No such luck. The door opened again and Faolan strode out, fixing the last piece of his armour into place. He walked off again, beckoning her to follow, and resumed as though there had been no interruption and no barb that went too far: “You have some moderate control over electricity, and heat…and you were able to kickstart your body, before?”

That had been the trick that made him realise she was Blooded, back before all this, when she was just a singer and he an unknown Wolf. “Releasing adrenaline,” Orfeus said. She was a little proud of that one.

Faol nodded, and stopped to yank down on a lever of some kind. “Rely on that less,” she said shortly. “Your own reflexes must be enough.”

Orfeus stepped back as a vast door shuddered open, big as an airlock. It led out not into rushing air and freezing temperatures but a more open space. One wall was made of windows, looking like it could open out into the blue-sky world outside. Hoverbikes and a few larger flight machines were stacked through the hangar in neat rows. “Faolan, I’m a guitarist.”

He shook his head impatiently, erasing that with a swipe of his hand. “Push your body too far…”

Orfeus jutted her chin. “It hasn’t failed me yet.”

His look was all astonishment. “You passed out.”

Faol strolled along the rows of bikes like how she walked between the cabbages and lettuce to see what was sprouting, how the plants were coming along. “Yet here I am,” Orfeus said breezily. “No damage done. Passing out is fine if it’s in front of allies.”

He stopped short and she jerked back to avoid walking into him. Faol gave her a wolf-eyed glare. “I don’t want to fight with you by my side,” he said. “I don’t trust you.”

As though she would ever want this either, after he’d nearly killed her. Orfeus glanced away, studying the bikes. She touched a musing hand to the handlebars of one. “That’s not news,” she said. Faol grunted. Orfeus shook her head and risked it: “You’re not going to do anything about it. Not when it’s Luga’s orders.”

A gritty, shifting sound. He was grinding his teeth together.

“Stop chomping your fangs down, you need those,” Orfeus said. “For jugulars and such.”

“I’ll show you how to fly,” he said, dully.

That was a big enough claim to shut her up, just for a moment.

Faolan waved at a bike, and Orfeus, not wanting to give him time to change his mind, strode forward and sat on it. She leaned thoughtfully back then forward in the saddle, then pulled off her cloak, bundling it up. “I don’t need this dragging at my neck,” she said.

Faol nodded. “Enemies can grab it,” he added. “I wouldn’t wear one at all.”