THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

twenty

IT WAS time.

Lale's hands trembled with a nervousness he hadn't felt since his last mission as he stood before the warehouse that housed the TimePods (a stupid name, really. Weren't there any cool acronyms for time machines?)

Even then, heading out into the heart of the Salt Cartel with nothing more than a rifle, some ammo, and a whole lotta faith, there'd been moments between life and death. Heart-stopping moments. I'm-gonna-die moments. That wasn't one of them, but it may as well have been. Lale's life would never be the same again, and it seemed like that realization had only just slugged him in the gut.

"It's real." For a large man, Ichabod could sneak beside someone with the stealth of a person half his breadth. Lale felt a momentary twinge of annoyance — was his apprehension that obvious? — before he released it with an exhale. Everyone was nervous, he reminded himself, though Ichabod didn't look it.

He hadn't seen the British guy since he'd helped them fight against the attackers, and wondered with a newfound melancholy whether or not his previous judgement had been fair. After all, he did help us, Lale reasoned to his more stubborn side. He had noticed, however, how the other man had grown chummy with some of the marines. Lale was almost certain that it was his turn for the rent-a-friend opportunity, and this made him clamp up again.

"How you feeling?"

"What, you're my therapist now?" Lale scoffed under his breath, loud enough that Ichabod could hear it, though. The other man frowned. He ignored the, small, annoying shadow of guilt.

"I know that I may not be seen as the most trustworthy," Ichabod spoke, his words steady and eyes looking straight ahead. Lale grew less inclined to listen, internally scoffing again. That's an understatement. "But I am not the enemy here, Lale."

"'Course not," he responded, simply in order to escape from Ichabod's strange mood swing. He'd almost liked him better as a cold-hearted gunman, and as soon as the words were out, Lale pointedly starting walking towards the warehouse, hoping that Bradley or someone was there to save him from the British guy.

It almost seems like he's trying too hard, Lale realized as he entered the building. The curtain was gone, and the TimePods gleamed at him, their undersides connected to various metal tubes that hadn't been there previously. The huge tanker ship-like container was open, and he could spy more mechanical gizmos and whatsits inside.

Maybe that was why Lale distrusted him so, and why he was relieved that the other guy seemed to have taken the hint and walked off in the opposite direction of where he was heading — towards Amelia, with her hair as curly as ever, and Bradley standing alongside Tina and trying to flirt with her.

Despite the worry and sudden dryness of his mouth, he found his shoulders relaxing and fists uncurling once he stood alongside his friends. Yes; that word he didn't rest on for very long. Friends. Liabilities, sometimes (especially with someone like Bradley), but overall companions. Comrades. Fellow recruits and men and women who were heading into the unknown.

"Lale!" Bradley turned his attention towards him, as if seeking a reprieve from Tina's disinterest. Lale had to fight from rolling his eyes good-naturedly, though a small smile still teased his mouth. "You took so long, I thought you were backing out, you dagger!"

Lale's smile-but-not-a-smile cracked in half; replaced by a frown. Did they really think he was going to desert the mission in the very last leg? He tried not to feel offended, brushing off his touchiness. The nerves remained as he rubbed his chin, his grey eyes traveling once more across the depot. It was like his eyes couldn't stop focusing on the time machines — TimePods, whatever.