“How’s it, Lu-Lu?” Nika sat heavily beside him, laughing at Lu’s violent jump out of his daydream, “you want back on the track? I’ll give you a go, you were always a good rider.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Phaios hovered on the stairs, leaning on the railing and offering Nika a bottle of water she accepted greedily. He grimaced at Lu’s frown, nodding at the track “they’re still going.”

Nika leaned back in her seat, musing at the track with a shrug, “Y will be done soon, see, look, dominating. She could still do circles around all of you.”

Phaios frowned, “yeah, but she can’t finish a race, so would you stop comparing me to—”

“Y? The rider Gideon killed?” Lu interrupted their banter, gaping at the winning rider. 

“Obviously not,” Phaios glowered, huffing at Nika, nudging her arm lightly with a glance at Lu, shaking his head to stop her questions. 

The riders finished their final lap, stopping their bikes at the gate and easing off them, pit-crew techs and mechs running to take over. Y and the woman beside her handed over their helmets, but the man between them leaned posessively away from the reaching hands, gesturing that the helmet was his. Y pulled the mech aside and pointed out several issues in the bike she’d been testing, then moved on to the other two bikes before the three of them chatted up the stairs toward Phaios, Nika, and Lu. They laughed and rubbed numb patches of fingers and toes, complaining about all the ways Y had cheated by seniority and experience, and playfully swatting at the man still wearing his helmet. Lu realized the other woman was Xeri, who Phaios had brought to his birthday banquet, and raised a hand in greeting as the riders ducked through the gate to the spectator side of the stands, waving up at them as they advanced up the cement steps with stiff-kneed baby steps. 

The man in the helmet did not wave. He glanced up and paused, his entire demeanor shifting from playful to predatory. He stomped up the steps, moving directly to Phaios, grabbing his collar and pulling him in close. He whispered something muffled only Phai could hear, then punched him hard in the gut, dropping him and storming up the rest of the stadium stairs to the upper doors, kicking loudly through them, helmet still on. 

Phaios grabbed Nika’s arm to stop her from following, too winded to speak. 

“He’s friendly,” Xeri tried to assure Lu with a pat on his shoulder.

Lu jumped,  automatically brushing her hand away.

“Yeah,” Y snorted, looking Lu up and down, unimpressed, “so’s a 22 if you’re tryna die.” She sneered and shouldered past him with a contempt he neither understood nor deserved. 

Phaios pulled himself up by Lu’s arm, his eyes locked on Nika’s in secret conversation until she understood what he’d been trying to tell her earlier. He banged his chest, still wheezing, “my fault, it’s my fault.”

“It usually is,” Xeri confirmed.

Nika narrowed her eyes at Phaios, finally putting all the pieces together and throwing his arm away from her, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding beside Xeri in agreement, “you fucking deserve that.”

“I did,” Phaios conceded, trying to smile at Lu, still fighting for air. 

Lu looked between Xeri, Phaios, and Nika, clearly missing something they understood, the banging doors still echoing through the empty stands as the Conductor’s racer who he’d saw die years ago followed the other rider out. 

Nika rolled her eyes and jutted a hip, taking up a fighting stance in front of Phaios with a stubborn brow, “you can’t protect him forever, Phai.”

“Protect him?” Phaios squealed, rocking through the nausea and shoving Xeri’s unhelpful hand away from him. “Protect him from who?” 

Nika and Xeri both turned to Lu, Nika on purpose because they’d known each other for over a decade, Xeri copying her to follow the drama. 

“Don’t.” Phaios warned, finally standing. His eyes were locked on Nika’s, his tone dry, another conversation held in glances and pleading eyebrows.

“Hi,” Xeri steppedf around them while they bickered silently and held an uncertain hand out to Lu, sick of the awkward tension between Phaios and Nika as they sorted out their story, “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Xeri.”

Lu smiled and held his hand out to shake hers, but before he got there, Phaios intervened, taking Xeri’s hand, pumping once, then tossing it away with a growl, “I said don’t.”

“Lu-Lu, you should come to the race tomorrow,” Nika turned a sticky-sweet smile to him, shoulders sharp, arms still folded, “it’s been ages since I’ve seen you at a real event. We’ve upgraded—”

“Goddammit, Nika, please don’t,” Phaios sighed, pushing his hair back and stepping between her and Lu. He snaked an arm around Lu’s shoulder, picked up his bag, and pushed him away from them, shuffling down the long aisle of folded seats to the next set of stairs, then up, out, and onto his bike, “I’ll take you home.”

Lu nodded, following without question because he’d never seen Phaios and Nika fight about anything that wasn’t fashion-oriented, when the realization dawned, his eyes wide as Phaios started the bike, “does Y know it was Gideon?”

“What?” Phaios made him repeat the question, nodding hastily, happy to give Lu any explanation but the truth that wasn’t his to tell, “but don’t worry, we’ll get you home safe so you can keep challenging your Pa again tomorrow, you stubborn fuck.”

