My head spins as I stand, but I can feel my strength returning. I open my mouth, but there’s a low groan of metal that sends vibrations through the grid floor to our feet.
“What was—”
Another scream of metal interrupts me, the ground shaking beneath us. Tarver’s hand tightens in mine, and I hear him turn away.
“The station—the shock wave from the rift collapse must’ve…come on!” He jerks at my arm, and though I brace myself, it doesn’t hurt like it would’ve a few minutes ago. As soon as I move I can hear something huge—the metal containment device, perhaps—come crashing down where I stood.
Together we careen out into the corridor, sprinting up the slight incline in pitch blackness. There’s not the tiniest scrap of light, though my eyes keep trying to adjust to the darkness anyway, picking out imagined shapes looming ahead. Tarver keeps his hand wrapped firmly around mine, and I find myself growing stronger with each step. My blood races, my heart pounds—my lungs work for the first time in what feels like weeks.
Tarver collides with the ladder, the clang of impact lost in a flood of curses. He shoves me up in front of him. The world is reduced to the sound of our harsh breathing and the clang of our feet on the rungs. The ladder bucks beneath us as shudders run through the station. I collapse on the ground just above the hatch, and Tarver scrambles up behind me and drags me to my feet. There’s light here, just enough for us to make out the doorways and the rubble, and beyond it the clearing lit by starlight so bright it dazzles my eyes.
We scramble for the exit just as the floor caves in, and for a horrible moment it’s like I’m in the escape pod again while gravity outside wars with gravity inside—my head spins and I can’t figure out which way is up. Tarver’s hand closes around my wrist, and then I find purchase on the grass, and we drag ourselves up and over the lip of the cave-in.
For long, labored moments all I can see are spots as my lungs heave for air, and though Tarver tries a few times to get back to his feet, eventually he’s forced to concede defeat and we just lie there, listening to the last remains of the building collapsing in on itself.
After the underground darkness, the stars seem like fiery beacons, bright and promising. I drag myself up so that I can look down at Tarver, who’s still half dazed, searching for breath.
“You stupid, stupid man,” I murmur, reaching for his face, tracing the path the starlight takes across the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbones. “We have no way of signaling now. If those were ships up there, they’ll never find us. You’ll never go home.”
Tarver presses a hand into the dirt and hauls himself upright so he can look at me properly. “I am home.” He lifts his hand when I start to protest. “My parents would understand. If they knew what was happening here, they’d tell me so.”
“Still, how could you do such a thing? The signal was working. They would have seen it.”
“It was killing you,” he says simply.
I’m already dead. The words hover on my tongue, but remain unsaid. Because now, here, for the first time, those words aren’t true. I draw a long breath, watching the way it steams the air when I exhale.
Tarver eases closer, reaching for my hand. I’m still weak from so long eating next to nothing and sleeping so little. But my muscles respond to my commands. My hand, as I twine my fingers through his, doesn’t tremble.
For the first time since I was brought back, something inside me flickers, warm and vital. Hope. Together we stagger to our feet and move away from the sinkhole that used to be the station.
Tarver starts to let go of my hand, but I tighten my fingers through his, and he watches me for a long moment. I don’t pull away. He lifts our joined hands and kisses my fingers, his eyes closing as his lips linger against my skin.
I can’t help but wonder which is worse: losing the girl you love suddenly or being unable to touch her while she wastes away.
“How do you feel?” he asks, watching me intently.
“Incredible. Alive. Tarver, how did you know?”
“I didn’t.” He’s still watching our joined hands. “But I just—I sensed they didn’t want us hurt. They just wanted to be free. I guessed.”
A little chill ripples through me, and at my shiver, Tarver hauls off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. “Pretty big guess,” I point out.
“I had to believe it.”
“You picked a hell of a time to start believing in hunches and feelings.” I pull the jacket more tightly around myself and flash him a smile.
His arm around me tightens, and for a little while we just listen to the breeze stirring the leaves overhead.
“What do we do now?” I let my head lean back, looking up at the sky.
“Hell if I know,” he replies cheerfully. “Start building a house, I guess.”
I laugh again, startling myself with how easy it is. I didn’t think I remembered how. “Can it have a garden?”
“A dozen gardens.”
“And a bathtub?”
“Big enough for both of us.”
“Can I help?”
“I’m certainly not doing it all on my own.”
I shift my weight and lean against him.
“We should get some rest first,” he says, turning his head to touch his lips to my temple. “We can start on the house tomorrow. Shall we go back to the cave? Some idiot destroyed your bedroom.”
