She holds it. She's focused now, the scientist taking over from the grieving child.
"Steady," she whispers.
"Done."
I sit back, inspecting our handiwork. It's ugly, covered in black electrical tape and baling wire. It looks like Frankenstein's monster.
"It looks terrible," she says, her voice hoarse.
"It looks like survival," I correct. "Turn on the receiver."
She picks up the box. She flips the switch. Static hisses from the speaker, white noise.
"Gain up," I say.
She turns the dial.
Hiss … crackle …
And then, faint but distinct:Ping.
Silence.
Ping.
Aris gasps. Her hands fly to her mouth.
"It works," she whispers. "Oh my god. It works."
Ping.
It's the heartbeat of the mission, the sound of Waldo.
She looks at the ugly, taped-up antenna, and then she looks at me. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but these are different.
"You fixed it," she says.
"We fixed it."
"No," she says, shaking her head. She crawls over the sleeping bag, closing the distance between us. "You fixed it. You didn't give up. Even when I did."
She's close now. Too close. The tent is warm from the soldering iron and our bodies. The air is heavy with relief and exhaustion and want.
"Aris," I say warningly.
"Don't," she whispers. "Don't tell me about boundaries, Nash. Not right now."
She reaches out and touches my face. Her hand is warm. Her thumb brushes my cheekbone, tracing the line of my jaw.
"You saved the mission," she says softly. "But I think … I think you saved me too."
I look at her lips, at her eyes, wide and unguarded. I feel the last of my resistance crumbling like the shale on that cliff.
I saved the antenna. I saved the expedition.
But looking at her now, with her heart in her eyes and her hand on my face, I know I can't save myself.
Chapter Fifteen