Lu chuckled, jumping on the bike and riding in silence. He was sick of the stalking uncles, even more than Phaios was, but the rehab program was his only anchor. He was addicted to the defiance of it. If Ores wanted to send his friends to intimidate Lu, then so be it. They were just Wells kids, raised on the same peanut butter crackers and processed cheese as he was. 

Phaios followed Lu inside, flopping on the couch with promises to be up in time for the race so Nika wouldn’t kill them both while Lu messaged Arez about scheduling extra classes—he wouldn’t be kidnapped again. 

He thought of the masked man punching Phaios because it was a lighter mystery than the uncles waiting to jump his clients and throwing stones through workshop windows. Mykos or Troy would have made themselves known, and Phaios would never admit to earning a suckerpunch from either of them, but Lu couldn’t think of any other regulars at the track. He’d been gone too long, it had become a subliminal place to him. 

He thought about it while he trucked through the kitchen making dinner, and finally asked as he set their plates down on the table, “who was that guy?” Then quickly added so his interest wouldn’t be misconstrued, “and why did you deserve it?”

Phaios sighed and sat, inhaling the steam, “that’s just a wild dog… don’t worry about him.” He shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth without looking at Lu. 

Lu scoffed but shrugged away his questions, it was another person he didn’t know, another example of how he had become a foreigner to the Wells, how much could change even in the sludge. 

“He usually wears an obnoxious fur coat, bright orange.” Phaios added with a yawn, pointing his spoon at Lu, “you ever see him, just run the other way.”

Lu stared at Phaios’ strained grip, stirring his rice and vegetables absently, “why?”

“He’s the Finder,” Phai rolled his eyes at the title. He can get whatever you want at any price, but he’ll do it in his own time. He got a bunch of parts on my bike Y was test running earlier.” 

Phaios added it like an afterthought, but Lu watched his jaw clench, each word carefully measured. Grounders who got nicknames didn’t tend to survive long, but Lu had heard of the Finder from several of his workshop clients. They talked about him like a saint, a martyred beast, a dangerous thing to revere and run away from. Lu chuckled, “so is he a wild dog or the Finder?”

“He’s both,” Phaios insisted, glaring at Lu. “I’m serious,” he enunciated, pulling his words into the clipped edges of the Mid accent they’d both grown accustomed to, scrambling to sit straighter so Lu would understand his own ignorance, “he picks up stray dogs, Sec-Off runaways, I don’t know where he gets them,” Phaios frowned at the realization, shaking his head at himself and continuing, “they just follow him. A dozen of them on the tail of that stupid orange coat. He’s a Grounder character if there ever was one, understand? If there’s a problem, he can solve it, anything, only thing is, some people don’t realize they’re the problem they want solving, or that they only wanted to treat the symptoms, not the problem, until he’s gone and taken care of it. They should call him the Doctor,” Phaios grumbled, then snorted to himself, “no, no, The Vet!” He sobered with a heavy sigh, glancing up at Lu, then back at his dish,  chewing loudly. “He climbed right out of the pits, riding the flood waters all the way through the Wells. The sewer smell still sticks to him. I’m serious, Lu-Lu, you see him, you” Phaios flicked his spoon, pantomiming Lu running away with two fingers. “Just drop everything and get away.”

Lu rolled his eyes, laughing at the ghost story, “because why? You stiffed him?” He felt the casual sloping edges of his words, always that lazy accent sneaking in after he visited the ground. There had to be a reason Phai was so insistent. 

“What? Are you crazy?” Phaios objected, “we almost made it to thirty Lu-Lu, why would I go and have a death wish now?”

“So why’d you deserve to get punched?”

“Because I… I….” Phaios furrowed his brow at his spoon, weighing his words, realizing he’d left a giant hole in his story. His shoulders slumped forward, “I introduced him to one of the Quartet family heads.”

“...and?” Lu blinked.

“And…. And what?”

Lu sighed, reminding himself that Phaios had never been good at chronological anything. “Just eat. You make no sense.” 

Phaios jumped at the subject change, digging into his food and setting the course map between them, reviewing his competitors’ trial runs. 

Lu listened to Phaios rant about his future retirement and what he would do after he inevitably couldn’t race anymore. Work the rails? Run the track with Nika? Sponsor a team if he got rich enough beforehand, or stare down from an emerald grave-glass brick if he died on the rails. 

“Emerald,” he insisted, “not that cheap green.”

Lu took the couch dragging Phaios to his bed, and when Phaios left for the race, Lu did not join him. He cleaned his house and headed back to the ARC workshop, freshly sore from Arez’ routine that was supposed to get him back into fighting shape, but had only made him unable to hold a stylus. He tried to draw Adon in the quiet cement ARC hall, as if he were sitting across from him, but Lu’s arms were too tired, his shoulders cramping, his whole body jumping at every sound, expecting a group of uncles younger than him to break the doors down while his clients studied and came to him with occasional questions. 

Lu drew wiggly Adons until he fell asleep at his closet desk, waiting for his dreams to give him hope that Adon was in the fields among the clouds, but all he ever dreamed about lately was falling. 

☆☆☆