“Oh shit, you’re freezing,” Kiem said, turning to him. He made to lift his arm as if to put it around Jainan’s shoulders, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m freezing, come to think of it. I’m standing here like an idiot, sorry. There are clothes in the flybug. Let’s kit up, then we can think about moving.”

Clothes in the flybug. Of course there were. Their outdoor coats were packed in their luggage, for a start—how had Jainan not remembered that? He must be mildly concussed. Jainan moved mechanically back to the flybug, feeling his limbs loosen as the stim tab released into his blood, and watched Kiem wrench the hold open. Taam would have been in a towering rage by now. Kiem …

wasn’t. Yet.

“Hey! Jainan!” Kiem waved a bundle of fur above his head. “Found your coat!”

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.