“Sure,” Tristan said. He leaned back against a wall. The Barcode hitmen walked over to where the light was stronger, and tore open the envelope to begin counting the contents.

“By,” Tristan murmured. “I was thinking about… everything that happened, two years ago. Been thinking about it a lot tonight.”

He swapped out.

“Mind whammies always bring up those days. Dark feelings,” Byron said. Swap.

Tristan, as soon as he had control, replied, “I don’t think you’ve ever given me a straight answer about why.”

Swap.

“I’ve given you answers, Tristan,” Byron’s voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

Swap. Each finished statement was followed by one.

“Not satisfying ones. Why? Why didn’t you push for harsher punishment? Why… let me go? Why not press charges? They wanted to arrest me for attempting to murder you. If it hadn’t gotten snagged in the courts, interrupted by Gold Morning…”

“Your time in jail is my time in jail. I don’t think you’re going to do it again.”

“Not with this. Barcode. Prevention.”

“This was always more for your sake than for mine, Tristan.”

“Is your punishment going to be you being frustratingly vague for the rest of the time we’re stuck together?”

Byron shook their head. “You punished yourself enough. I don’t want to dwell in that time, so I’m letting it go. I forgive you, little brother.”

“Little? Don’t be that fucking cliché, By. Minutes.”

“I thought it’d get your goat.”

“Uuugh. Torture, torture. How is it that we get along best when everything’s gone most thoroughly to shit? Gold Morning and we reconcile. You decide to give me this weird pseudo-forgiveness. Tonight, prison breakout, mind control, and we have a nice chat.”

Tristan swapped. There was a moment of thought before Byron shrugged their shoulders, then switched back.

“So vague,” Tristan grumbled.

“It’s not pseudo-forgiveness, Tristan. I have days when I’m angry and days I’m not dealing at all. You know I have nightmares, I freak out. But that doesn’t make it pseudo. It’s forgiveness, little brother. I might have hated actually going to church, but that doesn’t mean I hated the lessons.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be that easy.”

“It’s not, Trist. Let it go before I change my mind, you know? It’s an ongoing work, but it’s a work I do for me as much as I do it for you. So… take it without arguing.”

Byron switched to Tristan.

Tristan didn’t argue.

“We’re good,” The barcode guy said. “We’ll see you soon, then? Unless you need something else?”

Tristan paused.

“What?” the guy asked.

“I was thinking we might be able to do business… but I need to talk it over with my brother, first.”

Gleaming Interlude 9