“That’swhat you were arguing about?” Haven’s odd comment makes much more sense—We’re all trying not to add more to your plate right now, she’d said. “Doeseveryonethink they need to walk on eggshells around me?” I struggle to keep my voice from shaking, from rising. It’s hard enough to admit to myself that I might not be strong enough or smart enough orenoughenough to save my people.
It’s another thing entirely to hear it from Heath: that he thinks I’m breaking, breakable. So much so that they need to hide the truth.
“I’m sorry, Lindley. You’ve just been through so much lately,and putting so much pressure on yourself—” He cuts himself off with a rough exhale. “We thought we could fix things without you having to stress about it.”
And just like that, the sharp blade of my own logic cuts clean through my heart: Have I not been doing the exact same thing?
I didn’t want the station to panic, so I hid the truth. I thought I could fix everything before they ever had to know there was even a problem.
But people have died under my watch—and not from the virus.Fourpeople have died.
I’ve been operating under the assumption that I’d only make things worse if I told them the truth, but perhaps that isn’t the case at all. Perhaps they’d be alert, not more reckless. Perhaps the deaths would stop entirely if the murderer knew so many eyes were trained toward suspicious behavior.
“I committed myself to this sort of stress when I stepped up as commander,” I say. “Iaskedfor it.”
Heath nods, presses his lips into a thin line.
“What?”
His buzz screen vibrates, but he silences it at once. For another brief second, he hesitates, then says, “It’s just—none of us knew what we were getting into, Linds. It’sokayto feel out of your depth, you know?”
“Is it? Is itreally?” I close my eyes, but all I see is Indigo’s face, her body still and unmoving on the mezzanine’s cold, hard floor. Nothing left but her empty, blank stare. “I can’t solvea problem if I don’t know it exists,” I say. “And I appreciate the sentiment, but from now on, please pass it on thatIdecide when I’m out of my depth.” He suddenly feels far too close, even though he hasn’t budged a centimeter since sitting down beside me. I stand, pace to the far side of the room, busy myself with Haven’s test results. They’re as clean as my lab on a stressful day, which should be good—great!—except that I still have no idea what could’ve made her pass out. Added to that, clean lab work doesn’t necessarily rule out the possibility of a new strain being present on our station; it only means Haven’s collapse was not the result of one.
I just want answers. I wanteasy. I close my eyes, grip the counter’s ledge until I feel my fingertips go numb.
“Wecan’t solve problemswedon’t know exist, either, you know.” His voice is like shattered glass—broken, and with the sharpest edges. “You tell Leo your secrets, but you can’t tell me? You can trust me, youknowyou can. Let me help, Linds.”
Iamout of my depth. Far, far out of my depth. Drowning, nearly.
But I can’t afford to trust anyone but myself. If I ask for help—in solving the murders, particularly—how do I know I’m not askingthe killerfor help? I don’t. Confiding my suspicions would only give the killer inside knowledge, an advantage in how to further avoid being found out.
Part of me wants to sit back on my stool, let him see every fear and every worry, talk his ear off for hours in strategy.When this is all over, I’ll ask his forgiveness. He’ll understand why I can’t tell him, he will. He’llhaveto. I hope.
I can’t meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have even told Leo,” I say, keeping my voice even. This is a prime example of how I can’t assume anyone is a safe place for my trust, not even my closest friends: Leo spilled the most sensitive secret I ever told him, and now Heath—good intentions notwithstanding—has wrapped a thorny layer of guilt around the burdens I’m carrying.
He starts to speak, but I change the subject abruptly before he can begin. “I’m going to put a call in to Vonn tonight. I think it’s time we take them up on those supplies from Radix.”
“But aren’t you worried—”
“Stay here with Haven until she wakes up,” I say, speaking right over him. “Send me a buzz when she’s up, or else I’ll worry. Shouldn’t be more than half an hour.”
“Linds—”
“Thanks for checking on me, Heath. We’ll talk more later, I promise.”
I slip out of Medical without a backward glance. I’m headed to Control, about to do the thing I swore I’d never do: ask that the man who showed less than zero respect to my mother please send help.
We may be indebted to him forever, and I may sacrifice my dignity, but at least we’ll bealive.
52
HALF-GLOW
THE SMELL OF days-old coffee hits me full force as the doors to Control slide open. Leo must’ve left the auxiliary lights on when he was here last; they bathe everything in a dim half-glow that makes the room feel like it’s on its dying breaths.
Something about the half-light, and the stale smell, and the stillness of this silence, digs under my skin like splintered glass. All at once, I realize:there is no going back. There is nolike before.
No amount of effort to save the station—if I can even managethatat this point—can bring Lieutenants Brady and Black back to their places at the Control deck. No amount of effort can rewind time, send us hurtling down a path far away from the nightmare we’ve been living in.
