the small mirror showed only an angry puffy red line where she once had a hole in her skull.

“Operative word: almost.”

“Maybe...” Weiwei started.

A yawn interrupted her. It lasted a solid three seconds.

“Maybe let her? I need some help.”

“Oh fine. In the meanwhile, have a seat. I was reviewing the footage of yesterday’s vid. There is no doubt that the trap was well hidden...”

“Can I see?” Nestra asked, curious.

“Sending it to your visor.”

The scene was a messy one, which turned out to be a blessing. Derek apparently cycled through various sights every time he entered or exited a place, and they’d detected some temperature difference that had made him suspicious. He’d jumped before the explosion. There was precious little to see because he’d been looking away from her. Additionally, the glitches from her true form came with a flurry of angry red notifications and other distortions. It looked like she was in the clear. Fascinated, she kept watching him carry her in. He’d looked down with worry. Half her face had been a pale, lost mask, and the rest had been covered in this blood. She got his fear now. It really looked like she was mortally wounded.

A part of her looked on the following surgery with a certain fondness. Threshold’s cavernous archives would henceforth and forever carry irrefutable proof that Nestra did, in fact, have a brain. Despite some passing evidence to the contrary. Arguably, Derek had had to zoom but whatever.

She finished sipping her coffee while looking at the man awkwardly checking that her skull was properly fused. She’d looked so calm it was kind of weird.

Someone was still going to pay for this, of course, but for now, she was stuck until evening.

By noon, Nestra was feeling cramped in the cabin with little to do and a constant need for low-attention vigilance. A pair of red-robed teens came to check on them for lunch, bringing stew they’d made themselves. Nestra opened the door against Derek’s advice. The enclavers recoiled when they saw she was hurt.

“Is... everything alright?” the man asked while handing her a bowl.

His English was hesitant but it was clear he was putting a lot of effort into it.

“Someone trapped the garden. I was hurt,” Nestra said.

Then she gauged their reaction.

The woman who’d stayed a little bit behind out of embarrassment looked horrified. The guy went through several stages of grief and horror, the kind experienced by people who realize that their side just started something that might be a tad hard to finish.

“Ah, hm, it is, that is, I’m sure, errr, perhaps I should... I will let my mentor know.”

Ah, the time-honored tradition of kicking stinkers up the chain of command. It reinforced Nestra’s opinion that this might have been caused by a splinter element. She tossed two of her nicer chocolate bars to the enclavers as a gesture for the stew, then went back in.

“How can you be sure those are splinter elements,” Derek grumbled. “Also, you really shouldn’t be eating that stew.”

“It's homemade chili. It’s pretty good!”

“It could be poisoned.”

“I need the mana and nutrients. No, seriously, I really do.”

Nestra moved her spoon around like a conductor’s baton.

“It’s a splinter element because we’re still alive. If the enclavers wanted us dead, we’d be dead, so it can’t be all of them. The tool is also a trap that already blew up: a perfect tool for those who want to remain anonymous. And their anonymity was so important to them that they didn’t come to finish the job. And they could have. An arrow, hell, even a knife throw would have been enough to finish us both. Now look.”

Nestra pointed at the cameras. Enclavers were forming a protective barrier around the tent, looking outward. Whoever was responsible for their security knew there was going to be big trouble so at least they were acting more seriously now.

“Give me a second,” Derek said, before leaving to tell those who’d approached the garden to fuck off.

“There might be more traps,” the man Nestra’s talked to objected.

“It’s a crime scene,” Derek retorted.

“Oh, like in the vids.”

“Yes, just so.”

The conversation was cut short, mostly due to mutual mistrust between the two parties. This left the Thresholders in a rather awkward position until nightfall. Should they risk leaving the tent now? Nestra was getting an itchy soul, but Derek argued that her mental health would hold for another day until the expedition returned and the situation was resolved.

“Why can’t we send a runner to Ilar and Watanabe?” Weiwei asked.

“It’s too risky for the C-class folks here.”

“The portal world is not just dangerous, it’s also fairly large,” Nestra added. “By the time a messenger reaches them, they will have mostly closed the portal anyway. If one manages to reach them.”

