Page 1 of Meteor Storm

1: Amelia

“The Nexus,” Gregory said. “That’s where we’re sending you.”

“To space? You’re sending me to space?”

“Yes. Unless you have a better plan. Your name is no longer Amelia. It’s Penelope. Amelia is dead.”

My heart skipped a beat at how literal that statement was. For thirteen seconds, I flatlined. And then I flatlined again for seven. It was by pure luck that I woke up from it three months ago.

I adjusted myself in my seat, not wanting to think about how close I’d come to never opening my eyes again.

But what hurt even more was that Natascha hadn’t been so lucky.

“What about Natascha’s funeral?” I asked.

Gregory sighed. “You know you can’t attend.”

My stomach sank. I started biting the inside of my lip, a habit I’d dropped years ago, but now it had returned with a vengeance.

“Look, we’ll get Sanchez, but you won’t be here to see it. Not if you want to survive. My advice—leave this all behind. Natascha. Every foster home you’ve ever been in. You’re military trained, Amelia. You’re already halfway to your piloting license. It wasn’t hard to get you on the Nexus. Not a lot of people can say that.”

“But I’ll be going under a fake name. When people ask about me, I’ll have to lie.”

“Only until we get him.”

“I can help. Natascha told me about him. She told me—”

“No. Sanchez isn’t your responsibility.”

“Natascha was.”

“She was a grown woman. You couldn’t protect her forever. You needed to move on a long time ago and now you don’t have a choice.”

“I should have been here. Not in boot camp. Not halfway across the country. I should have—"

“She’s dead.”

Those words were like an arrow straight to my chest.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he continued. “Natascha always dragged you into her problems. Even when you were kids.”

“She needed me. She needed safety.”

“What about you? Who’s protecting you?”

“I can protect myself. I didn’t join the military so someone else could fight my fights.”

“And all that training couldn’t prevent you from getting shot and killed.”

Another arrow to my chest. I didn’t know words could hurt so much. I dropped my head, staring down at my hands. Natascha was gone, that much was true. I wondered what I could have done and every option just filled me with more guilt. Thirty-four years old and I was finally realizing how much of my life I dedicated to something destined to fail.

“When you catch him, you’ll tell me, right? You’ll bring me home?”

“Sure.”

“Promise.”

“I can’t promise anything. You know that.”