Novels by Dep Flair

He walked into the forest alone, which he wasn't supposed to do. Lyra would have a great deal to say about it. Two weeks, she'd said, and it had been ten days, and here he was past the east treeline with his splinted arm against his chest and no one knowing where he'd gone. He'd needed the quiet. Since the tremor, since the north, the academy had been full of low urgent voices and maps on tables and Zephyr's people coming and going, and he'd wanted, for one afternoon, to hear nothing but his own feet in the leaves. A year ago he'd been nothing. He made himself remember it honestly. The youngest Ashworth. The one his father didn't look at. The one who couldn't hold a flame steady, who'd stood in the training yard while boys half his talent laughed. Then the garrison. Then the pendant waking against his chest for the first time, the fire pouring out of him, everything changing in a single night. He stopped walking. He put his good hand flat against a tree and let himself ask the que

He put it off for three days, and then he ran out of reasons.The paper had been sitting on the desk in his room the whole time, blank, weighed down by an inkpot he kept not opening. Lyra had asked twice if he'd written yet. Sera had stopped asking and just started leaving the pen somewhere he'd see it, which was worse, because it meant she knew exactly why he kept not doing it.He sat down. He opened the inkpot. He wrote *Jin* at the top and then looked at it for a while.*You've been gone eleven days and Zephyr has cried four times. I'm keeping count so you can settle the bet you two had. He says twice. It was four. I have witnesses.*That was easier than he'd expected. He kept going.*Lyra took the healers' hall. She rearranged it in an afternoon and made the old senior man write down his own mistakes. She put us in her contract, did you know that? An actual clause. If any of us breaks something she gets to leave and come fix it. She made them put it in ink. She'll never say it out

Far to the north the cold had teeth, and Rosanora did not feel it.She knelt in a hollow of black ice at the bottom of a crevasse no living thing had walked in a thousand years, pressed her bare hand to the seal, and struck it. Not with force. With intent. One press of her palm that carried her whole will down through the stone, and then she waited, counting the long slow count she'd been counting for months, and struck again.The seal was old.. It was a slab of something that wasn't quite rock and wasn't quite metal, and across its face ran lines of a script that had no living readers, and behind it, on the far side, in the dark, something was starting to listen.She could feel it listening. That was the thing that would have broken a lesser will. Most people, feeling the attention of what waited behind that seal, would have run until their hearts gave out. Rosanora leaned her forehead against the cold face of it and smiled like she was greeting an old friend."Not yet," she murmured

She felt it before the sun was fully up.Sera was in the courtyard the way she was every morning now, on her knees with both palms flat against the cold stone. The academy was still asleep above her. A bird was starting up somewhere in the eaves above her. Her breath came out in a thin white curl and hung and faded.Then the ground said something back. She could feel it in her bones.She went still, the way you go still when you think you've heard your name in another room. She pressed her palms flatter, spread her fingers, leaned her weight down into them until the cold bit into her skin.There.A pulse. Deep, and far, so far north it was almost past the edge of what she could reach, a place she'd never felt anything from before. And it had a rhythm. That was the wrong part. Rock didn't have a rhythm. Water didn't. This was a thing being struck, over and over.She knew that rhythm.Her stomach dropped out of her.She'd felt it once before, faint, months ago, the night before they'd g

The next day it was Lyra’s turn to depart.Lyra took the healers' hall on a Tuesday.There was no ceremony, which was exactly why she liked it. She walked into the eastern hall that morning as the person who ran it instead of the person visiting it, and by midday she'd rearranged the supply room, reassigned two apprentices who'd been standing around looking useful, and told the senior healer who'd run the place for thirty years exactly three things she intended to change. He'd started to argue. Then he'd looked at her face and stopped and written them down.Draven came by in the afternoon and found her at a long table covered in patient records, sleeves pushed up, a pen behind her ear and another in her hand."You've been here six hours," he said. "It already looks like yours.""It is mine," she said, not looking up. "That's the point of the contract." She made a note in a margin. "The whole east wing was running on habit. Nobody had checked whether the habits still made sense in year

Jin left on a grey morning that couldn't decide if it wanted to rain.The Academy exchange started in a week, which meant three days of travel, which meant leaving now, and Jin had packed the night before in the way Jin packed, which was to put everything he owned in one bag and sit on it until it closed. He came down to the gate with the bag over one shoulder and the whole rest of them already there, because none of them had been able to pretend they were going to let him go without a scene.Zephyr was crying."I'm not," Zephyr said, wiping his face. "This is the weather. It's the weather in my eyes.""It's not raining yet," Sera said."It's about to. My eyes are ahead of the sky." He grabbed Jin and hugged him hard, and Jin stood there with his arms at his sides and let it happen. "You'd better write. I ran eleven hours of wind for you. That buys letters.""I'll write," Jin said."You won't," Zephyr said, releasing him. "You're going to get to Titan Academy and fight everyone and fo

