Page 219 of The Space Between Stars

“But you haven’t said anything.”

As long as he listened to her, he didn’t have to think about how this moment wouldn't and couldn't last. About Fankalo. About Cul’Mon. About the child.

He’d wholeheartedly believed that he could fix things between them. That his sister would forgive him. That he could save her from what she’d already been through.

You couldn’t save someone from the past.

Fankalo had heard his plea and chosen not to listen. She might have even set him up. He’d held on for so long, he hadn’t been able to see the truth that lay beneath his grip: she’d let go of him a long time ago.

Calver pulled Raimee in a little tighter as darkness settled over the ocean. She turned up her face. It was inches from his. The soft pull of her breath against his neck smelled sweet. His body warmed wonderfully.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let her do this.

Raimee laughed—actually laughed—the madwoman. And it eased every tension in his body. “Tell me about it.”

She didn’t pull back. She only leaned closer. “Then tell me another time. I’m enjoying myself.”

She had asked him to signal. Then, naturally, she ignored all of it and changed the subject. “Who was he?”

No need to ask who she meant. Cul’Mon was a lot of things.

“Was he the Hand?”

“Then I take it you still have things to do?”

Calver paused for a long while before signaling,

Raimee clicked her tongue. “It must be incredibly frustrating to be you. I say that because I’m catching it secondhand.”

She’d called him frustrating, yet she’d pivoted in his arms so that her face was so close to his. Maybe he should just do it. Now. Before she came to her senses. He’d tried to warn her, after all. And, look, she was tilting her chin up.

Had “frustrating” been a double entendre? Surely not. She hadn’t known whether the average male retained their testicles when winter began. Considering her upbringing, the thoughts in his head were borderline criminal. He really shouldn’t do it.

Her lips parted.

Fuck it. He was going to do it.

A sudden scraping and thunking sounded along the ladder leading to the roof. Calver stiffened and reached a hand behind his back to palm the dowaga.

“Relax,” Raimee murmured. “I’ve got it.”

They were sitting in an enemy-occupied city with a battle waging below. The Ruxian in his arms had demonstrated mercurial control over unknowable powers. Sometimes she saw the future, but only when the future saw fit. And all he had to do was relax.

His muscles coiled ever tighter. The air around them took on a pearl-like sheen—Raimee’s doing. A head bobbed into view, then a ruddy red uniform. The gate guard from Chira’na—Chevek. He gave Calver and Raimee an unreadable look, then hurried to inspect the doorway leading into the warehouse. Nearly a dozen more Red Wing soldiers filed onto the roof, each sparing them an overlong glance before fanning out to the perimeter.

“Clear,” Chevek yelled as a final body bobbed into view.

Niklaus tumbled over the knee wall and onto the roof, breathing like he had a sucking wound in his lung. When he saw them alive and well, though enfolded in a moment alone, he stopped at the ledge, hands to his knees as he caught his breath. “Glad I rallied resources—to save you from—blistering one another.”

Leave it to Niklaus to ruin a perfect moment.

The shimmering shield of air around them dissipated. The stares and mutters compounded. Raimee’s features gleamed in the twilight. She sheepishly unwound herself from Calver. Niklaus dusted off his hands and looked out at the blue tinge of light being swallowed by the sea. Calver stood and moved to his side.