Gnaeus panned his rifle’s scope across the barren, rock-rough landscape of Aprica Nova, searching for any signs of the siren he and Titus were hunting. There was nothing immediately apparent except a distant updraft of dust, but Aprica Nova was loose dust, rocks, and wind, so that wasn’t necessarily a sign of their quarry.
          He made a mental note, and moved on.
          Softly he said, “Whatcha got?” Titus was out in the rocky terrain, roughly at Gnaeus’s ten o’clock and half a klick out. Gnaeus could feel him there the same way he could feel the sun shining.
          Nothing on the ground. Titus’s voice in Gnaeus’s head, like he was standing behind him and whispering in his ear.
          “I’ve got a dust devil ten, eleven klicks northeast,” Gnaeus said.
          Real dust or manmade?
          “I dunno,” Gnaeus redirected his scope back to the dust. “Natural, I think. Could be worth investigating later.”
          Roger. I’m gonna head to your two. 
          “Roger.” Gnaeus brought his rifle down to survey the whole wide scene, not just a small part. This way, he could see more. See if some threat was coming for Titus. The sun was descending in the distance, splashing gold along the horizon. When the darkness fell, he’d join Titus and they’d hunt together on the ground. Sniping in the dark was less effective than both of them side-by-side. Plus, Gnaeus liked to be within arm’s reach of Titus. They’d been together for so long, he couldn’t remember what being without Titus even felt like.
          “Titus,” Gnaeus said. “I just did some math.”
          Is that what that smell is?
          Gnaeus ignored him and continued: “We’ve known each other for ten years.”
          Twenty-two.
          “No, I meant, we met ten years ago,” Gnaeus said.
          We met when we were born, Titus said.
          “Physically met,” Gnaeus specified.
          You’re such a butthead. Titus sighed. Meeting emotionally counts.
          Gnaeus let out a long, slow sigh. “Oh Lord.”
          When you showed up on the Germanica and we MET—the way he said “met” told Gnaeus that he was using air quotes—I felt like I was being reintroduced to someone I hadn’t seen in a while. But, like, I knew you. You looked familiar.
          “You’re so sappy,” Gnaeus said with a smile.
          Are you bringing this up because it’s Saint Maiden’s Day?
          “What?”
          All run together on one long exhalation: Oh my god you forgot what holiday it is again . . .
         “I guess that’s today, huh?” Gnaeus still scanned the landscape. Nothing. Nothing. “It’s a Mariner holiday, though. So who cares?”
          You don’t think it’s kinda romantic?
          “No.”
          She waited for her Mariner until she died, Gnaeus.
          Gnaeus, bored, looked through his scope again. “What’s romantic about dying?”
          It’s the waiting that was romantic, not the dying—
          Silence.
          Gnaeus pointed his scope where Titus was. “Titus?”
          Nothing.
          Gnaeus said nothing else. Titus was probably being quiet on his end because he was listening, and if Gnaeus was yapping inside his head, he wouldn’t be able to listen as well.
          Maybe he heard the siren. Or something else. Aprica Nova didn’t have native life larger than a cockroach anymore, but planets like it were hotspots for criminal activity. The criminals didn’t have to live here. They just have to be able to survive for a few days at a time. Gnaeus and Titus had been on Aprica Nova for two days hunting a siren who had crash landed a ship trying to escape a checkpoint near Mauretania. They were the closest venatores gemini when the alarm went out, and they responded. They’d already disabled the crashed ship so the siren couldn’t take off in it again, but now they had to find the siren itself.
          Normal legionnaires didn’t hunt the sirens, or have anything to do with them. Just the venatores. Titus and Gnaeus had trained for eight years to be able to hunt them without getting themselves killed. Even then . . .
          The last statistics Gnaeus had been briefed on for KIA venatores was sixty percent. Sometimes it was both of the pair, and sometimes it was just one.
          Either way, sixty percent pinballed around in Gnaeus’s head as he waited for Titus to respond to him.
          Nothing.
          How long had it been?
          Probably thirty seconds. It felt like six eternities.
          Then.
          Gnaeus.
          Weak. Soft. Croaked. Like someone was choking him.
          Gnaeus was up, running as he swung his rifle over his back. Titus was down in the rocks, at Gnaeus’s two, like he’d said. In the dimming evening, Gnaeus slid down the cliffside and into the forest of rock pillars, zig-zagging around and past and through as quietly and quickly as he could. Which was fast. Not as fast as Titus, but still fast.