No matter how safe portals could be made, there were often stragglers, which was why raiders stayed with the resource-collecting gleams in large portal worlds. She wasn’t sure Derek was right about a messenger not making things faster. She just wasn’t willing to have someone risk their lives for her comfort.

At least, now she could stick to her natural sleep schedule without it being weird. The other two just assumed she was recuperating.

Also, that stew was pretty good.

***

“You know, police girl, sneaking around with shadow mana is less effective when you’re singing the ‘Spy Gleam’ main theme out loud,” Fox Mask said tiredly.

The mysterious gleam stood under the moonlight at the edge of the jungle, far from the semi-permanent cabins of their compatriots.

“First, call me Crescent when we’re out in our gleamsonas,” Nestra corrected.

“I am reconsidering our cooperation.”

“And second, I just wanted to match your style.”

Nestra shook her visor in front of Camille’s face, or rather their very obvious Fox Mask which, upon closer observation, needed to be replaced. It was cracked and faded.

On the visor was a short message sent to Nestra’s visor via secured bluetooth. It was signed with a fox emoji.

“That’s your call sign? Really?”

“You yourself called me Fox Mask. I thought it would be appropriate.”

“Alright. The Fox Mask opens the masquerade, repeat, the Fox Mask opens the masquerade, over, ksh.”

“For the love of... you remember, Crescent, that we are here to stop a war?”

“I know! Isn’t this exci — it’s people you know whose lives are at risk, sorry,” Nestra said, though she didn’t really mean it that much.

She didn’t really care about the enclavers. Her interest was for Fox Mask, their skill, their progress. Their delicious rivalry. That sweet, growing core she could harvest some time... no, no. No eating friends. A rivalry required that her rival remained alive if she wanted to keep it going.

But if she overtook Camille to the extent that the human could no longer match her prowess, shouldn’t she kill them? Take their core for her own, so that a piece of that memory got carried with her forever? A long fight, a bitter race with only one winner at the end, one who would swallow the defeated to grow even stronger...

Nestra licked her lips, then frowned. Her true form had conflicting feelings about the whole issue... or perhaps her human side was refusing the Aszhii side its snack, preferring pack bonding instead. Very weird. Anyway, no eating Camille. It just wouldn’t be right.

Unless they were dying, of course. Independently of her.

“Are you... hungry?” they asked.

“What? No. A little bit? I want to kill monsters but we’re busy right now. Speaking of, how do we stop the coup? I hope you have a plan because enclave politics isn’t exactly my specialty.”

“It’s easy,” Camille started with a cold mastermind kind of voice before toning it down. “Well, not that easy. We need to expose Manh’s duplicity to the Patriarch. I am sure Ong already suspects treachery. The fact he hasn’t moved just means that Manh’s position is endorsed by a significant portion of the Elder Council. No, what we need is to prove he broke their trust.”

“I assume he just doesn’t go around leaving messages on unsecured channels.”

“No, our communication is almost always oral.”

That’s what Nestra figured.

“However, there is one channel where written evidence must be kept.”

“Money?”

“Why, yes, absolutely. Very astute,” Camille said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Nestra pointed a finger at herself.

“Police girl,” she said.

“Indeed. Well, as you might have surmised, the enclave has a... secret warehouse.”

“Where you keep your stolen shit. We’re looking for it.”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Camille grew distinctly uncomfortable behind their mask.

“As I said before, I expect a reckoning and I will not warn my people. There wouldn’t be enough time for them to move all the goods anyway... and I am not betraying them since you already know about the thefts...”

It sounded like Camille was trying to convince themselves, Nestra thought.

“The warehouse containing the stolen goods lies below the compound.”

“Fuck your unity Ilar. You gave us a grand speech about values before leaving but those went out the window —”

“Don’t you dare! I do not fight hopeless battles, but it doesn’t mean that I approve of what they do.”

“If you only speak when you’re sure of success, then you’re not really fighting, Ilar. It’s easy to be righteous when it’s safe to do so...”

