“I’m glad I know you now,” Nate said.
She wiped tears from her lashes. “I’m glad I know you too.”
Sparks was the only one who thought the plan was terrible. “No,” she said, shaking her head fiercely. “No!”
They stood in the Ivy House kitchen, scrubbed clean from head to toe and freshly combed and shaven. Even their clothes were clean—or as clean as they could be, thanks to a good washing in hot water and an afternoon hanging on a line on the rooftop. Nate was grateful to have his own clothes back, but still embarrassed from needing Reed’s help to get them on.
Juniper and Pixel were with Ivy on the roof, out of earshot.
Nate’s hair tickled his nose. It got fluffy when it was clean. “Sparks, it’s not like we’ll never see her again. We’ll be working on the still for weeks. And I’ll have to come back here all the time, even when it’s done.”
“Ivy’s from Gathos City. Can youreallytrust her?” Sparks asked.
“You trust her fine, and you know it,” Nate said. The way he figured, Sparks knew Ivy House better than the rest of them. She’d been the one to lead them here, after all. And the more he paid attention, the more he saw James and Sparks watching each other and finding excuses to work on chores together. “You like it here.”
Brick leaned against a counter, her fingers running along the uneven edge where water damage made the wood buckle and split. “It’s safer than running day and night.” She eyed Sparks. “Safer than what somebody might want from Pixel come a few years.”
“She’s ours,” Sparks said. She crossed her arms and then uncrossed them to wipe at her nose. Without heavy makeup, her brown eyes were young and gentle. And scared.
“She isn’t ours. And I say we let her decide,” Reed said. “She’s old enough to choose.”
“She’s a kid!” Sparks swallowed a sob. “She doesn’t know better. Of course she’s going to want to stay here.”
“Aw, girl.” Brick walked up to Sparks and pulled her into a smothering hug that hid Sparks’s shaking shoulders from the rest of the room. “That’s just it.”
Nate turned away out of respect. He understood. It wouldn’t really be goodbye, but it would hurt all the same. Reed caught his eye across the kitchen table. He offered Nate a small, encouraging smile.
Reed had been the one to suggest leaving Pixel with Ivy. It was Pixel’s best chance. If they managed to replicate Agatha’s still and the Remedy formula, she’d have everything she needed when the time came. She’d have a roof over her head until then.
Ivy would have someone to care for. And Pixel would be able to work on her tinkering every day.
Letting Pixel stay with Ivy was the only thing Nate was certain about. His chest hurt with the bubbling pressure of all his fears, so he tried to focus on that. And not what was waiting for him on the roof.
“Are you ready?” Reed asked.
No.
Nate nodded. They walked out the back door from the kitchen and climbed the rickety fire escape single file. It creaked and swayed but held fast as they ascended one more story to the rooftop. Unable to hang on to the rails with his bandaged hands, Nate walked slowly, holding up the line—and grateful for the reason to drag his feet.
The sun set at the far side of the Withers, casting long shadows. Vivid orange streaked across the smokeless sky, and the clouds were green. Warm air tickled Nate’s clean skin. He watched the smog-clouds move longer than he needed to, because it was easier than turning to look.
Ivy and Pixel stood beside a bin-fire, eyes gleaming and warm from its glow. Juniper sat on the cracked concrete beside them, playing with her hair.
Nate leaned into Reed to steady himself. Then he saw a concrete platform covered in scorch marks—the signature of a sick-den.
Alden’s body rested on top of it, swaddled in faded flower-print sheets soaked in gasolex. The sheets covered his whole body, masking all of his sharp angles. Nate had only watched sludge-funerals from a distance. He’d never seen someone burned. He hesitated, his legs humming with the urge to turn and dash back down the wobbly stairs.
Reed squeezed his hand. “It’ll go up quickly. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Nate said. He’d faked calm until now. Seeing Alden’s body there, cold fear stabbed through him. This was too final.
“Here.” Brick took the torch from Ivy and lit it in the bin-fire. She offered it to Nate. The flames warmed his face and made a quiet, rustling sound. “I lit July. It’s terrible, and then it isn’t.”
“No. I can’t.” A sob burst from Nate’s chest like crackling wood. There’d be nothing left after this. Nothing but his grief. He couldn’t stand to think of a world without Alden in it and didn’t want to be a part of sending him away. “I don’t want to.”
He held out his swollen hands, a desperate attempt to make all of this go away. Even if he had the strength to do it, he couldn’t clutch the torch in his bandaged fingers.
Reed took the torch from Brick and guided Nate’s hand in a loose grip, holding it steady for him. “Yes, you can.”
