[6] roles, roles

I fiddled with my fingers in my lap, trying to keep the new load of questions down my throat, unless I wanted Angelo to go all psycho on me.

Scarlett didn't care. "If you just need a Marksman to replace Xander, why do you need two of us?"

"We also need an Assassin." Angelo sighed, as if talking about this weighed down on his heart. He was more miserable than us sometimes. "And yeah, I know you two might not turn out what we need, but even then—I'll keep you. We'll adjust our team composition no matter what. You just...don't worry about that."

The last sentence came out a breath of air rather than words carried by his voice. Even Yaseen gave Angelo an empathetic look, like he knew how much he'd been stressing about this. About finding the newbies he needed, guessing their roles. All the uncertainty.

Angelo gave Scarlett a long look. "But honestly," he said, "she gives me Assassin vibes. Wouldn't be surprised."

"Assassin? Why?"

"I don't know. You try to be sneaky and stuff, which is kinda a sign. You tried stealing my knives, then you stole Jake's dart and he didn't even notice. All the Assassins here are the thieves."

Scarlett let the words sink in for the moment, then she nodded at me. "And Jake? What do you think?"

A sigh. A long, tired, uncertain sigh—that's all that came out of Angelo's mouth for a moment, like just pondering what my role could be gave him a headache.

"I don't know." Angelo narrowed his eyes at me, shoulders leant forwards, elbows on his knees. "Definitely not an Assassin or Fighter. Maybe a Support? Or...a Marksman."

"Marksman? Isn't the Marksman supposed to be the leader of the team?"

"That's right."

Scarlett snickered. It kinda hurt, kinda carved out a tiny spot in my heart. I didn't think I'd be the leader either. But hearing it out of someone else, especially Scarlett, just...stung in a different way.

Angelo noticed Scarlett's mock. "He's good at darts," he said. "He hit the bullseye back at my place."

"You realize that he's not the only one who can do that, right?"

"Yes, dumbass. But that dartboard isn't any normal one—it's Xander's. And he was so hard on himself. That bullseye is not a circle, it's a dot. Barely there. You hit it? That's no luck; you got some decent long-range skills."

That's why he'd given me that apprehensive look when I'd told him I threw it. He'd been surprised. A hint of pride bubbled in my chest, and I bit down the urge to smile.

"Marksmen..." Scarlett straightened and set her gaze on Angelo. "They're usually more targeted during the battles? More...at risk."

Angelo nodded. "Yeah. You take down the enemy Marksman and it's an easy win. Problem is...enemies are thinking the same way—essentially it's a battle of protecting your own Marksman, while trying to take down the enemy's."

Scarlett leant back in her seat, knee bobbing to the beat of her thoughts. To our left,  a crackling fire danced inside a small stone chimney. It cast gentle hues along the side of Yaseen's face. Balanced on his knee, he warmed a loaf of bread right by the tips of the flames. He could've burned it but he didn't. Balanced, always.

Yaseen cut the loaf into portions. I watched him, and I was the only one mesmerized by his movement. Swift, yet immaculate. Fingers pushing onto a knife, knife neatly slicing into bread. He placed them on a clay tray and set it on the table between us.

"Eat," he said, smiling. "It's warm."

I wasn't hungry, so I just shook my head. Scarlett shifted. Opposite her, Angelo narrowed his eyes, as if he could sense that she wanted to eat but was hesitating—swamped by fear of betrayal.

"Eat, you paranoid idiot," Angelo repeated as he snatched a portion and took a bite. "It's not poisoned."

After a moment, Scarlett finally reached over and grabbed a piece. They ate in silence. I sat in silence. Yaseen watched us over in silence. It'd grown darker outside, nightshade drowning the light, and yet I felt a little better now. A little less tense. Maybe it was this new companionship. Their presence was vaguely comforting, despite everything.

I tucked one knee below me and leant my head onto the armrest. Sleep. I just wanted to sleep. My eyelids felt heavier, so I let them drop. The fire still crackled, Scarlett's soft breaths still resonated beside me, and Yaseen was still there. Everything was okay for now.

"Jake?" Scarlett nudged me. Opening my eyes, I shook my head. Nothing, I wanted to say, but I didn't need to. She understood and leant back in her place and sighed. Apparently my position was so contagious that even Angelo yawned.

"Angelo," Yaseen said. "You should sleep. I'll watch them for you."

Angelo looked even more exhausted than us with his disheveled dirty blonde hair. "No," he said. "No. I can't." Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head, even though he'd made it clear with words. "I can't let them mess this up. They're humans. They're stupid. I have to keep an eye on them."

"You really think humans are stupid?" Scarlett scoffed. "We created you."

"Yeah, and then we erased you from existence. Geniuses, no doubt."

I wanted to laugh, but that would be too cruel, and it'd make Scarlett want to kill me. Whether we liked it or not, he was right. Intelligent or not, our race didn't exist anymore. We didn't know much about the war and what'd caused it, but we knew that there'd been a brief period of truce, after which the battle recommenced and the bots won.

Neither of them spoke. Scarlett stared at the ceiling, and Angelo gathered his body along the chair, head on the armrest. Terrible position. I could already feel the crick he'd wake up with. But I wasn't one to judge when I was resting the exact same way. Yaseen went out of sight. We slept.

