Izramith and Thimayu shared the same father, a man called Deomor who had been contracted by their mother to provide her with his seed and stay the hell out of her life.
Typical of her, Thimayu had no interest in him, but Izramith visited him sometimes when she wanted to talk to someone. He was a relaxed, easy-going man, a crane driver in the steel works.
He lived on the second level in the new settlement behind the shops, where he shared an apartment with a group of other men all of whom worked in the steelworks.
“Izramith.” His smile when he came to the door was genuine and his expression welcoming. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Haven’t been back long,” she said and cringed. She didn’t care so much about not having told Indor, but her father should have been told. “Do you have a mom
