SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

The wind had picked up a little by the time we stepped out of Motley’s. The sun hung like a faded bulb in the sky, warm, but not comforting. Still, there was something pleasant about the way the air smelled: woodsmoke, dried earth, and the faint buzz of civilization trying to remember itself.

I turned to Elliot as we hit the street. "Could you check the schedule and get tickets for the next train east? As soon as possible."

He nodded. "Sure. Same station?"

"Yeah. We’re not far." I passed him a few bills from my coat pocket, enough for four tickets and pretty much anything else he could possibly want.

"Alright, I’ll be back soon," he said, and walked off at a brisk pace, the leather strap of his satchel bouncing against his hip.

Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Anthony. "So. How did you get here, exactly? Some agency bird? Hidden transport rail? Grappling hook from space?"

He smirked. "Public plane. Connecting flight through two dusty towns, a layover with a broken vending machine, and a chatty grandmother who tried to sell me soap."

I stared. "You... flew commercial."

"Sure did. Wore a fake mustache too. Didn’t even need it, probably, but you know. Style points."

I blinked. "So I can’t even use the same method you did."

"Not unless you want a twelve-hour delay, zero discretion, and a seat next to the pilot’s nephew who’s really into taxidermy."