The yet echoed oddly in his mind. Jainan put it aside and went over, holding out his hands.

Kiem tossed the coat over. Jainan noticed him grimace after, because apparently even three stim tabs didn’t cover all his muscle pain. For some reason Kiem had pulled all the luggage out of the flybug and onto the ground, and now he half climbed into the hold through the bent hatch, so far that his feet dangled in midair. “Nearly got it,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “Just a—ah, here we are.” There was a scraping noise, and Kiem drew back out of the hatch with a piece of hold casing in his hand.

Jainan leaned over to peer in, his breaths coming short in the cold. “Why is there a hidden compartment in your flybug?” he said. It was filled with fluorescent fabric packs.

“Huh?” Kiem gave him a puzzled look. “This is just the—wait. I forgot you didn’t grow up here.” He reached in again and pulled out a square orange pack.

“You missed the survival modules back in prime five. I guess Thean schools don’t do them? All flycraft have this stuff built in by law.” He pulled a tab at the corner of the pack and orange fabric cascaded out, morphing into a padded, waterproof overjacket. He dropped it on top of the scattered luggage and dived in for the other packs. “Tent,” he called, throwing out another, larger pack.

“Food—it’s going to taste like industrial waste, but it’s that or pine needles. Hey, a backpack! Only one, though.” He pulled himself half out and looked around.

“Sorry, this is going to take a little while. Pick out the warmest jacket. Uh …

you should probably change first.”

“Change clothes?” Jainan said. It was below freezing, and though the breeze was slight, it was turning the cold from a blunt weapon into a lethal one. “But

—” He clamped his mouth shut on the last word. Iskaners from this region were experts on winter weather. Kiem didn’t need questioning.

“Your inner layer’s soaked from melting snow,” Kiem said. “That’s why you’re still shivering. We’ve got dry clothes, might as well use them.”

“Oh.” Jainan looked down at his coat and realized that his clammy clothes were making the relentless cold even worse. He took a breath, pulled off his coat, and made himself strip off his shirt.

Kiem turned his back, crouching down to inspect the pile of equipment.

Jainan wondered if that was politeness or just a disinclination to look at his body.

Jainan made short work of it, despite the trembling and fingers that fumbled catches. He had to double-layer some thin fabric; he had packed for short spells outside, not the winter night that was on its way. A few meters away, Kiem’s polite detachment had turned into a flurry of activity as he checked fabric for holes and tested straps. Jainan finished dressing and stepped away so as not to distract him.