- A D A R A - K O N S D O T T I R -

     My hand wipes a band of sweat off my forehead as I pull back the gas can. An evening sun sweeps across the horizon, flirting with sunset as sand continues to blow in the air. Fiddling with the gas cap, I set down the tank before replacing it. Reaching down, I notice a small piece of fabric highlighted by the sun.

     It's the patch... the one I grabbed from the militant, and also the one I completely forgot about. In the tense silence of our drive, I hadn't remembered I picked this up; I must have been too busy scolding my escortee. My fingers glide over the patch, the gloves rubbing against the stitching. It feels normal, but I've never seen this before.

     Maybe someone at base would, though. A light smile crosses my face as I pull out my phone, clicking on a common caller.

     The ringing mixes with the wind as I hold it to my ear. We've made it into Iraq by now, our next major city being Erbil. It's thankfully not too far up the road, satisfying the relentlessly ticking clock in the back of my skull.

     "Adara!" I hear from my phone. It's Mena, sounding bubbly as ever. The familiar voice comforts me as I lean against the SUV.

     "Mena," I respond warmly, holding the patch in front of the phone and taking a picture. "Got into a scuffle with some militants yesterday. Have you ever seen this patch before?"

     "What pa-" she begins as I hear the ring of her phone through the speaker. "Ah, this guy? Souvenirs already?"

     I smile, noticing dust whip against the edge of a rock in a tight spiral. "I always find something special, no?"

     "Let's see..." she says quietly, probably running it through fifteen archives. She's always taken the 'Research' part of R&D seriously. "It definitely fits the area. But that stitching looks really poor- hang on, is that nylon? And look at that stitch work- my God, did a high-schooler sew this in home ec? This feels like it'd be on a cheap Halloween costume-"

     "Mena," I giggle, trying to put her back on course. "Anything?"

     "Right!" she exclaims, and I faintly hear the clicking of keys through the speakers. "If that's a faction, they're no big threat. I can't find anything. Are you sure it's not Halloween out there?"

     I sigh, unsatisfied. Usually, picking up these breadcrumbs helps me find some answers. Not today, I guess. "If this is a souvenir, it looks like I found a tourist trap."

     "It's really funny though!" She laughs infectiously. "I mean, for me, at least. Hopefully you too. Syrian militias need to step up their patch game."

     I roll my eyes, a smirk still on my face. "Mena's an art critic?"

     "Normally, no," she counters swiftly. "This is an exception. Anyway, how are you? How has it been?"

     I look around, seeing Suri sitting in the passenger seat, staring off into the distance. "A little weird without you guys," I ponder, recounting the missions before this. "Air is heavier."

     There's a rare pause from the phone before Mena begins. "Well, if you're ever feeling lonely, just know your vitals are on my screen! You'd have to work pretty hard to disappear from me."

     I glance down at my forearm, seeing the small scar now that she mentions it. Beneath is the tracker that sends my info to Charybdis. That guy isn't coming out without some knifework, which I cringe at. "I don't know whether to be comforted or threatened by that," I muse.

     "And you wouldn't have it any other way," she giggles, pushing the tracker out of my mind.

     "Very true," I admit, looking back at Suri. "Hey, I gotta let you go for now. Gotta get back on the road."

     "Just... don't do anything dumb, alright?" Mena remarks, the bubbliness nearly gone from her voice. "People are waiting for you back here."

     I pause for a moment, appreciative of the care. "Will do, Mena. Thank you. Or, I guess, 'won't do?'"

     "Take care," she chuckles, and I hear the call end. I slide my phone back into my pocket before heaving the gas can into the back of the SUV. My light boots squirm against the sand as I enter the vehicle, reflexively fastening my seatbelt. My hand reaches for the shifter almost instantly, quickly turning around and re-entering the road.

     The tires hum below as I continue the drive eastward. I steal a glance at Suri, who is still in a daze. He had sat on that ridgeline for a while after Raleigh called. Everything tells me I shouldn't ask him about Klen, to disengage and hammer down, but he isn't just cargo, is he? 

     "Can I ask you about Klen?" I question meekly. It gets his attention, though, as he turns around to look at me. A strange combination of confusion and relief crosses his eyes, and he lies back in his seat a bit more. 

     "What about him?" Suri responds, slightly caged.

     "Just," I begin. "Who he was? What he was like?"

     Suri seems a bit surprised by that comment, squinting as he looks out the window. "What's it to you? That doesn't seem like part of the job."

     I sigh, knowing I probably should've expected that small jab. "No, it's not. I just-" I pause, wondering whether it's worth it.

     "Klen was my family's butler," Suri interjects measuredly. My brows raise slightly as I focus on the road. "He was a great guy, from what I remember. I just have a lot of good memories with him and Kali."

     I glance over, seeing him with a mix of sorrow and regret. "I just wish I could've said goodbye. It was all so sudden when I was kicked out. It's been nine years, and I never even got that courtesy." I nod slowly, feeling the pain like it's wrapping around my chest. Suri stops talking, looking down like he wants to cry.

     "I've been there," I mutter, and I see Suri's eyes dart over to me. "Hearing someone you knew had died. Not being able to say goodbye."

     Suri nods, leaning back into the seat again. Silence hangs in the air like smoke as the vehicle rolls forward. Part of me wants to tell him the whole story right now. Everything in Baghdad. Barr's scream. The grave... 

     His name. Carlos.

     I decide not to put that on his conscience, continuing to turn the tires around. "At least Kali kept him company," Suri mutters, a hint of jealousy sprinkled in to the sorrow. "He didn't deserve to die."

     "It doesn't sound like it," I agree, eyes on the road. Wind tugs the SUV, filling the silence neither of us seems to want to break. Suri, as if on cue, clears his throat, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

     "I heard a bit of your call earlier," he states, still guarded from our dispute, but seemingly opened up a bit after our talk. He pulls out his water from his bag. "You don't usually do solo missions."

     I nod. "Yeah. Just riskier. Especially if our enemies aren't basic militants."

     "It's not so bad," Suri says, sipping his water. "Going at it alone, I mean."

     "I could never," I tiredly smile. "Three elite soldiers versus one. That's a death sentence. You need a team for that."

     "Maybe," Suri murmurs. "But you know what would've happened if I never left Al Kamara?"

     I tilt my head, intrigued. "I would've grown up in the shadow of my dad. I would've never had an original thought. I would've offered vain suggestions, and kept the status quo with no consolation but a crown."

     "And now?" I ask, and he shifts in his makeshift seat.

     "I don't know," he trails off before looking at me. "But I think that's what you need."

     "What?" I laugh. "A crown?"

     He lets out a rare, slight chuckle. "I think there are things you will only discover when you eventually hang up the guns. When it's just you, and you're free."

     I smirk, pondering the thought. "You have a way with words, huh?"

     "I just think it's true," he counters, letting out a sigh as he stretches.