The Jeep pulls into a truck stop deep into Richfield, far from the densely inhabited northern part of the state. All around is flat land, and during the day you can see across the desert for the miles in all directions, the only landmark being the distant mountain ranges. An excellent location to stop for the night, Martin thinks. What they're chasing probably doesn't burrow, so long sightlines help. He steps out of the Jeep, followed closely by Shrike. The enter the brightly lit truck stop together, having a brief discussion on why Shrike shouldn't take a shower here.

  The cashier eyes them both warily. One, the cashier sees, is a fairly normal if somewhat stern man with dark hair, eyes, and a short beard. He seems to constantly have his eyes on a swivel, as he looks through the rows of snacks and candy. He keeps glancing at the second, weirder figure that made a beeline for the hot food section.

  She's dressed head to toe in cold weather gear. Thick boots, ski pants, and ski jacket with the hood up. Her skin, from what parts he can see, is far too pale for someone who lives in the eternally sunny state. And, most bizarrely, a blindfold covers her eyes.

  He's heard rumors, especially recently. It's Utah. Skinwalker rumors are a dime a dozen. Recently, though... there have been a few too many people getting sick for a week at a time. Church was barely two-thirds full last Sunday. And all the coyotes lately...

  He watches the two briefly exchange a conversation about the coffee machine, as the one in the ski jacket stands directly in front of a slowly spinning roller grill, appearing to watch it in action without a way to see it through the fabric blocking her vision.

  As the strange man reaches the counter, he sets down a few snacks, and asks how hot the coffee is. The unintentional flash of a revolver handle would be nothing on its own, but...

  The cashier replies, saying its close to boiling so truckers can drink it slowly and still have it hot after a few miles. Martin nods at the ski-jacket girl, and sets down a few dollars more for the large coffee she gets. She starts filling a cup, and guzzling it immediately.

  That's the final straw. The cashier draws a gun, a cheap 9mm, and points it at Martin's head. He's not going to get killed today. Not by god damn skinwalkers.

  Martin holds his hands up, and quickly reads his nametag. "Easy, Ethan..."

  "How do you know my name?!" He shouts, keeping the gun pointed while taking a step back.

  Martin glances at Shrike, who is listening to the situation with intrigue. "Ethan, its on your nametag. Let's just keep everything calm."

  "I know what's happening here. Skinwalkers. I can tell. Your friend there just drank boiling hot coffee straight, and apparently can see through a blindfold."

  Martin groans. "Okay, okay, let me explain. I'm a magical beast hunter. Let me show you my ID." He reaches for his wallet, kept on same side he keeps his pistol. The cashier, seeing his movement, fires close to his head as a warning.

  A clear, hexagonal force shimmers in gold as the bullet seems stuck against it, before falling harmlessly to the floor. It wasn't quite going to hit him, Martin knew, but it was close enough that the heat alone would have been painful.

  Shrike slowly walks over, and starts speaking. "I will assume this is-" The cashier fires three times at the woman, all of which are stopped in place by the same force. Martin observes the bullets clatter to the tile ground, one after the other, the cashier shakily holding his gun .

  "That's new, Shrike." Martin says, ripping open a bag of beef jerky and casually eating a piece. Somehow, him almost being shot didn't really phase him. Must be getting used to Shrike saving his ass, he thinks.

  "It is a honed skill. Over time, I developed it as an instinctual reaction to anything entering the zone of functionally invisible light particles I emit. I shall demonstrate. Shopkeeper, please repeat the action with my back turned." Shrike turns, her back to Ethan, while looking at her empty coffee cup with dismay. Ethan drops the gun, hands quivering.

  Martin sighs, pulling out his wallet and revealing his ID card as a Magical Beast Hunter. "I'm Martin. My partner over there is... unique."

  "I am a kynde. Are free refills an invention of television serials, similar to telephone booths?" She asks, glancing back to the coffee machine.

  "Shrike, don't reveal specifics to people who are trying to kill you. And don't drink too much caffeine, you'll be kept up all night."

  "Like most human medicines and toxins, caffeine does not affect me. I simply enjoy the taste and heat of coffee."