Well, they slept. I couldn't. Even though I wanted to. Desperately.

I shifted multiple times, careful not to nudge Scarlett beside me. Maybe I couldn't sleep because my throat was too dry, so I stood up and navigated my way across the room in hopes of finding Yaseen.

He was in a room adjacent to ours. But he wasn't sleeping, just like me. Hunched over, back facing me, he sat on a bed. "Hey," I said, trying not to startle him, but of course he just calmly turned to my and smiled, not the least bit startled by my presence. "I...I'm thirsty. Can I have some water?"

"Of course you can," Yaseen said, setting down the rectangular wooden plaque he'd been holding. As he passed by me, I glanced at it, and I realized that it had been intricately carved out to spell Xander. It was glazed over, shining. Polished.

Yaseen returned with a cup of water. I thanked him and sipped but my eyes were still on the wood. "Xander," I mindlessly said. "Did he leave your team and join another?"

Sighing, Yaseen slid a finger along the edge of the X. "I wish," he said. "I wish."

I didn't want to poke the wound, so I just let it slide now. When I returned to the living room, Angelo had woken up. He looked at me with an arched brow.

"Followup questions keeping you up all night?"

"Yeah." I chuckled. "Plus the new ones and their followups."

For the first time, Angelo smiled. Not too broad, not too happy—but it was there. It made me smile too. But I didn't know why.

"Sleep, Jake," Angelo said. "You'll need it."

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A knock on the door startled us all awake. And I say all of us because, really, all of us, nearly jumped out of our skin: I jerked and knocked into Scarlett and Scarlett flinched and kneed me in the ribs, and Angelo's head shot up and he half-fell off the couch, hands already frantically reaching for his swords.

Slow and cautious, Angelo rose to his feet, swords at the ready. He stalked towards the door. The silence was insufferable; I'd expected him to rage at us for alarming him like that. I held my breath. Wood creaked under his feet with each step, and then the visitor finally spoke.

"Angelo?" came Irene's voice.

I sighed, and so did Angelo. His rigid posture melted into a relieved one. I straightened and put my feet down. Grumbling, Scarlett stood.

Angelo opened the door, keeping a hand on the knob. He stared silently at Irene. Then, slowly, he made space. Irene entered. With her withering eyes still as sad as ever, she nodded at us. "Let's get this over with," she said like she couldn't have been more reluctant to help. "Who wants to go first?"

Maybe influenced by Angelo's reaction, I just stared too. No word, no gesture. Just observing her. And she looked at me too. And we held eye-contact for a moment, but then she broke the link, just as Scarlett stepped in with an impatient, "Start with me already."

Irene clearly wanted Scarlett to sit down for the process, but Scarlett didn't budge. Irene didn't insist. Holding my sister's hand with both of hers, she examined the lines in her palm, searching for a mark we'd never seen, a pattern we'd never noticed. A second, two, three...I waited. But time was excruciating to count, so I measured instead. As usual. The length of the door, of the planks under our feet.

Then Irene shared the conclusion with a sigh.

"Marksman."

The first person I looked at was Angelo—I wanted to catch his reaction, but it wasn't all that assuring: leaning against the doorframe, he stayed put, frown unmoving on his brows. He bit his thumbnail. Not so happy, but for some reason he didn't express it in words or anger.

Scarlett smiled. I kept a sidelong stare on her, then I looked away. Smiling, now she was smiling. All the anger down the drain with the elation of authority. She was our leader now after all. In her place, I'd be worrying about failing an entire team.

"Jake now," Scarlett said, smile fading, worry returning. Again with concern about me rather than the pressure thrown over her shoulders now—leadership wasn't just a title to flaunt, power to yield. It was a responsibility. I knew she knew that, and I envied her unwavering confidence.

I was already sitting, so Irene dragged a chair and placed it directly opposite my knees. With grace I'd never witnessed, she smoothened the long skirt of her dress and plopped down. She reached for my hand. Maybe it was the proximity—knees touching knees—but my heart trembled. I hoped she couldn't sense this this weird anxiety.

As she held my hand, she said, "Are you scared?" although her voice implied she already knew.

"No."

"Your hand is shaking."

Shit, I thought. "No," I said.

Irene raised a brow. Then she calmly focused on my palm, pressing onto the lines. "Is no the only word you know?"

"...No."

"Is your name Jake?"

"No—what, yes. My name's Jake."

I loved making a fool out of myself.

Her eyes still downcast, the edge of her lip curled upwards a little, but that was it. Nothing else. Then, her brows slanted, and her fingertips dug into my mid-palm a little harder.  Reinspecting the mark she'd made out. She straightened her spine, slowly letting go of my hand, then fixed me with a weirded-out stare.

"He's a..." She glanced back at Angelo. "He's an Assassin."

When Angelo had heard Scarlett's role, he'd just looked disapproved. But now, learning that I was the Assassin—Angelo didn't just did disapprove. No. He lost his shit. His eyes widened, and he jerked off the doorframe, scandalized.

"No," he said. "No way. He's not the Assassin. Irene." Angelo gave her a desperate, sharp look. "Look again. Make sure."

"I'm sure."

Angelo sighed shakily. He rubbed a hand over his face, muttering, "We're screwed. We're so screwed."