          Down there, he pulled his pistols out of their hip holsters and readied them to shoot the siren into pieces. Sirens were to be brought back alive if possible, but it was rarely possible. They were too dangerous. Especially the adults.
          Titus still hadn’t said anything other than Gnaeus’s name. Gnaeus could feel Titus’s location approaching, a homing beacon built into them from birth. They’d been born true gemini. They shared a soul. And Gnaeus’s side of the soul always knew where Titus’s side was.
          Ahead. Two hundred feet. Gnaeus slowed so he could be more silent. Pistols up. Ready to fire. Heart beating hard but manageable. Not frantic. Breathing steady. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, assisted by the implants behind his ears.
          One hundred feet.
          Gnaeus knew Titus was still alive, as sure as he knew he himself was still alive.
          Alive for now.
          Fifty feet.
          His implants matched a pair that Titus had. All the venatores had them. They were wired into their brains, enhancing their senses, especially sight and proprioception. Gnaeus’s skin tingled as the wind shifted against it, as the pressure fluctuated, as a living person became apparent ahead of him.
          Twenty-five feet.
          On the other side of a large pillar.
          Gnaeus crept around it, choosing the side in the deepest shadow.
          Someone on the ground, mostly in shadow, tied up, with a bag over his head.
          Gnaeus darted forward, pistols up and sweeping for an enemy. Nothing. He slid next to the prone body and pulled the bag off. “Titus—”
          Not Titus.
          A siren. Unconscious. With a wicked bruise developing behind his ears.
          Movement to Gnaeus’s left. He whipped his pistols up, face up, eyes wide and angry and ready to destroy whoever was—
          The soft glow of flames warmed the rocks. Gnaeus stood, leaving the unconscious siren on the ground, and approached the fire carefully. Pistols still up. He came around the rock pillars to see Titus, standing amidst a clear spot in the pillars, with candles affixed to every surface he could fit candles on. As soon as Gnaeus relaxed his pistols, Titus put his arms up and said, “Took you long enough! I could have died!”
          “What the hell are you doing?” Gnaeus said.
          “It’s Saint Maiden’s Day!” Titus said.
          “Titus, who cares about—”
          “It’s also the anniversary of the day you quit being such a stick in the mud!” Titus said.
          Gnaeus blinked slowly, letting his pistols drop fully to his sides.
          Titus sauntered toward Gnaeus. “That first mission on Germania, when you almost killed both of us—”
          “Okay, wait,” Gnaeus protested.
          “—and that bug tried to drink your brain out of your skull, and we were hiding in that cave.” Titus reached Gnaeus, slid his hands around Gnaeus’s waist and leaned close to him. “And you finally kissed me.”
          “And then you almost got yourself killed,” Gnaeus said.
          Titus shrugged and kissed Gnaeus. It didn’t matter how many times he did; Gnaeus always felt like he had that first night: like someone had turned off the world’s gravity, and the only anchor he had or needed was Titus.
          Gnaeus pulled away some and pointed his thumb backward. “How long ago did you find that siren?”
          “Like two hours ago.”
          “And he’s been knocked out on the ground since then?”
          “Yeah.”
          Gnaeus rolled his eyes.
          “What?” Titus said. “I wanted to surprise you.” He swept his arm toward the candles, and the blanket with dinner on it that Gnaeus now noticed. “To five years.”
          “And five more,” Gnaeus said.
          “Just five?” Titus asked, sliding his hands into Gnaeus’s, fingers entwining.
          Gnaeus shrugged. “Unless you misbehave.” He looked at Titus. “Then maybe ten.”
          Titus, very seriously, said, “I suppose I’ll have to misbehave hard then.”
          “I suppose you will.”
          “I don’t know if I can manage,” Titus said. “As I’ve never done a bad thing in my entire life.”
          Gnaeus laughed. “Never beaten a siren over the head so you could sneak some food into the wilderness and light . . . a thousand candles.” 
          “It’s only five hundred,” Titus said. “But yes. Never done that. That sounds horrible.”
          “Very,” Gnaeus said. “Titus.”
          “What?”
          “I love you.”
          Titus smirked and lifted his chin, and as Gnaeus kissed along Titus’s jawline, Titus said, “I know.”