  "No one likes the taste of... nevermind. Sorry, Ethan. I got sidetracked. I take it you're on edge for a reason?" Martin opens a can of iced tea, and sips it, keeping his eyes trained on the man.

  "Y-yeah... rumors around here of skinwalkers..."

  "It's Utah. It's our national sport to say there are skinwalkers everywhere." He says dismissively. "The Diné haven't reported one in... damn, five years? But if there's something going on, we'd like to hear about it."

  The cashier explains the recent illnesses and coyote sightings. Martin pushes his hair back once he starts talking about the rumors.

  "So your evidence for trying to shoot me is because of some ill LDS folks, some coyotes, and gossip? You should probably rethink your approach. Way too jumpy... oh, and another large coffee so Shrike stays happy. Are refills free?"

  Shrike returns to her nest of blankets in the back seat opposite the driver side. Martin sighs as he sinks into the driver's seat. "You really have to try and blend in more."

  "I am attempting to do so, but I had forgotten that humans enjoy hot coffee but only if they drink it slowly. There are numerous rules, and I have no experience with them."

  "Still, maybe just... don't touch anything. It's also my fault for nodding when you can't see. Humans can't sense surface temperature, so if our eyes are covered we can't tell." He finishes his iced tea, shaking the last couple drops into his mouth. "Thanks for not letting me got shot, by the way."

  "You are welcome. Please remember my barriers are only automatic for fast moving objects around myself, and I cannot set instinctive barriers around others. I suggest you try harder to avoid getting shot at, as were I not paying attention to you, you would have been slain. Additionally, stay closer, you were on the edge of my heat sensing range." She exhales twice in amusement.

  Martin sighs a bit as he watches his partner start to look a little smug. "I'm too tired for this, and I'm pretty sure this whole thing was nothing after all. I'm gonna try and get some sleep." He grunts, moving over to the passenger side.

  "I believe I will stay up tonight. I feel more awake."

  "Caffeine doesn't affect you, my ass. Goodnight, Shrike." Martin reclines the seat, closing his eyes.

  Shrike doesn't bother to tell him its just the surge of heat. She quietly steps outside the Jeep, trying to figure out how to get her phone to play music while not looking too closely at the bright screen. Why, she wonders in irritation, can she drive but not operate a touchscreen? Maybe the cashier knows... no, he's just as likely to have a heart attack, and a human dying over a simple question would be wasteful. She leans against the hood of the Jeep, soaking in its heat from the engine, and staring up at the sky away from the gas station lights. So many millions of stars. All of them seem so close together, from a distance.

  She slips back into the car as quietly as she can to avoid waking her partner, and falls asleep soon after her stargazing. Her dreams are always the same: no people, no voices, nothing but the snow and the trees. So many trees...

  By morning, Martin sees his partner soundly asleep in the seat behind the driver's side. He opens his laptop to draft the report before she gets up. Whole lot of nothing. There's something funny, he thinks, about every famous monster in the notably dry state being waterborne. Most of what he hunts out here aren't part of the natural ecosystem, but fully invasive ones from other regions, like yokai. Or Californians, he thinks, smirking to himself.

  He sees his partner stir in her sleep. He wonders if kyndes existed before humans, modeled on some ancient hominid ancestor. He doubts it. Something about humans makes them a template for magical beasts to be based around. So many humanoid or roughly humanoid ones...

  He resigns himself to checking the nearby church. It's Sunday, and seeing attendance would be doing something besides waiting around. He moves back to the driver's seat, and drives off down the road closer to the center of Richfield. The kynde, Shrike, remains asleep.

  Shrike rubs her eyes. Outside a church. Latter-Day Saints. Not enough information to go on here. She switches her thought process to a more interrogative one. Is Martin is a faithful Mormon? Evidence suggests otherwise, search of bookshelves in home revealed no scriptural texts. Is he doing investigative work? Very likely. The gas station attendant mentioned church having low participation, today is when church is participated in.