“Some idiot,” I echo, with a smile. “I don’t want to sleep in that cave again. Can we just sleep out here, under the sky, the way we used to? Before all this?”
“Anything you like.” He kisses my cheek again, still gentle, still hesitant, and disentangles his arm from mine so he can stand. “I’ll get the blankets from the cave. Tomorrow we’ll start planning our life as castaways.”
“We’ve already been living a life as castaways,” I point out. “I think we’ll be fine.”
He’s merely a shadow through the starlit trees as he makes his way back toward the cave. It’s not until he’s out of sight that I let my eyes close, tipping my head against the tree at my back, imagining I can feel the gentle glow of the stars on my cheeks.
All is silent and still. The air is crisp, and as I draw in a deep breath it sears the inside of my nose, tingling and strong.
“Rest,” I murmur.
Though whether I’m talking to myself, or to our absent friends, I don’t think I’ll ever know.
“Is that what this is about?”
“This is about the truth of what happened on that planet.”
“I’ve told you the truth.”
“None of what you’ve told us has explained the anomalies in Miss LaRoux’s medical tests.”
“Sorry, I don’t do well with big words. What do you mean?”
“Major, you know to what I am referring.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t. Sir.”
FORTY
TARVER
I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP YET, but I don’t mind. I yawn, holding Lilac a little tighter. She murmurs in her sleep—one of those stubborn little sounds that melt me—and nestles in closer.
I’ve been looking up at the stars, familiar constellations now, and naming them. I squint at what I’ve decided to call the Lyre, tracing the shape of a harp over again as I learn it. From the bright star at the base, to the next above it, and then…the next star moves. So does its neighbor. I blink again, and they slide into focus.
They’re landing lights.
“Lilac, quick, wake up.” I scramble to sit up, reaching automatically for the Gleidel, though I don’t know what use it could possibly be. I lift my other hand to shield my eyes as the huge ship eases down toward us, thrusters rising to a steady roar. She’ll be landing no more than a klick or two away.
Lilac comes awake lashing out with one arm, and I catch hold of her wrist gently. “No—no, leave us alone! We did what you wanted!” Her voice is high with fear as she gazes up, blinking, trying to understand what she’s seeing.
“No, Lilac, it’s a ship. They must have registered the explosion or the energy surge. Quick, we have to move.” The dread’s heavy in my gut. If they find us, they’ll take us on board, and who knows what her medical tests will show? “Let’s try for the cave, they might have infrared.”
She’s still sitting there, staring, mouth a little open now. “A ship?” I can barely hear her whisper.
“We can’t let them find us. Come on.” I reach down for her hand to try to tug her up.
She resists, my stupid, stubborn girl, tugging back. How did she find this strength so quickly? “Tarver, what are you talking about? You can go home after all! We need to find them, make them take us with them.”
I drop to a crouch beside her, taking a breath, trying to slow myself. “I’m talking about us not knowing what’ll happen to you if they get their hands on you. Who knows what your father’s company will find if they do tests on you? Come on, there’s food in the cave. We can hole up there until they leave.”
“Tarver, no.” There’s a hint of that old LaRoux steel in her voice, but it’s tempered now, warmer. “We’re getting on that ship. You’re going home.”
“Lilac, I’ve made my choice, we don’t have time for this conversation.”
Behind me, the landing lights are moving lower, and the whine of the engines is growing deeper. I’ve heard this a thousand times. Usually it’s a welcome sound. They’re nearly down.
“No.” She’s soft, but sure. “I’m going with you. You kept telling me you’d take me home with you, and that’s what you’re going to do.” She squeezes my hand, climbing to her feet now.
I want so badly to believe her, but the bitter twist of fear inside me says she’ll do anything to keep me safe. She’d lie to my face if she thought it would save me.
I know she would. I’d do the same for her.
She reaches up to curl a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my head down so her forehead can press against mine. “I know what you would’ve given up for me. I could never let that be for nothing.”
We stand like that for an instant, forever, and I try to reach inside myself for that trust. She waits, watching me, sure I’ll make the leap for her.
I straighten up, reaching for her hand to lead her toward the rescue ship. She sees my decision on my face and opens her mouth to speak when she’s interrupted by a new sound—in the distance, there’s undergrowth snapping, crunching, booted feet moving toward us. I realize the sound of the ship has vanished.
They’ve landed. We don’t have much time before they find us.
Lilac turns back to me, suddenly intent. “They’re going to ask questions.” Her hand tightens around mine. “We need our stories straight.”
“Too much risk in both of us lying. You tell them nothing. Be the girl they expect. Distressed, pissed off. Shout for your father, cry if you can, but don’t answer their questions. Be a princess.”