Pacing back and forth in the basement storage room of the bar, Gideon checked the chronometre on the door panel for the third time in the past few minutes. Tolas was supposed to have arrived with the first proper shipment of trilithium already.

“Cut it out,” Mitchell told him, frustration clear in his voice.

Gideon stopped and looked at Mitchell with furrowed brows. “Cut what out?”

“The pacing,” Mitchell shot back. “It’s driving me crazy.”

Gideon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Without realising what he was doing, Gideon resumed his pacing. It was only when Mitchell cleared his throat loudly that Gideon caught himself and stopped.

“This isn’t going to work,” Gideon announced.

“Tolas disagrees.”

Before Gideon could begin to argue his point again, the store room door slid open to reveal Tolas with a canister in his hand. It was roughly the size of a rugby ball, had a few controls on it and a strap for carrying it. Tolas set the canister down on the table in the middle of the room.

“How did you manage to get your hands on this much trilithium?” Mitchell asked.

Tolas checked the canister’s controls. “I’m not in a position to divulge the source.”

“You’re a cagey asshole,” Mitchell sniped. “What are we supposed to tell the Romulans if they ask?”

“You can tell them what I just told you,” Tolas replied.

“I bet you’re real fun at parties,” Mitchell leaned his hip against the table and folded his arms.

“I don’t go to parties,” Tolas told him, still fiddling with the controls.

“Shocker.”

Gideon slapped a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s leave Tolas alone. He did manage to obtain the trilithium we needed.”

“You’re only saying that to get on his good side after he found out about Nicco,” Mitchell teased. He turned to Tolas and asked, “Where did you put the tracking device?”

Tolas pointed at the control panel. “I’ve embedded a micro-tracer in the control panel. It’ll release a subspace ping at irregular intervals once the container is opened.”

“And when Niran or his associate Vellora open the container to test a sample?” Gideon asked. “A subspace ping won’t go undetected.”

Apparently, Tolas was prepared for that. “The micro-tracer won’t activate for seventy-two hours from the moment I activate it. That should be long enough for them to take their sample.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” Mitchell commented.

“What are the chances they discover the micro-tracer?” Gideon asked. “Is it possible for them to trigger it before the end of the seventy-two hours?”

Given his place in Tolas’ bad books, Gideon should have kept his mouth shut. However, he was still unconvinced that this plan would be successful.

“The tracker is built into the sealed power cell. You’d have to tear the container apart to find it,” Tolas told them. “It’s possible for them to trigger the tracer, but it’s unlikely they will.”

Unlikely wasn’t impossible. “If they do?”

“Then we proceed to plan B,” Tolas replied. “We bring him in for interrogation.”

“Interrogation,” Gideon repeated. “You expect him to give up his boss? Is there a plan C?”

“I haven’t heard any better suggestions from you.” Tolas snapped.

It was true that Gideon hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas for following the trilithium. That frustrated him to no end, so there was little choice for him but to go along with Tolas’ idea and hope that it would work.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Mitchell said, breaking the brief silence. He turned to Tolas and added, “You should make yourself scarce.”

Tolas nodded and handed over the PADD. “Contact me as soon as you’ve completed the transaction.”

“I can handle this on my own if you’d prefer,” Mitchell said as soon as Tolas was gone.

The more he got to know Alexander Mitchell, the more he found himself liking the guy. He was surprisingly kind and considerate. It was hard to square the man he was getting to know with the playboy pilot who made connections easily and severed them just as easily. 

“I appreciate that,” Gideon told him gratefully. “But I want to see this thing through.”

“They’re here,” The disembodied voice of Lasko working in the bar above them came over the comm.

Stepping over to the comm panel on the wall, Gideon pressed the control. “Send them down.”

“Showtime,” Mitchell said with a smirk, a brief flash of the Mitchell he used to know.

Gideon’s heart rate picked up as they heard the sound of boots on the stairs outside the store.