  She slips out of her ski jacket and takes a quick trip inside. Ski pants, a sweater, and a blindfold are inappropriate attire, she thinks. Will it be an issue? No. Mormons are welcoming of guests. She pokes her head into the chapel, squinting an eye open for under a second. Barely half-full. Odd...

  She sits down in the foyer, waiting patiently for Martin. Hopefully, she thinks, he will be in the chapel. Unfortunately, humans all appear more or less the same heat-wise.

  "Are you lost?" A male voice asks. Close, normal temperature, loose threaded clothing.

  "No." She replies. Mormon friendliness may be her downfall here. She has proven incapable of passing as human under direct questioning.

  "Rest here as long as you need. If you're hungry or thirsty, I can bring food or water."

  "I am satiated." Divert line of questioning? Yes, appears to be making conversation. Appear unfriendly.

  "Then I will leave you be. God bless." She senses him walking away, as he returns to the chapel. Increasingly odd...

  Her phone buzzes. She, startled, fumblingly drops it, before picking it up and pressing where she remembers the green button to be. She has yet to use it for something other than music.

  "Shrike. Where are you?" Martin's voice comes from inside the phone.

  "Inside the church."

  "Damn it... you need to get out of there. I'm fairly certain there's something toxic in it. Food, water, gas, I have no idea."

  "If I were human, that would be concerning."

  "...huh. I guess you're immune to disease and most toxins. You want to be my eyes? Metaphorically, of course. Turn on your video."

  A long discussion on how to turn on the video ensues, but by the end, the video is turned on, and the phone is held up to her ear, letting Martin see from her right side. "Okay... this can work. Walk inside the chapel."

  Shrike does as instructed, walking into the chapel, keeping the phone facing right.

  "Nothing unusual, yet. Just keep me pointed at the pulpit..."

  The sermon goes on for some time, followed by a bearing of personal testimony. After a few crying people proclaiming their faith, a familiar voice comes over the microphone.

  "Yep. There it is."

  Over the video, Martin sees a strange being. A man, maybe six and a half feet tall, completely covered in long hair that wraps and tangles around his body. No clothing, only the hair.

  It speaks into the microphone. "Hello. I am Cain. It is a pleasure to be up here again today."

  Martin's voice comes over the phone. "Okay... this is some kind of egregore, maybe? Collective belief that solidifies into a physical creature. Mormons have specific folklore about Cain being cursed with immortality after killing... my head is... shit, what was I talking about?"

  Cain looks over the chapel, eyes lingering on Shrike's camera for a moment. "I have come to bear my testimony on the church. I am cursed to walk this earth as punishment for slaying my brother Abel. My fate is proof of the Lord. I say these things in the name of thy son, Jesus Christ. Amen."

  The congregation repeats the Amen, seemingly unbothered by what happened. Cain takes a seat in the front row, far from Shrike.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Martin's voice comes over the phone again. "Still don't see anything. Screw it, let's go. Waste of time..."

  She whispers quietly into the phone. "What of Cain?"

  "Who the hell is Cain?"

  Not a joking tone, and his memory is hazy after a brief time. Martin has a damaged mental state? No, he was fine a moment ago, no sign of distress. Magical interference? Likely, it additionally explains non-reaction from congregation.

  "I believe there is memory-affecting magic. Stay put. If you see me in combat, assume it is with the quarry."

  "Damn it... okay. Don't give a description, that might make me forget the target again. You may have to engage him directly."

  "Now, or after service?" She asks, sensing Cain stare up at the next testimony-bearer.

  "After the first hour. Maybe another ten minutes. Just sit tight and hang up."

  She hangs up the phone. At least, she attempts to, trying to find the exact spot on the touchscreen that would hang up. Upon hearing the beeps as Martin hangs up for her, she slides into the phone into her pocket.

  She observes Cain, switching her thoughts back to a more standard process. Something feels... different than most magical beasts. Familiar, maybe? After the chapel is dismissed to their respective second hour meetings, Shrike approaches Cain, stopping him from moving to a different room. "Cain."

  He gets a puzzled look on his face. "Darn, is this another dream?"

