He wasn’t sure what he expected to come back to, but now he found himself watching Nyx hopefully, like a kid. He knew better than that. He wasn’t a kid anymore. But he felt safer and more wanted around her than he had with anyone else in a long time.

She left her dirty dishes on the floor, and stood. “You in, then?”

He tried to sound casual. “As long as there’s work to do.”

“Always work to do,” Nyx said.

“You never turned down a job, right? I never have either.”

He got to his feet. When they stood next to each other, he was nearly as tall as her, which made him tall in Ras Tieg. It was strange what a few years could do. Despite the height, and the extra bulk, she was smaller than he remembered, and a lot older. The hair braided back against her scalp was long and thick—not the sort of hair you wanted to drag with you into a fight, unless you wanted to give your attacker a handhold—and he could just make out a few silver threads. But her ragged face, scarred throat, and mismatched skin said volumes about who and what she was—and why nobody should fuck with her. He half hoped he would look that ravaged at her age. Maybe people would take him more seriously.

Nyx rubbed her eyes. “Good. I’m kinda tired of exile. Maybe you are too.”

“Yeah,” Eshe said, but it wasn’t the rioting, tar-tasting streets of Nasheen he was yearning to get back to. For once, he wanted to feel like he was needed somewhere, like he actually fit. Being with Nyx was the closest thing to feeling like he was home. Like somebody gave a shit.

Nyx said, “Let’s get started then.”

Three hours and twelve candidates later, Nyx was ready to close up shop. The sun was low in the sky, and evening prayer would be coming on soon. Fuck having her own magician. She would rely on Fatima’s and take her fucking chances.