Ilar breathed hard a couple of times. Unlike their previous disagreement, this one didn’t end with mana-based bullying. Ilar had learned. His gleam eyes still bore into Nestra’s own with barely contained rage. She returned it. She knew he was mostly pissed at himself.

“Perhaps it would be best if we took a short rest before continuing this discussion.”

Nestra had already said all she had to say. Not that it mattered since everyone was apparently ok with just killing off people as good faith tokens. The raiders returned to the tent soon after so she used the opportunity to retreat to the garden. The light of dawn showed the flowers were fading, the mana sustaining them long since depleted. Fat flies buzzed over the thick puddle of her congealed blood. It smelled pretty bad.

“Fuck this place.”

***

The mood was tense and somber on the way back. The trap issue had spoilt the mood. Nevertheless, Ilar and a selection of Elders kept discussing things at high speed far in front of Nestra, a sign the deal was still on. At the speed they were hammering out details, she assumed the collaboration would be extensive. She was sweaty and tired by the time they reached the compound mid-afternoon. This time, the constant attention from the enclavers made her feel more vulnerable. Maybe it was physical exhaustion, or perhaps it was the incident. In any case, her hand kept reaching for the safety on her shotgun.

“You should take a moment to refresh yourselves,” Ilar told the rest of the Thresholders. “Our next meeting will start afterward. Cai, Clint, plot a course for tomorrow morning. I believe it would be best if you returned to the city afterward, for safety’s sake. Your mission here is complete.”

Ah, damn, that would make cooperating with Fox Mask very difficult. Nestra retreated to her room with the rest of the Thresholders, including the weaker gleams. To her surprise, there was someone in her room.

She closed the door behind her.

“You’re crazy,” she whispered. “There are gleams with us! They could feel your presence!”

Camille waved their hand. A transparent wall spread around the two of them.

“This should solve the sound problem. As for your users, besides the two leaders, they are terrible at mana perception,” Camille huffed behind their mask.

“Maybe, but our augs have some amazing senses and they have recordings as well.”

“I will be careful. Sadly, I came here because I carry unfortunate news. Ong... the Patriarch, he did not believe me.”

Nestra frowned.

“I thought you wanted us to gather proof first.”

“I know! I know. I wanted to tell him and bring proof later in case... in case I was found out. He didn’t believe me. He was quite angry.”

“Well assassination attempts have a way of souring negotiations.”

“You don’t get it! It’s my grandpa! He... he was always there for me!” Camille screamed.

“Hey, hey, same side.”

Riel, Nestra thought, Camille’s so fucking touchy about their family. It’s like they’re a completely different person. Either they were this aloof burglar blade master who always kept cool, or they were an absolute train wreck. Maybe they were just emotionally stunted.

“Sorry. Police girl... Crescent. Nestra. I don’t understand. He must be suspicious, but I was brushed off so easily! He should know better! It’s not because I... I...”

“It sounds like your grandfather doubting you affected you a lot.”

Silence. It was difficult to gauge Camille’s reaction from behind their mask. There was a series of rapid-fire Vietnamese ending with a sentence, uttered in shaky English.

“I don’t know why I’m telling this to you, a stranger.”

“Oi,” Nestra protested.

That was rude. She removed her mask, assuming her true form. Two steps, and her index finger was shoved against Camille’s sternum.

“We crossssed blades. You are my rival. Do not dare disrespect me.”

“You... you are right. I was being rude. Sorry.”

Nestra tilted her head. Being in her true form always changed things. Her mind felt less cluttered, but also more impatient and direct. Less diplomatic. Well, she would still give it a try.

“My mom used to say that the wounded beast lashes out. That means you are hurt and so you express your anger in return. I am not your target.”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman,” Camille replied, suddenly very accommodating.

“Do you really mean that, or are you trying to be nice as an apology?”

“Yes.”

Nestra shrugged.

“I suppose I will take it as an apology, and accept it.”

She hesitated afterward. Camille was strangely vulnerable every time they opened up.

“Ok, let me be very direct. Do you have nobody else to open to? Because you’re both sharing and then getting all angry about it.”

“It’s not like that! I just don’t have anybody else right now! Before that, I had Nida!”