  Shrike now shares in his confusion, but shakes it off. Not a dream: there's no snow or trees. "No."

  "No one can remember me. They can only perceive me at the margins, occasionally over photos or videos for a brief time. It is my curse." He states matter-of-factly. "But you... remember me."

  "Yes. Are you infecting these people with an unknown illness?" Her voice is level, casual, but subtly predatory.

  Cain sighs. "Yes. Another part of my existence... I am at a disadvantage, may I ask your name?"

  Don't reveal information to someone trying to kill you, she remembers. Cain has revealed no malice. Should he, he will be dead regardless. "Shrike."

  "A vicious name for a woman. Now, Shrike, do you know why you remember me?"

  "Yes. It is privileged information."

  "Please." Cain begs, falling on his knees. He begins crying in an instant, and on the next he's on the floor sobbing desperately. "I have been separated from humanity for so long."

  "Yet you are harming others? I do not follow." Shrike's voice is more curious than accusatory.

  "You wouldn't understand!" He yanks himself to his feet, crying and grabbing her shoulders. "The only influence I have left is the miasma I leave behind in peoples' brains when they think of me for too long. I am with them when they're sick. It's the only way I can be known." His tone starts to steady. "I have to know. Is it the blindfold? Is that how you can perceive me?"

  Not a intentional threat, but an unstable mental state with drastic mood swings. There's no harm in answering. "I am a kynde."

  "You... you too?! We have to compare notes, talk shop, everything! Why were you cursed?"

  "What?" That was a lot of information to process. Curse? Another kynde? Shop?

  "Don't remember? For the better probably. Come, please! Sit!" He takes a sit on a bench, patting the one next to him with glee.

  Shrike briefly considers it, and hesitantly sits down.

  "Shrike, was it? The name is growing on me. I assume since you are not human, my curse does not affect you. Tell me, what is your curse? If you are comfortable. God in heaven, I am just so glad to talk to someone else! It's been nearly two hundred years since my last time!" He exuberantly flails his arms while speaking. Shrike powers through his stench.

  "My curse?" He means being a kynde? "I do not think of it as a curse."

  "Glass half-full? Well, you look a little cursed to me. No offense, of course! You're sitting inside wearing a crazy outfit with a blindfold on."

  "I am not suited for the location or season."

  "That's a shame. But yes, my curse is to be forgotten, but to walk the world eternally as punishment for slaying my brother Abel tens of thousands of years ago. How do you see through the blindfold? Oh, do you like games? The Mormons always have Uno around somewhere..." Cain stands up to start looking around the various side rooms, though Shrike stops him before he walks away.

  "I sense heat, and am currently uninterested in a game. I am concerned with the rising illness."

  Cain goes quiet, for a few seconds. "Still on that, huh? I know! I have an excellent idea! I have a mobile phone! Do you? If I had someone to talk to, I wouldn't be as lonely! Please, please give me your number." He takes out a phone from somewhere in his deep, matted hair, offering it to her.

  His loneliness resolved means no further illness, assuming his honesty, she thinks. "If I do, will you cease infecting people?"

  "I swear. I'll go back to wandering. I just... I needed to make an impact. I needed to be experienced. Being a ghost is the worst fate I can imagine."

  She stays silent, handing him her phone. "I am inexperienced with operating these. Please add yourself to my contacts."

  He does so, gleefully, even taking a picture of himself for the contact. "Are you hungry? We could eat somewhere!"

  "No. I have a friend waiting for me."

  "Another kynde?! Two people I can be seen by?!" His voice cracks with excitement.

  "Human. Waiting to kill you should we walk outside together."

  "...oh." He frowns, receding back into the bench. "I get it. You two are... what, detectives?"

  "Of a sort."

  "How intriguing! Please, do send messages of what you're up to! I don't suppose you would change your mind on Uno?"

  "I apologize. I... will see you again. Metaphorically."

  "I hope so. What a great day! Goodbye, Shrike! Fly your way back to me soon!"

  Martin reads the 47 new messages on Shrike's phone, for the second time. Shrike had forced her eyes open long enough to delete the contact photo Cain set for himself after the first time made him forget everything he had read, putting her in an annoying amount of pain.

