WebNovels

Chapter 7 - A New Hand on Site (3)

Elio slowed when he saw the others angle toward Kael. He let his momentum bleed off, then turned on his heel and walked back toward his own station.

Going up to him now didn't make much sense. The things he wanted to ask would go better somewhere quieter—somewhere no one could wedge themselves into the middle of a sentence and swing it off course. No hurry, he told himself. Kael wasn't going anywhere. If not now, there'd be another chance. He didn't have to force it this second.

Under normal circumstances, a person might have drifted over and joined the chat without overthinking it. But Elio's place on the site wasn't quite like everyone else's. Most of the crew had a few years on him. That gap showed up in every exchange—as if they spoke overlapping dialects of the same language, never quite landing on the same words. Usually, his coworkers didn't take him seriously; they cracked jokes, palmed him off, or let his sentences trail into nothing. Serious talk was hard to start and harder to hold.

And Hunters? That topic was a trap here. Whenever he brought it up, the drift of the conversation bent the same way. It always ended with him painted as the delusional kid with impossible dreams. After a handful of those, he'd learned to keep certain thoughts to himself when the others were within earshot.

That didn't mean he wasn't curious now.

He set himself at a safe distance—close enough to catch the voices, far enough not to be obvious—and listened.

"Oooh, chief, hey. How you doing?" said the taller of the two men beside Kael. His tone was loose and easy, like he was greeting an old drinking buddy.

The man wore ease the way he wore his clothes: a gray, striped, long-sleeved shirt hanging loose on his frame, sleeves shoved up to the elbows. Light for autumn, but he seemed like the type who ran warm. His pants were black, baggy, and worn to a shine at the knees.

"I need to carry the rest of the sacks," Kael said. The sentence landed in a flat, even register—no strain, no friendliness, no anything.

The tall man took a small step closer, eyes running a slow line across Kael's frame as if measuring lumber. "You'll carry 'em, brother. With that body you could finish the whole site by yourself." He tipped his chin, fishing. "So—who are you with?"

He wasn't talking about the sacks anymore. The work could wait; he wanted the story.

A flicker finally touched Kael's face—his eyes slid a fraction, his mouth flattening in a way that said the taste of this wasn't to his liking. "As you can see," he said, "I'm a laborer. This body is an heirloom from my mother and father. Beyond that, I don't have a story that'll excite you."

"Ha—ha! How am I supposed to believe that, boss?" The tall man grinned, ratcheting the looseness up a notch into something cruder. "Your ma must've slept with a bear to end up with a build like that…"

The joke hit the slab like a dropped tool—sharp, tasteless, and loud enough to carry. Elio's shoulders went tight for half a breath. He kept still where he was, back to a column, eyes on the edge of the scene. Grit skittered across the concrete in a thin breeze. Somewhere below, a wheelbarrow squeaked and a hammer tapped twice, then went silent again. Kael stood without answering, the line of his jaw unchanged, the cut of his single shoulder broad against the dark green jacket as if the words hadn't touched him at all.

"With a body like that, man, I'd be unstoppable. You're wasted on a construction site…"

The tall, loose-tongued worker kept stretching the talk like old gum, more interested in hearing himself than in anything Kael might say back. Kael's body language made it plain he'd had enough—the set of his shoulders closed, his gaze already past the man.

"Sir, I'll go get the other sacks. I won't start slacking on my first minute. We can talk later."

Kael didn't wait for an answer. He turned and headed for the stairwell, boots firm, pace steady.

"Sure, brother. We'll talk again," the tall man said. He let Kael go—surprisingly restrained for his type—but the edge in his voice gave away a prickle of offense. He hadn't liked being dismissed.

Hearing the exchange wind down, Elio pivoted toward his station without a second's delay.

"Hey, Elio!"

So much for slipping away.

"Get over here."

Elio didn't slow. He kept walking and let words tumble under his breath on purpose. "Ahh, so much work today. Ugh, would you look at that—guess I'll be working day and night…"

"Get over here, punk!"

The second bark came sharper and louder. He couldn't ignore it. Elio stopped.

Great… The resignation ran through his shoulders and down his spine. He turned, feet dragging a little as he made his way back to them.

"Yes, sir…"

"Why are you whispering and listening in on us, huh? Think I wouldn't notice?"

"Nothing like that. I was just curious what you were talking about. If that's all, I'll get back to—"

He didn't finish. The shorter worker—silent until now—slid in close and hooked an arm around Elio's neck, yanking him in. Up close, the man looked thin to the point of stringy, wearing a cheap green jacket and, bizarrely, red pants that didn't match anything. His face had a pinched, goblinish cast, made worse by the thinning hair that clung to his scalp.

"Hold on there. What do you think you're doing? No hello, no good morning?" The scrawny man's tongue came loose the moment it was Elio, not Kael, in front of him. He tightened the headlock, trying to lock Elio in place.

"How's that Hunter training going, huh? Doesn't look so good…"

For all his build, the man had the sinewy strength of someone who'd hauled and hammered for years. He wasn't the type you'd peg as powerful, but he was strong enough to keep Elio from slipping free.

The tall one's face brightened as he watched, earlier irritation evaporating into amusement. "Careful with him, big guy—he's gonna be a Hunter. If you're not careful, he'll drop you with one punch."

He finished with a crack of laughter. The scrawny man joined in, breath hot against Elio's ear, the sound too loud in the open space of the floor.

When they'd had their fun, the scrawny one released the hold. Elio stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck on instinct. His expression stayed even, but the muscle along his jaw ticked once.

"Beat it," the tall one said, adding a low, threat-tinged, "Don't make it a thing."

Elio didn't argue. He turned away and headed for his work, the slap of his boots returning to its usual rhythm on the raw concrete.

Vultures. That was what they were when the topic turned this way. Once again, the lesson bit down: talking about Hunters in public—here, with this crowd—only ever ended one way. He filed the moment where he kept the rest of them, picked up his tools, and got on with the day.

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