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Chapter 7
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2022-06-19 14:28:07The garden has turned cold and dark by the time Minnow and Henry decide to make their way back.
The candle has burned out, and the darkness feels different somehow. The night has never bothered her before.
Now it does.
Henry's hand brushes her arm, and she flinches.
"Oh—I'm sorry, Minnow. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"That's okay," she says quietly. "The dark just... gets to me sometimes."
"Come on. I'll walk you back inside."
A loud thud breaks the silence as Henry knocks his knee against the bench.
"Son of a biscuit eater," he mutters through clenched teeth.
Minnow laughs before she can stop herself.
"Are you okay? Here—"
She pulls out her phone and turns on the torch. The beam catches him rubbing his knee, squinting against the brightness. The moment draws another laugh from her, easing some of the tightness in her chest, before she loops her arm through his and guides him back toward the house.
At the kitchen door, she says goodbye and watches him disappear towards his and Ariella's cottage.
She doesn't go inside straight away.
Instead, she lingers where she is, the darkness pressing in around her. Her chest tightens, but she forces herself to stay. Standing there feels like a test, and she refuses to let fear win.
When voices drift from inside the house, she finally pushes the door open.
Her father, Waylen, stands at the kitchen bench with his sleeves rolled up, stirring cake batter with more force than necessary.
Warm kitchen light spills across him, softening the lines of his face. He is one of those men who seems to grow more striking with age, as though time has only sharpened what was already there.
For a moment, he looks untouched by everything outside this room.
"I didn't know you were back," Minnow says. "Did your meeting go okay?"
Waylen looks up, his expression softening immediately.
"Hello, darling. No, it didn't. But I don't want to talk about that."
A faint smile appears.
"I want to hear about you."
Flour dusts his suit as he wipes his forehead with his sleeve.
Minnow knows the signs.
Whenever her father bakes, something is weighing on him.
He fills two mugs with yellow batter and hands her one.
"Just like old times, baby girl."
She smiles and dips the spoon. The sweetness is immediate, familiar and comforting.
"Tell me about the meeting," she says as she settles onto a stool.
Waylen's eyes brighten.
"Okay. This one's new. Personnel Halting and Stimulation Response Rifle. PHASR."
His hands begin moving as he talks.
"Non-lethal. Light-based. It floods the target's vision with alternating wavelengths, scrambling balance and coordination. You look at it, you're done. Can't stand. Can't fight. Long enough to stop the threat without killing anyone."
A grin tugs at his mouth.
"Clean. Efficient. No bodies."
"So it just drops them?"
"For a few minutes. Long enough to end a fight."
"That's actually amazing."
"Apparently not amazing enough."
Minnow frowns.
"Let me guess. Grandpa shut it down."
Waylen hesitates before nodding.
"He prefers things the old way."
Her father has never been one for cruelty, which makes it all the harder to reconcile with what he actually does—supplying weapons, feeding wars.
But that has never really been his choice.
It has always been her mother's family.
Cecil Venandi doesn't take no for an answer.
He never has.
"You can stop people without killing them," Minnow says quietly.
Waylen raises his hands in agreement.
"I know."
The words settle between them.
Something shifts inside her.
Not everyone deserves mercy.
The thought comes quietly, slipping into her mind before she can stop it, and this time she lets it stay.
Images flash behind her eyes.
Trees.
Hands.
Laughter.
Her grip tightens around the mug.
"Earth to Minnow."
She blinks.
"What?"
"You've gone quiet."
"I'm just thinking about the party," she says quickly. "I'm nervous."
Waylen walks over and wraps her in a hug.
"You'll be fine," he says softly. "I promise."
"Thanks, Dad."
She slips upstairs before he can say anything else.
Back in her room, she paces the floor, unable to quiet the thoughts circling through her mind. Instead of fading, they become sharper, more certain.
By morning, she's made up her mind.
She is going to Moonfall.
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