“Are you a scientist?” Ivy asked, her disbelief plain.
What did she think of all of them—a gang of scavengers and lost children? That they were ignorant? Uneducated?
Worthless?
Alden’s chest bubbled with what must have been a quick laugh. “No. You could say I’m a chemistry enthusiast.” His expression faltered, and his fingers flicked weakly. “Take her out of here.”
It took Nate a moment to realize he meant Pixel, who watched Alden with frightened eyes.
Brick gathered Pixel up. “We’ll go.”
Sparks held her hand out to Juniper. “Come on. You look like you need fresh air too.”
Juniper had tucked her small body between two chairs. She wobbled to stand and stared at the place where their fingers met when Sparks took her hand. Nate wondered if she was like Reed—unused to being loved on in any way.
“Take them to the rooftop,” James said.
Sparks nodded and leaned in to tell Juniper, “It has a garden.”
James spread his long, skinny arms and herded them out of the room. “I’ll bring you something to eat shortly.”
Reed lingered. “I should keep an eye on Pixel,” he said, reluctant. Like it pained him to leave Nate alone.
Warmth fluttered in Nate’s chest, a little beacon when the rest of him was ice and ache. “We’ll be okay.”
He looked back at Alden in time to see him rolling his eyes.
James tucked blankets and pillows behind Alden’s back. He didn’t flinch when Alden stifled a cry, but Nate’s fingers curled into twitching fists. He didn’t know how James and Ivy managed to appear so unaffected by suffering. It had to be practice. Days and nights at the bedsides of the wounded and sick.
“Let me grab something,” Ivy said, scrambling out of the room in a rush. She bumped into a chair and swore softly under her breath, the skittering awkwardness only making Nate fonder of her. She was so much more than he’d ever imagined—warm, clever, and a little bit broken. Not a glassy memory or a fading nightmare.
She rushed back in with a hardbound book. “I lost most of my notes. Fires, moves,” she said, flipping it open. “But I’ve always kept this one with me. Can you read this?”
“We can all read! Pixel’s even learning,” he added, trying to soften his exasperated tone.
“Of course.” Ivy ducked her head, apologetic, and held a page open for Alden. “This is as far as I’ve gotten. The figures aren’t exact.”
“Let me see.” Alden’s hands shook. He fumbled with the book, his breath whistling with impatience.
Nate hung back, itching to help, but afraid that if he stepped in, it would disrupt the odd balance they’d struck.
“Nate thinks the formula includes blood serum. It makes sense. It could carry the other enzymes.” Ivy spoke with an urgency that shook Nate.
They don’t have enough time.
When he’d faced down his own path to the stillness, dread had lingered like grime under his fingernails. Always there. Gritty. Familiar. But now, watching Alden struggle to catch his breath, the dread overwhelmed Nate. He felt like he was falling.
“Blood, for stars’ sake.” Alden pursed his lips. “Available in abundance, and I never tried it.”
“I’d isolated two components in the lab,” Ivy said. “It was always the other two I couldn’t manage to replicate. Tariq warned me to stop trying, that they’d discover our motives if I wasn’t careful. The lab was a shared space. Agatha was one of the first GEMs and my assistant. She must have taken my research further.”
“What does this mean?” Alden traced a line of narrow handwriting on the page. “I don’t know that word.”
James returned and touched Nate’s shoulder, distracting him from Ivy’s quiet response. “Eat while they’re working. I can hear your stomach folding up.” He handed Nate sun-dried fruit and guided him to a nearby chair. It was soft, cradling Nate’s back and easing the soreness in his shoulder. He hadn’t realized until then how clenched-up he was, every muscle in his body wound tight.
“Do you think they’ll work it out?” he asked softly—only for James.
“I think they’re the best two people for the task,” James said.
