He had been his comrade in the fight against crime. Despite their being from different classes and having different viewpoints on just about everything, there was a profound respect, a kinship, a brotherhood. He should have honored that brotherhood.
But hell had broken loose; a war so bloody and globe-spanning that many thought the apocalypse had come, riots, and worst of all--no food, and he had a new family to feed. The revolution had come like lightning in the midst of a storm. In an instant, the world had been turned upside-down. The news of the royal family’s murder had been tragic and an omen.
His thoughts had gone to his friend, but only his thoughts. His loyalties were to Luvya and the baby, and that was all. Anything else---his career, his friendships, even his country---had to take a subordinate position to the needs of those two people. And so, he’d left his friend for dead. In the midst of the hell and the chaos.
Luvya often told him he had done everything he could, but he knew that with his gifts and powers he could have done more. He should have done more. No one recognizes folly until it is too late.
He’d held out tentative hope, at first. It was a hope that sank a little each day that went by with no news, no trace of the man. When circumstances forced them to leave their country and take up residence in America, he knew he’d never see his friend again. All hope was lost.
…Or so he thought. How strange fate can be; a new country and a new job all conspired to bring him to the door of a man with a different name but a familiar face. His heart nearly bursting, he greeted his friend.