  Mostly ramblings, Martin thinks. Some of them he can't seem to read, like his eyes are slipping off the wall of green speech bubbles, the rest he can only vaguely remember the intent of. "He doesn't seem... well."

  "He is lonely. I can relate in that sense, and that sense alone." She doesn't mention Cain's mood swings, or how her eyes are burning slightly behind the blindfold.

  "Are you sure this isn't a trap of some kind? He gives you a sob story, and goes back to brain-melting people?" Martin rereads the texts. A mix of shallow "hi"s and the depths of multiple paragraph long screeds on his favorite places to eat.

  "No. However, he claims to be immortal. I see no reason to anger him when I could befriend him if that is true. A lasting friend across cycles would be invaluable."

  Two new messages appear on Shrike's phone. A short message about potential rain, and a photo of a bus stop.

  Martin grunts, returning the phone. "I'm going to lie about this on my report. It's better than trying to explain that Cain from the Bible is a kynde and is wandering Utah, and we let him leave."

  Shrike gazes out the window of the Jeep. If kyndes are indeed cursed, as Cain said... then what are the parameters of her own curse?

  Later in the day, Shrike is sitting by the fireplace at home, paying astute attention to Martin as he speaks. Apparently, the cell phone can be operated by voice, which would solve her issues with the touchscreen. "Phone assistant-"

  "You have to use her name. Hey, Dot!" Martin says, as clearly as possible.

  He sees a blue waving line on a dark background takes over the screen. "Hello!" it chirps back.

  Shrike takes a moment before giving it a request. "Play the song Sunlight Daze."

  A familiar chord plays from the phone's speakers. She stays silent to listen to it, but Martin pauses it. Shrike immediately complains, but Martin laughs and tells her to figure out how to unpause it. With reluctance, she talks to the virtual assistant, and gets the music playing again.

  Martin returns to his bedroom, staring at the ceiling as he lies down, a faint indie folk song sporadically finding its way up the stairs.

  He can't be too frustrated with Shrike, can he? She did resolve the problem, in her own way. He's never falsified a report until today, though. It's more dangerous than Shrike seems to understand. He could lose his hunting license, Shrike could be dismissed in turn, and sent off to another MBR facility for who knows how long.

  Although, he thinks, she might not let herself be captured again. If it came to it... there could be bodies.

  He closes his eyes. No point in catastrophizing. Separate the work from the rest. The smooth and gentle song barely audible from down the stairs soon lulls him to sleep.

  The virtual assistant starts to read off all of Cain's messages. It takes nearly ten full minutes for Shrike to get through them all. How is she supposed to respond? It's possible Cain has texted more to her today than she has spoken since beginning her partnership with Martin.

  "Dot. Please respond with 'I am going to sleep now, but I am enjoying reading your messages. In summation of your questions, I do not enjoy ice cream, my preferred temperature is 130° Farenheit, roughly ten to fifteen thousand years old technically speaking and two or three hundred waking, I have not met another kynde, I have no opinion on the church, I am not annoyed by you, and I do enjoy my work."

  She listens to the message played back, and argues with Dot for another three minutes trying to get it to send "Kynde" over "Kidney", before giving up and sending it out. Cain will have to figure that out on his own, she decides, curling up by the fire.

  By the time Shrike wakes up in the morning, there are twenty-four new messages. She replies with a single one, before groggily making her way to the table.

  "Morning." Martin says, making pancakes.

  "Yes, it is." Shrike replies as she sits on a chair, holding her knees to her chin.

  "Tired? Up late with your new friend?" He asks, half-teasing.

  "Yes, to only the first question. I plan to spend today gathering heat, if we have no plans."

  A funny and strangely cute image flashes in his mind. "We should get you one of those glass tanks they keep lizards in."

  "If you attempted to put me in a glass tank, human, I would put you into a... a... the hole with the apes in zoos."

  "Gorilla pen?"

