He yawned and promptly fell asleep against her shoulder.
“Helpful,” she said dryly.
She stood and carried him back to the sleeping chamber, laying him carefully in the makeshift nest of blankets. He didn’t even stir, already deeply asleep in the way only infants could manage. She covered him with a soft blanket and stood there watching him sleep, memorizing the details. The green textured skin, so different from human babies but beautiful in its own way. The peaceful expression that made him look impossibly innocent and vulnerable.
“I promise I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered. “No matter what that takes.”
Even if it meant leaving him with Selik. Even if it broke her heart.
She turned to find Anya awake and watching her from the other side of the bed. The girl’s expression was unreadable, somewhere between suspicious and sad.
“Hey, sweetheart. Did we wake you?”
“No.” Anya sat up, pulling her knees to her chest in a defensive posture Corinne had come to recognize. “I’ve been awake for a while.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Slept fine.” But the shadows under her eyes suggested otherwise. “Where’s the alien?”
“His name is Selik. And I don’t know. He was gone when I woke up.”
“He slept here?” Anya asked sharply. “In the bed? With us?”
“He was worried about us.”
“Right. Worried.” The girl’s mouth twisted in obvious disbelief.
She crossed to the other side of the bed and sat down, careful to maintain a respectful distance. Anya might tolerate her presence, but the girl still needed space to feel safe.
“You’re right to be cautious,” she said quietly. “After everything we’ve been through, trusting anyone would be stupid. But I don’t think Selik is going to hurt us.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. Not for certain.” She met Anya’s skeptical gaze. “But I’ve been watching him, and I think… I think he’s a good man. Or male. Whatever the proper term is.”
“Dad said you were naive.”
The words stung, partly because David had said that exact thing on more than one occasion. Usually when she’d insisted on seeing the best in people rather than assuming the worst. He’d found her optimism charming at first, but eventually frustrating.
“Your father thought a lot of things about me,” she said carefully. “Some of them were probably true.”
“He said you saw the world through rose-colored glasses. That you didn’t understand how dangerous people could be.”
“He was right.” She gestured to the room around them, to their current situation. “I definitely didn’t understand how dangerous the universe could be. But I’m learning.”
Anya pulled her knees tighter to her chest, making herself as small as possible. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m scared.”
The admission broke her heart. She wanted to pull the girl into her arms and promise that everything would be okay, that they’d get through this together, that she’d never let anything hurt her again. But Anya didn’t want empty promises. She wanted honesty.
“Me too,” she admitted.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m terrified. I don’t know where we are or what’s going to happen to us or who to trust.”
“But you’re acting like everything’s fine.”