“What happened?”

“She... she died.”

“Oh, sorry. A raid?”

“No. Old age. Nida was... my dog.”

There was a heavy silence while Nestra hesitated on how to broach the subject. She immediately lost her patience.

“Camille.”

“What!”

“You’re a fucking mess.”

“I know! Fuck you, I know. God...”

After a moment’s hesitation, Nestra sat next to Camille who started sobbing softly through their mask. Nestra gently patted their shoulder. All of her dreams of a mighty rivalry were crumbling when faced with the fact Camille was even more isolated than Nestra had been. At least, Nestra had Aunt Claire, Stibs, and Mazingwe who’d carried her through the Hard Times.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m here now though.”

“He always believed me,” Camille cried. “Before. Why not now? Isn’t it obvious that Manh is fighting against him? I’m so tired. So tired of it all. Why can’t they be nice for one fucking second?”

“Hey hey. We’ll get through this, alright? We’ll gather the evidence and they will see.”

“I shouldn’t need evidence to convince my family that... ah, it doesn’t matter.”

They deflated.

“I did so much for them, hoping for... and nothing. Nothing.”

Nestra waited for the moment to die down, then she very lightly punched Camille’s arm.

“You are strong in many regards, and hurt in many others. That is fine. Hu... raiders and family can disappoint, but the good news is, you can count on me! Under my benevolent leadership, we will stop the coup, and make your grandfather realize that you are worthy while his other scions are not.

“Are you not a police officer, and I a thief?”

“That’s the perfect secret friendship. Come on, I bet I could get you immunity.”

Camille laughed, though it was a bit brittle.

“As I said before, I’m not ready to give up on the village yet. You’re expected for dinner. You should probably go.”

“No, you go, I gotta take a bath.”

***

An early dinner had been prepared for the return of the gleams, a more modest occasion than the previous ones. The round table had been reduced in numbers, and the decorations on the plain walls were only half as gaudy as before. The waiters brought dishes with subdued expressions, leaving as soon as they were able to. Only Elders were in attendance on the enclave’s side this time. The tale of Nestra’s near-death experience must have spread from the careful gazes and whispers that followed her everywhere. Before leaving, she’d told Fox Mask they had only one chance at getting the data before she had to leave. The operation would be tonight. She was getting a little bit nervous.

Since she was being ignored, Nestra joined up with Derek and Weiwei, discussing in low voices about the food since everything was being overheard. Watanabe approached her during the meal. He tapped on her wrist, then made a very peculiar gesture.

It was MaxSec visual code for ‘be ready’. Nestra blinked. No, it was Threshold military standard code, so it made sense for him to know it. Be ready? Be ready for what?

“Ahem, if I could get your attention?” Ilar said in Vietnamese.

A toast? Nestra watched as all eyes turned to him with various degrees of curiosity and annoyance. Ilar was breaking protocol by being the first to speak. Her visor did its best to translate his words even as he spoke them.

“As you may all know, we are close to reaching a functional agreement between our two cities. I would like to take a moment to thank all of you for your patience and efforts in this endeavor. Unfortunately, as you may have heard, we’ve had a problem that endangers the agreement. I feel the need to clear the air.”

Watanabe approached Ilar before handing him a wide-screen datasheet, the kind that could be unrolled. Ilar picked it up with a smile.

“I am talking, of course, about the twenty-six million credits worth of magical artifacts that you have stolen via an intermediary we know as Fox Mask.”

The sheet displayed the person in question, a nice shot taken as Camille was grabbing some sort of measuring tool.

“And that you have either sold or are now still in possession of the stolen goods stored under our feet, specifically in Warehouse 3B.”

In the stunned silence that followed, pictures of what Nestra assumed was the warehouse in question appeared on the sheet in quick succession. She noted that the same measuring tool stolen on the first picture appeared on the shelves of the warehouse. She turned to Derek, who winked.

Pilot my ass, this guy was definitely Special Forces.

“I believe that before we come to an agreement, some... reparations are in order. After all, Threshold wouldn’t want our budding friendship to... implode.”

The threat hung in the air for a few moments, then the shouting began.