He’s breathing hard. So am I. I pulled back before, but not far. Only a couple of inches separate me from a face I’ve known forever. We’ve always been close—friendclose, like I am with Leo or Haven. We’ve never been close like this.
“I didn’t think,” he says, catching his breath. “I’m so sorry, Lindley.” He rubs his hands over his face, kneads his temples. “With Mila—and the mutation—I was up all night thinking I might never, um. Never get the chance.”
I bury my face in my teacup. Burn my lips on purpose.
“I won’t do it again, I promise.” He stays where he is, lets me have my space.
I’ve never thought of Heath like this before—I don’t knowwhatI want, but it’s too soon to say I want him to promise that.
“Listen,” I say. “It’s fine, we’re good. I’m just... not in that headspace right now. So much going on, you know?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Even the smallest grin gives him dimples on both sides. “I know what you mean.” Heath’s every bit as busy as I am. He’s taken up a swing role amid our six—peacemaker, peacekeeper, the one who deals with social issues as they come up all over the station. And, oh, have they come up. “So, you’ve got a project for me?”
His subject change is a little too abrupt, a little too sunny. I know him well enough to see past his dimples.
“Right, yes.” I avert my eyes, look anywhere but at his lips. “Siena Lawson can’t find her friends.” I fill him in on Yuki and Grace, and the Mikko situation as I see it. “Talk to those guys, check their cabins. See if Siena did anything to make the girls want to keep her out of the loop.”
I hate drama. It’s so unnecessary, such a black hole.
“Got it,” Heath says. “What if”—he glances behind him, at the door—lowers his voice—“what if I find them, and they’re like Mila? What if Siena sees?”
“Make sure she doesn’t,” I say. “You’re good at this. It’ll be fine.”
His eyes are so deep I could drown. I blink, look away. Focus.
“I really am sorry, Lindley.”
I take another sip of tea. Carefully, this time. “If you say that one more time, I’m never speaking to you again.” He smiles, and so do I.
“Don’t work too hard,” he says.
And then he’s out.
8
AGAIN WITH THE LOSING
MILA’S BLOOD SAMPLE isn’t in the file.
“Leo,” I say as soon as he picks up my call, “what did you do with the blood?”
“I filed it, like you asked,” he says. “Why, did I do it wrong?” His words have jagged edges: it’s rare that Leo makes a mistake, rarer still for him toadmitit.
I rummage around in the refrigerator, dig in places that aren’t so obvious. “Looks like you didn’t do it at all.” Not in the drawer, not in the door. “You put it in the fridge?”
He’s silent on the other end. “I mean... IknowI did. You’re positive it isn’t there? On the first shelf, right in front?”
“Definitely not.” The first shelf, right in front, is jammed full of weeks-old cultures I should’ve discarded by now.
Leo exhales loudly. “I’m sorry, Linds. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I clench my teeth, count to five. I know he’s only frustrated with himself, not with me, but still. This is what I get for going to bed last night. I knew I should’ve looked over her sample.This is why I do things myself, why I’vedonethem myself since the day I started studying under Dr. Safran. I don’t make these sorts of mistakes—I can’t afford to, not if I want to lead as well as my mother did. Details matter, not just to me but to the entire space program.
Think, think. How do I get more blood from a body burned to ashes?
“I’ll head over right now,” he says. “Maybe I screwed up. Zesi, you good on your own?” There’s a pause. “He’s good. I’ll be right there.”
“Wait,” I say as an idea hits me. “What did you do with Mila’s reader? Last night, when we cleaned up?” I remember him sealing it in an airtight bag, bloodbubbles and all.