The muscles of Nicco’s face ached like never before. Forcing a smile for hours on end had that effect. Attending his own engagement party should’ve been one of the happiest days of his life. Instead, he felt like a condemned man being marched towards a loveless marriage. If anyone were able to see through his mask, they weren’t giving it away.

He accepted congratulations from yet another couple Nicco didn’t recognise, who told him how lucky he was to be marrying Jasmine Washington. Looking across the room, he spotted his fiancée chatting to his parents with a similar forced smile. It was little consolation that she hated the idea of this marriage as much as he did.

It had only been four days since he’d proposed to Jasmine at their dinner. His father had made it clear they would be engaged by the night’s end, whether Nicco got down on one knee or not, so he figured it was best to make things look good.

Since then, he’d spent every night in Liam’s bed. While he found comfort in Liam’s arms, his status as a newly engaged man only added further complications. Now morning came with a healthy dose of guilt that he was no sooner engaged to Jasmine than he was spending his nights in someone else’s bed. That didn’t stop him from planning to be back there later tonight.

Taking a lull in the conversation as his chance, Nicco slipped out of the grand ballroom. The terrace outside was cold, but he didn’t care. The cold, fresh air was a welcome change from the stifling air inside the ballroom. 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Nicco looked out over the lake. The moon was reflected in the lake that dominated the landscape around the hotel they’d chosen for this evening, or rather that had been chosen for them.

Planning the engagement party had fallen to Jasmine’s parents, and they’d gone all out. The ballroom they’d hired for it was one of the largest, most opulent on Pergamon and the lavish food and drink they’d chosen were like something out of a history book about European monarchs. 

“What are you doing out here?”

Nicco turned to find his father standing in the open door. “I needed a little air.”

“Your absence won’t go unnoticed for long.” 

The unspoken command to go back inside was obvious to Nicco, but he wasn’t ready, not yet. “I won’t be much longer.”

“Nicco,” his father sighed. “I wish things didn’t have to be this way.”

“You don’t care,” Nicco huffed, his breath visible in the cold night air.

His words took Francisco aback. “You think I don’t care?”

“I know you don’t,” Nicco shot back, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Francisco stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Nicco, I wish I could allow you to marry whomever you choose. But our family has traditions-”

“Traditions that are centuries out of date,” Nicco hissed. “And don’t pretend you’d be fine with me marrying a man. The last time you found me in bed with a man, you tried to kill him. In fact, you did kill him.”

“I’ve told you repeatedly that I had nothing to do with Liam’s death,” Francisco said.

The disdain that dripped from Liam’s name when Francisco spoke it caused Nicco’s stomach to clench. It only confirmed that if he found out that Liam was still alive, Francisco would have him killed. At least he knew his father was telling the truth this time; he didn’t play any part in Liam’s death.

“How long will you continue to mourn that stupid boy?” Francisco asked. “He’s been dead for sixteen years.”

If only you knew the truth, Nicco thought, but he kept his features carefully schooled.

The vicious smile that crept onto Francisco’s lips was terrifying. “You know, it’s the biggest regret of my life that I wasn’t the one who killed him. I would’ve loved to see his face the moment before he died.”

Nicco glowered at his father. He knew he could wipe that awful smile off his father’s face.

“Perhaps you and Jasmine will learn to love one another,” Francisco said, trying a different angle.

A hollow chuckle escaped Nicco’s lips. “Did you and mom?”

“I care for your mother,” Francisco replied lamely.

“But you don’t love her.”

Francisco’s silence was answer enough. It was clear he was done trying to play the part of loving father. It was an act he’d never been particularly good at.

“Enough of this,” His father snapped. “Come inside. Tonight is about your future, and the future of our family.”

Following dutifully behind his father, as he always had, Nicco stepped back inside the ballroom. The heat washed over him instantly, like stepping inside a great furnace. Francisco quickly disappeared into the crowd as he continued working the room. Forcing himself to smile once more, Nicco followed his father’s lead and continued working the room. 

Only the thought of flailing asleep in Liam’s arms would get him through the rest of this nightmare.