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Silence.
Amy doesn?
??t look up.
AMY
THERE’S A SMUDGE OF PAINT—RED—AT THE EDGE OF THE hatch door. Harley’s last mark.
Past the paint, past the bubble window, I stare at the stars. It looks like a lonely, cold place out there. I put my hands on either side of the window. It’s a lonely, cold place in here, too.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper, and it’s not until the words are out there that I realize how true they are.
I sense more than see the tiniest movement of Elder behind me. He steps forward, hesitates, then reaches for my hand. I pull away.
Like Harley.
I stare resolutely ahead at the stars. I wonder if he would still be here if only he’d reached toward us, instead of toward them.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, but all I smell is metal. The life I’d once known is forever gone. My air will never smell of summer or spring, real rain or snow.
I open my eyes and see the last thing Harley saw before he left us. Maybe the secret of the stars has nothing to do with being alone.
I reach behind me, and Elder is there. Like he always has been. He grabs my hand, but I shake loose.
I’m not ready for that.
But . . . if my life on Earth must end, let it end with a promise.
Let it end with hope.
I wrap my pinkie around his. He squeezes my finger, and this world doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
“Will you stay with me?” I whisper.
“Always. ”
