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Everyone is anxious. I pace around the ship, listening to the birds in the foliage and still feeling like we’re all going to die. I make my way up to the cortex to talk with a nervous Bekah, then meander my way back down to my room.
I don’t go to the engineering deck.
Taraven and I haven’t spoken all day, and things have been weird between us. I take full responsibility—I’m not good at this part—but I still hate what’s happened. I don’t know if he even wanted it, or if he’s just such a pushover that he literally let me push him over and have my way with him.
I’m too afraid to ask. Especially not when we’re all on edge like this.
I’m leaving my room for the third time in a few hours when I catch sight of a strange flower growing on the wall across from my bunk. I cock my head at it, compelled by some strange power to touch it, and I find that some gold pollen puffs off into my hand.
I inhale deeply. It smells like…
…fuck, it smells like Taraven—like that cloying, sweet liquor he ferments in engineering. My lungs are full of flowers all of a sudden, and I have to shake myself out of my reverie to come back to my senses.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Okay, yes, I have my reasons for being a little gun-shy when it come to picking up boyfriends—especiallyduring a war—but I’m a grownass woman. I’ve been an interstellar agent for years, for fuck’s sake. I’ve climbed the ranks like a badass, and I’m damn proud of it.
Why can’t I talk to the guy I just slept with?
Why can’t I accept that he’s more than that?
“Are you doing this?” I say out loud, eyeing the flower.
It doesn’t do anything—obviously, since it’s a flower—but another one grows slightly down the wall. I blink rapidly, not believing my eyes, asanotherflower blooms.
Big, pink blossoms—hibiscus the size of dinner plates.
“Okay, Jaya,” I mutter. “Cool.”
I walk along the wall, following the trail of flowers. I’ve heard about this happening, but only ever to Bekah; when she got here, she used to leaveellenakflower wherever she went. I don’t know what kind of flowers these are, but if they mean the same thing, I’m a little confused.
With Bekah, the ship was trying to tell her that herekirah—or as the Lyra call it, her cosmic bond—was onboard.
And if Taraven is my fucking soulmate, why did Jaya wait so long to let me know?
I swallow hard and keep walking, knowing exactly where the flowers are taking me. The spine leads down to the engineering bay, where the indoor forest widens out into a clearing. There’s Taraven’s distillery on the right, his desk in the middle, some random devices and an empty containment chamber…
…and Taraven.
And Malix.
Both of the men look up at me as I step quietly across the moss, their senses keen enough that there’s no way I could have played incognito. They don’t look surprised that I’m here; in fact, Malix looks vaguely interested, while Taraven ducks his head and chews on his lip. They weren’t up to anything—although, really, what would they have been upto?—and I feel a sense of relief that they weren’t making out or something.
Begging the question of why I’m jealous…or left out?
Can you have FOMO over an alien hookup?
“Frankie,” Malix says, his tongue still tripping over my name a little, separating the syllables. “Feeling anxious?”
“Something like that.” I glance over at Taraven. “Would you be willing to share some booze?”
Taraven smiles, his expression turning in an instant. Of course he wouldn’t be weird about what happened between us; weird is his normal. “How much?”
I chuckle. “Fill the glass,güey.”
Taraven laughs with me and stands, his tail pushing him off of his stool. Our laughter eases the tension a little—just a little—but my shoulders are still tense, my neck sore.
He fills a generous glass for me, then passes it over as I step into their circle.