  "Yes. Thank you." She starts blearily munching on a pancakes placed in front of her, followed by drinking a glass of nearly boiling water. With a contented sigh, she stretches quietly, the heat and food waking her up.

  "You're on your own today, so feel free to do whatever you want. I'm visiting family up in SLC." He starts buttering his own pancakes, adding a carefully measured amount of syrup.

  She stays silent for a moment. "Tell me of your family. You know of mine, so it is equivalent."

  "You don't have family." He groans.

  She leans in closer to him, blindfold masking her wide eyes. "Yes. I am deeply lonely as I have no surviving family. Your phrasing caused an emotional injury."

  "You're ridiculous. You never had family either."

  "Then perhaps an orphan. Or perhaps a bastard from both parents. A twice bastardized double orphan. The depths of my sorrow." She deeply frowns, poorly mimicking offense and hurt.

  "Christ almighty, you're not going to give up, are you?" He stabs another piece of pancake. "I have a mother, father, and brother. They're all still very LDS."

  "What are their names?"

  "You don't even know my real name. Let alone my family's."

  "You know mine. There is an information gap between us." She takes another pancake, eating it in a few bites. "KD000-002".

  "That's not a name, it's a designation. Can I please just eat my breakfast?"

  "Achiq."

  Martin looks up from his plate, at Shrike's now genuine frown. "What?"

  "Achiq. A name I had. One of many, but the only I can recall."

  He puts his fork down, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Why do you even want to come? I'm just stopping by to say hello."

  "I wish to meet others, and it seems inopportune to do so with total strangers." She says, voice slightly weakening. "I apologize. I will keep a more professional distance. Thank you for breakfast." She retreats back to the fireplace, turning off the lights in the room and opening a book.

  Martin chews slowly, as a realization slowly brews in his head. Maybe having a buffer will make it less brutal... He knows he's going to regret this decision, but that he'd regret the alternative more.

  The house is larger than his own, but probably cost next to nothing before the housing boom in Utah. Blue bricks and a dark gray roof, with a white foundation and window trim. A staircase to the right leads up to the porch, with several small shrubs standing guard in front. Martin stands in front of the white door, torn between walking in to his childhood home as if it were his own, or ringing the doorbell he's heard hundreds of times but never used himself.

  The question is answered for him by an older woman with blonde hair cut short pulling open the door. Her eyes light up with surprising vigor. "Martin!" She says, pulling him in to a hug.

  Shrike cocks her head to the left. Is that his codename and given name?

  "Hey, Mom. This is my partner, Shrike. Thanks for keeping to the codenames, its very important that you don't tell any childhood stories either."

  "Of course, of course! We've set up a little lunch in the backyard. You said you wanted to eat outside, right?"

  "Right. Shrike, meet us back there. Use the side gate." The family dog might notice something off about Shrike's scent, he thinks. Being outside avoids both the dog and the blindfold. Only things left are the manner of speech and clothing choice, both of which can be explained away.

  Shrike sits down at a picnic table, opposite a man approximately Martin's age. She stares at him flatly, blinking occasionally. The man smiles, scooting himself over to sit across from her. "Hey there. You're Martin's work partner?" He offers her a handshake.

  "Yes. My name is Shrike." She takes the handshake.

  "Firm grip, Shrike! Yikes, warm hand, too! Suits the line of work, maybe. Taking the Lord's battle to the demons can't be easy." He smiles happily. "My name is Laman. Happy to meet you!"

  "Demons..?" She asks, tilting her head slightly.

  "Aren't you a member?" He asks, frowning a bit.

  Member? Nothing fits. '"...of what?" She runs through four separate thought processes, but none of them provide any insight. Shrike has no idea what is happening right now.

  "Frick, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have assumed."

  "I am not offended." Assumed what? Her head is starting to swirl. She decides to wait for Martin to clear up the misunderstanding later, and keep answers brief.

  "You certainly dress warm, though. Fighting something up in the mountains later?"

  "I cannot reveal specifics of my work."

  "Hah! I'll take that as a yes. So Shrike, tell me about you! Are you married?"

  "No."

  "Well, neither is Martin. Just saying, I think you'd be a good fit. You're both very reserved. Oh, speaking of!"

