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Chapter 8 - A New Hand on Site (4)

Hours stacked on hours, and noon slid past before Elio realized it. All morning he kept turning the same question over: How do I get a minute with Kael? An excuse, a small task to share, something that would open the door. Nothing good came.

Lunch would have been perfect—sit, eat, nudge the talk toward Hunters. But lunch was non-negotiable. He had to go home.

What if I came early instead? He pictured catching Kael before the whistle, trading a few words, then keeping the thread going while they worked. He cut that down just as fast. Kael wasn't the kind of man you chatted up while he hauled. Not today.

For a first day, Kael's had been full. Just as the foreman said, anything heavy ended up in his hands. He didn't seem to mind. No matter the load, he lifted and moved without breaking a sweat, body set to a steady, efficient rhythm.

So much for talking between tasks.

Elio sifted through what was left and ended up with one option: after work. If Kael rode a shuttle home, that would be trouble. Elio didn't use the shuttle—his place was close enough to walk. But if Kael also walked, then there'd be a chance. No crowd, no interruptions. He could ask what he wanted, maybe even get close enough to keep asking later.

He made up his mind. He'd go home late for once. It would be worth it. He'd catch Kael at the end of the shift.

His legs took him toward home at a clip. He cooked, ate, spoke a few quick, necessary words with Mika, then headed right back out. His lunch break, like his life, moved fast, full, and tiring.

Back at the site, he folded into the day's work the way he always did. Between tasks he let his eyes track the big man now and then. Kael worked like Elio did—head down, attention tight. Not social. He hadn't given warm signals earlier with the crew, either. Maybe it was first-day stiffness and a new place. Maybe time would loosen him up. Maybe he was friendly, underneath.

If Elio was honest, the distance suited him. He wanted Kael to himself when they talked—no one cutting in, no one cracking jokes at the wrong moments.

Whether by choice or by the shape of the day, Kael stayed a little apart. No long talk with anyone. The loose one and the scrawny one kept out of his path for the rest of the shift.

By late afternoon the work thinned. The sun sank until only a small wedge showed on the horizon, and the air cooled in the hollowed-out floors. Voices rose as men started to peel away from their stations. Groups formed at the exit, a knot here, a pair there, the usual laughter and complaints tying off the day.

On a normal evening Elio would already be halfway home. Not today. He hung back instead, wiping grit from his hands, pretending to check a tool, then setting it down again. The sky bruised from pale to darker shades. A draft pushed along the slab, lifting dust that skittered past his boots.

He picked a spot near the way out where he could see both the stairwell and the gate, then waited—heart steady, thoughts pared down to one line: If he walks, I'll walk with him. The last of the light thinned to a narrow band, and the noise of the site shifted from work to departure—metal clinks fading, footsteps trading weight for ease, the low talk of tired men heading for food and sleep.

Elio kept his place, eyes on the stairwell's mouth, ready to fall in step the moment Kael appeared.

Once the last of the workers filtered out, Kael was among the stragglers. He came through the doorway heavy-footed, setting each leg down with a measured weight as if he'd saved nothing for the walk.

Elio peeled away from the site gate. Cornering him at the exit would look wrong. The crew shuttle waited not far off, idling for anyone who wanted a ride. Elio put some distance between himself and the gate, then glanced back, tracking Kael with his eyes.

Kael stopped by the foreman. They traded a few short words, nothing that moved their faces, and separated. Kael stepped out of the site and passed the shuttle without slowing.

He hadn't boarded. Elio's luck held.

Elio fell in behind him at an easy distance, matching the line of his stride but not the length. Kael didn't read as friendly. Elio had seen enough at the site—how the small talk had gone flat—to know the man didn't like speaking about himself. That put Elio a point down before he even started.

Lead with myself? Ask about his first day? If I jump straight to Hunters, I look selfish. He weighed the options, none of them feeling clean.

He picked one and closed the gap, lengthening his step until he came up alongside. "Hey, you heading this way too?"

He made it sound casual, half a mouthful tossed into the air. As if he hadn't run the line all day in his head. His own home wasn't even in this direction. It didn't matter.

Kael flinched a notch at the sudden company and cut him a quick look, eyes running once up and down. "...Yeah. Mm…"

"Elio," he supplied, small and helpful.

"..."

Kael faced forward again and kept walking. Elio kept pace. Side by side, their steps fell into sync and then out again. The new conversation died almost as soon as it was born.

Kael walked like a man who didn't want words. Elio had to nudge his speed higher to stay level. He's worse than I imagined, Elio thought, adjusting his breath to keep it steady.

Then he noticed the eyes.

People were coming and going along the street—slow, weekend traffic on foot. One after another, their gazes tipped and held. For a beat, Elio thought they were looking at him. A heat prickled at the back of his neck. Do I have something on me? The feeling passed as fast as it arrived. They weren't looking at him.

They were looking at Kael.

Two meters tall if he was a millimeter, built like a support column, and missing one arm—Kael walked with all of it plain to see. Heads turned. Some didn't bother to hide it.

Elio didn't fault them. He would have looked, too.

"People really are staring, huh," he said.

A few steps of quiet, then Kael answered without turning his head. "They are. Everyone stares, for a long time, without holding back."

The seal broke. He'd spoken.

"Hah. I'm not surprised," Elio said, voice even, not pushing. "You're someone to look at."

His eyes stayed on the pavement ahead, the lines in the concrete, the fall of their shadows stretching thin in the late light.

"..."

Silence slid back into place. Kael was strange that way—cutting the thread clean, then picking it up again only when he felt like it. Like a wary animal learning the edge of a voice, starting and stopping in short tries. Elio kept step with him, letting the rhythm of their walk hold what the words didn't, the city's soft noises—engine hum, a distant shout, the shuffle of other feet—filling the spaces where talk might have gone.

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