The building had no signage, just a keypad at the entrance and a lobby lit low enough to keep faces indistinct on any camera pointed the wrong way.A woman in a sharp gray suit met her at the elevator. "Ms. Bond. I'm glad you decided to come.""I said I'd think about it," Louise said. "I didn't say I'd decided anything.""Of course." The woman smiled, the kind of smile that had clearly closed a hundred deals before this one. "I'm Renata. I handle talent acquisition for Glazier US. Please, come up. It's easier to talk somewhere more comfortable."The office upstairs was minimal, expensive in the way that didn't need to announce itself, a single chair set across from a desk with nothing on it but a folder and a pen. Renata gestured for Louise to sit."I'll be direct," Renata said, settling into her own chair. "Glazier wants a face that represents growth, reinvention, someone who's already proven she can capture an audience's attention and hold it. You did that at Fashion Week. The entir

Things went crazy for Michael. In a few days he had gone in and out of a lot offices and gone through a lot of deep thinking.Buzzer Tech's HQ smelled like fresh coffee and the particular energy of a Friday afternoon when everyone was pretending to work while mostly waiting for the week to end. Michael found Louise in the design lounge, feet tucked under her on the couch, scrolling through something on her tablet with the kind of ease that made it easy to forget she'd once needed rescuing at a runway show that changed both their lives."You look busy," Michael said, dropping into the chair across from her."I'm looking at fabric swatches and pretending one of them is more interesting than the others," Louise said, not looking up. "It's a very demanding job."Michael let the small talk breathe a moment before he asked the thing he'd actually come to ask. "Glazier. Have you responded to them yet?"She set the tablet down, met his eyes, and smiled the same easy smile she’s known for. "I'

Somewhere in the city, the cabinet marked Eric took nearly an hour to get through, and by the time Michael closed the final drawer, he understood his brother in a way he'd never fully understood him across either of his two lives."This goes back to when he was younger," Michael said, staring at a photograph clipped to a report, Eric standing outside a building Michael didn't recognize, years younger, already wearing the expression of a man convinced the world owed him something it hadn't yet delivered. "My father was watching him this closely even then?""Your father watched everyone this closely," Henderson said, pulling open a second cabinet. "Eric simply gave him the most reasons to keep watching. Corporate theft, yes, you already know about that. But before the theft, there were smaller things. Money that went missing from a scholarship fund the family used to run. A business partner who ended up ruined after crossing him in college, in ways that were never quite provable but nev

Claire's office looked different in the evening light, softer somehow, the floor-to-ceiling windows turning the Hudson into a long strip of orange and gray instead of the flat gray steel it had been that morning. Michael had come back after hours, which was its own kind of statement, and he suspected Claire knew it."You didn't have to come in person," she said, not looking up from the folder in front of her. "I could have sent this by courier.""You could have. You didn't.""No." She finally looked at him. "I didn't."She slid the folder across the desk. Michael opened it slowly, half expecting numbers, contracts, something with Thornton letterhead and a lawyer's fingerprints all over it. Instead it was medical records. Scans. A treatment protocol with dates going back three years."My father had the same thing your father has," Claire said. "Same presentation. Same deterioration curve. Every specialist we brought in told us it was idiopathic, unexplainable, just bad luck dressed up

The lab beneath Buzzer Tech's east wing had no name on the door, just a keycard reader and a camera. "The cortisol-responsive weave keeps degrading past forty washes," she said, not looking up from the readout. "Liana's team can make it beautiful. They can't make it stable. That's on us." "So fix it." "I have been fixing it. For six weeks." Megan pulled up a molecular render, strands of polymer tangled like wire. "The compound holds its shape under stress the first month, then the fibers start losing their charge memory. It forgets how to respond." Michael leaned over her shoulder. "What if the base structure borrowed from the composite work we did for the solar prototypes? Different fiber, same charge-retention principle." "That's not clothing science. That's building science." "It's the same chemistry problem wearing a different shirt." He tapped the render. "Run it." Megan ran it. The simulation held longer this time, the fibers keeping their memory well past the forty-wash m

Thornton Industries occupied three floors of a downtown tower. The kind of space that didn't need to announce wealth. Michael checked security twice before arriving, which was caution more than paranoia.Claire's office was minimalist. Expensive minimalist, but still sparse. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson, a desk that probably cost more than a car, and absolutely nothing personal on display. The kind of office designed to intimidate without trying."Thank you for coming," Claire said, standing to shake his hand. She wore all black today, which made her look even younger and somehow more dangerous. "I know our meeting yesterday was unconventional.""You crashed a board meeting and torpedoed my brother's bid for power. That's past unconventional into strategic territory."Claire smiled. "Fair assessment. Sit, please."Michael sat across from her, and something flickered at the edge of his awareness. A sensation he hadn't felt in months. A whisper of something that felt