  Martin grits his teeth as he steps down the old wooden steps leading to the backyard, carrying a cooked chicken and a few cans of Fresca. His parents follow close behind, setting out a wide array of sides. Martin's mother sits next to Shrike, while Martin himself quickly swoops in to the right of Shrike before his father can.

  Martin takes a deep breath. "Okay, quick introductions. Remember: I am Martin. I can't use my non-work name for safety. Distancing yourself from your name is important when dealing with fairies who would try to steal it. This is my partner, Shrike. Shrike, this is my brother Laman, my mother Ruth, and my father Aaron."

  Shrike eyes each of them in turn. "Hello, everyone."

  Ruth and Aaron are both friendly, saying hello and exchanging pleasantries, before Aaron stands up. "Okay, we're all hungry, let's get to the prayer. Shrike, if you would?"

  Shrike blinks a few times, as Laman gets up and whispers something in Aaron's ear. Aaron frowns, and sits back down with Laman. "No problem. I'll say it then."

  After a short blessing, the food is passed around, and discussion immediately turns to Shrike. Is she married? Are her family from the church? How'd she meet Martin?

  Shrike answers all of them as curtly as possible, only lying when required. They ask so many personal questions, she thinks. A very different culture than the MBR. Intimate with strangers. Almost... comfortable, after the initial hesitation.

  "So... 'Martin'!" Aaron says with finger quotes. "Have you been going to church?"

  Martin sighs. "Can we talk about something else?"

  "Well, how many topics do we have left? No personal stories, no church, not even your god-given name. Oh, I know. I've started golfing again. You never were much of a golfer though, even after your... thing." Aaron sideeyes his child. "It's too bad. How about you, Shrike? Any sports?"

  Shrike thinks for a moment. "Hunting."

  Aaron laughs. "Yes, I suppose that counts. You two running around in the woods, getting paid to put some holes in a gremlin or whatever."

  "Dad." Martin corrects patiently. "It's high-skill, dangerous work."

  Aaron brushes his kid off. "Maybe for soft hands. For men, it's no different than deer hunting. In fact, I bet I could go with you. Your old man teaching you two how to do it right. I used to take down bears, you know."

  Martin holds his head in his hands. "Why do I even come here..."

  "What, can't take a little teasing? It's how Laman and I bond." He shakes his head. "Guess you can't handle man-to-man talk."

  "Yep. I'm done here. Thanks for making lunch, Mom. Shrike, I'll be in the car." Despite Laman and Ruth's protests, Martin walks through the gate, and sits in the driver's seat, playing harsh metal music loud enough to drown out his thought.

  Aaron looks at Shrike. "What about you? You're one of them too, huh?"

  She looks between him and Laman. "A... hunter?"

  "What are you, six foot?"

  "Approximately, although I do not understand what you are getting at."

  "Your generation are all like this. Me me me. Can't just be normal." He speaks through a mouthful of chicken.

  Shrike gets up without hesitation. "I do not intend to meet you again, and as such, have no further reason to speak to you. Ruth, do you need assistance cleaning?"

  Ruth shakes her head. Shrike's eyes watch Aaron's hard sneer. She hides a smile, thinking of her 'generation'.

  Shrike closes the door behind her getting into the car. Martin turns the music down, looking into the rearview mirror. "Hope that wasn't too much."

  "It was difficult, and I apologize for pressing you into allowing me to come. Is this... typical familial behavior now? I remember it being more pleasant." 'Martin is trustworthy and reliable' rule reinforced again. Likely axiomatic.

  "Nope, he's just an asshole. He hates the idea of me doing anything better than him."

  "Then why speak to him?"

  "Because I love my mom and my brother. I take the good with the bad." He puts the car in reverse, and pulls out of the driveway. "If you were still curious, I don't use my old name anymore. I don't feel like saying it, either. Left it behind."

  "Then you are Martin, and I am Shrike." She awkwardly smiles, before returning to looking out the window, wrapped in the electric blanket.

  He nods to the back seat. "That I am, and that you are."