“I’m sorry!” Yuki says, burying her face in her hands. “I know it’s wrong, I just—they don’t stop, sometimes, the nosebleeds, and he was worried I might bleed too much, or that I’d have an emergency while he was working, and—I just—I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, Commander, I won’t do it again, I promise I won’t—”
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it really, really isn’t. “It stopped bleeding this time, though?”
Grace is notably quiet now. Trying to absorb as little attention as possible, I’m sure. As littleblameas possible.
Yuki nods. “On its own, this time. We only stayed because it’s so peaceful in here.” Her face twists, and she stares at her hands. “It reminds me of him.” Her voice is so quiet, I barely make out the words. “My dad.”
I’m overcome with the sudden urge to hug her, because I know that feeling. I know it so, so well. But I keep my distance: if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these weeks, it’s that grief doesn’t always want a hug.
“Don’t disappear on us again,” I say, making sure to meet Grace’s eyes, not just Yuki’s. “It’s imperative that you attend every check-in, dripping wet or not, and in the future, please buzz me if you need more witch hazel.” We’ve had enough blood on this ship—if it takes breaking the rules to stop more from spilling, so be it. Better to know what’s happening on the station, better to not have people scurrying around in the dark trying to hide things. “And a word of advice—be careful at Mikko’s parties? Things have been hard lately for everyone, I know. Make your choices with a clear head, not with a broken heart, okay?” I overheard my mother say that to someone once, and it’s stuck with me ever since. Only recently did those words take on true power—I’d never known brokenness before she died, not really.
Now it’s Grace whose cheeks are pink. “Yes, Commander,” she mumbles.
That’s twice now with theCommander—both times dig, like hairpins to the heart. I resist the urge to correct them. I downplay my authority, usually, but in this case it’s more reinforcement than burden.
“Now go find Siena,” I say. “She’s been worried sick.”
The girls slide down from the lab ledge without a word,leaving Heath alone with me in the wide white oval.
“Well,” Heath says. “This is not good.”
“Not good at all,” I agree.
Because, really, when it comes down to it, we should be celebrating. That we found them—that they’re alive.
In truth, it’s unnerving. I thought I had a pretty good handle on station-wide activity, on the secret things people think they’re so good at hiding. Between the six of us, I thought we knew everything.
Today proves me wrong. In so many ways, I’m starting to feel like I’m in over my head.
“Good work today,” I say, meeting Heath’s eyes.
He doesn’t look away, not for a long time. “You, too, Linds.”
HisLindshits both of us at once, brings back in vivid color how quickly things are shifting between us. We stay still for a minute, steadied by the hum of the pillars, their ethereal glow. Yuki was right, it really is peaceful in here.
“I, um,” I say, my store of eloquence depleted for the day. “We should go. Rest while we can, right?”
He clears his throat. “Right. Yes, you’re right.”
We leave the room as empty as it should be, no trace we were ever there.
18
TURN UP THE BLAZE
I WAKE FROM another short stretch of uncomfortable sleep just after midnight. My legs are sweaty, stuck to the arm of my mother’s leather chair, fire still blazing at an eleven. I should know by now that eleven’s much too high—it’s just so beautiful, the rhythm of the flames. Mesmerizing. I’ve come to rely on them lately, when my mind is too full and I can’t sleep. I turn up the blaze, then let myself get lost. Sleep, sweat, wake, repeat.
My buzz screen lights up, though, and now I see it isn’t just the heat that’s pulled me from sleep. It’s Zesi:Meet in Control ASAP.
I straighten, throw off the blanket I love but can’t quit. The blur of sleep falls instantly away.
Be there in ten, I reply. I slip into a clean pair of pants, zip my favorite hoodie on over my camisole. Zesi wouldn’t wake me unless he’s had a breakthrough—ten minutes is generous in light of how fast I plan to move.
There are a surprising number of people still awake, clusteredinside one of the enclaves I pass. They’re very into themselves, listening to Sailor Salvato sing as he plays his acoustic guitar. Good for me: no one asks a single question. I’m pretty sure no one even sees me slip by.
Control looks almost exactly the same as it did when I left earlier, except like an older, more haggard version of itself. Coffee mugs outnumber people two to one, varying degrees of full, varying degrees of fresh. One look at Haven, Leo, and Zesi explains it: they’ve been busy, more than a bit distracted. They’re running on fumes.
“Someone want to start talking?” I ask. I can’t shake commander mode, not even in the middle of the night. When I doubt myself, this sort of thing always affirms that I’m not the worst person they could’ve chosen. As much as the pressure gets to me, the role comes more naturally than I like to admit.
